Page 55 of If I Loved You Less
“I am so glad to hear that!” I exclaim, smiling warmly at him. Perhaps I shouldn’t spoil the surprise, but oh, I cannot hold it in. “And I think you will be pleased to learn that she feels the same way.”
He grins, excited. “Really?”
I nod, squealing.
“Humaira, you have no idea how glad I am to hear that,” he says. “I have been looking for a way to tell you that I love you and?—”
I still, not hearing the rest. “Wait,what?” I shake my head, thinking I heard him wrong. “You mean you loveShanzay, right?”
I laugh nervously.
“Shanzay?” he repeats, confused. He shakes his head. “Her? And me?” He laughs as if I have said the funniest thing. “You must be joking.”
Oh GOD no.
“But you’ve been spending all this time with her,” I say, still hoping he has made a mistake, rather than me. My voice comes out high. “You have a picture of her on your phone case!”
“No, it’s a picture ofyouand me.” Shaking his head, he pulls out his phone and shows me the polaroid. I am half in it. I make a whimpering sound.Oh no, oh no. No, no, no.“I only spent time with her becauseyouasked me to,” he continues. Ya Allah, this is not good.
“She and I wouldn't work,” he says, “butyou and Iwould be happy together. I love you.”
“Youdon’tlove me,” I say, shaking my head. “You merelythinkyou do.”
“I know what I feel,” he replies, voice patient as if I am being silly. He reaches for my hand, and I snatch it back, appalled.
“Don’t touch me,” I warn.
“Yes, yes, I understand, you wish to wait until we're married,” he says. My god, he is full-on delusional!
“Let me say this slowly, so you understand,” I say, voice even. I harden my face. “We will never be married. I do not like you. At all.”
He blinks, confused. “You’re only saying that to play hard to get, and if that is the case, I will say it is working?—”
“Ew! I am not!” I cry.Ugh, as if!“I am desirable enough without such games! I really do not like you and do not know why you would ever think we could be married.”
“Because you encouraged me,” he says, patience thinning. “You constantly sought me out. You called me, and at parties, you would always come over to talk and spend time with me.”
“For Shanzay!” I cry, exasperated. I can’t believe this is happening.
“I could never be interested inher,” he snaps. “She’s a FOB. We aren’t suited at all. Doesn’t her father work in a textile factory?” He shakes his head. “No, I was always interested inyou. You and I would be well suited. We are both from good families, well-educated, well-off individuals.”
“You are a snob and a half.” I make a disgusted face. “I see now that even Shanzay is way too good for you, so how you could even consider me to be in your league proves just how little your brain really is.”
I say this with as much derision and contempt and cruelty as I can, which is a great deal. His eyes flash with anger.
“Now drive me home,” I snap, “and I won’t mention your egregious behavior to Papa. But if you insist on being a total dickhead, I’ll tell Papa a number of things, and he will surely ruin your life.”
I’m not sure how true this threat really is, but it is enough to have Emad take the car out of park and begin driving me home in absolute silence. People always assume rich people can do anything if they set their minds to it, so I’m sure with ample incentive, Papa really could ruin Emad’s life.
Though he would never do such a thing to his sister’s son. God, this will be a mess with Mahum Phuppo later. But for now, all I think about is getting out of this car and to the safety of home.
We make it to my neighborhood shortly, and Emad stops at the end of the street.
He cannot be serious. I fix him with a glare, waiting for him to drop me off in my driveway, all the way down the street, but he avoids my gaze, staring out the window, where snow is falling even heavier than before.
How rude! Men and their pettiness know no bounds.
This only serves to confirm the fact I already know: he doesn't love me, despite his declaration. If he truly loved me, he would never behave in such a manner.
