Page 60 of If I Loved You Less
The house creaks again. I gasp, a little scream escaping my lips.
“What is it?” Papa asks, alarmed. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” I say quickly. “I watched a scary movie with Shanzay so I am just a little jumpy and can’t sleep, that’s all.”
“Beta, you know you shouldn’t watch those movies,” Papa tsks. “You have no stomach for them.”
“I know, I know, I’ll be more careful next time.”
“Go drink some warm milk with honey,” Papa instructs. “You’ll fall asleep in no time.”
But that would require going downstairs. After hanging up the phone, I contemplate what to do, and after about fifteen minutes of debating, I decide some action is better than none.
I get out of bed and edge towards my door, opening it slowly. I know it’s silly, and of course the house is just as safe as it is every other night, but I am thoroughly spooked and must take my precautions.
The coast clear, I run down the stairs and dash to the kitchen, where the lights are thankfully still on. I am just pouring honey into a mug of milk when I hear something.
At first, I imagine it is the house settling, but then the noise grows louder.
It’s the front door. Opening.
I hold my breath, waiting for Papa to call out salaam like he always does, but his voice never comes. I still.
I wonder if I should call out, then think better of it. Heart beating fast, I tip-toe to the knife drawer and pull out the biggest knife we have.
This is ridiculous, I tell myself. Who would be stupid enough to attempt robbing us!
“If you’re a robber, I kindly suggest you leave right this instant,” I call out, trying to keep my tone level and confident. “We have a very proficient security system installed with cameras recording your every move, and the police have already been notified. If you leave now, you might be able to escape.” I swallow the lump in my throat, knees shaky. “Besides, most of the valuables are in the bank.” A horrible thought strikes me. “And I am very ugly!”
I hold my breath, ready to throw up.
Then, the most befuddling thing happens: I hear laughter. Laughter!
“I must agree with the last bit,” a voice says.
You have got to be joking me.
All the fear vanishes. Within me brews a deadly concoction of relief and anger, and my eyes well with tears.
“Don't come over here!” I yell, when I hear him growing closer. “I’m indecent.”
Letting him marinate with that image for a moment, I go to find a scarf hanging in the pantry and throw it on to cover my hair. When I go to meet Fawad in the foyer, his cheeks are suspiciously pink, and he is staring intently at his shoes.
I look for something to throw at him but can find nothing.
“Just a second,” I say, heading to my shoe closet. I take out a pair of loafers and throw one at his back.
“Ow!” he cries, turning around just in time to get hit in the chest with the other. “Hey!”
(I don’t feel bad because they’re Gucci and thus very soft leather.)
“I cannot believe you would frighten me like that,” I say, giving him my deadliest glare, though the effect is rather lost as he takes in the sight of my matching flannel pajamas, decorated with candy-canes. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?” I demand, then remember he knows our keycode. Drat.
“Uncle called and told me to check on you,” Fawad says, rubbing his chest where I hit him. Hm, he has a rather solid chest. Noted. “And I know the keycode, in case of emergencies. Such as this.”
“Papa called you?” I repeat, fingers pressing into my throat. My pulse races against my palm. He nods.
Papa must really trust him, or he would never have asked Fawad to check on me at such an hour. I am still a girl, and he is still a boy, and we are both alone in this great big house. I’m not even wearing a bra, for God’s sake! Remembering such a detail, I surreptitiously cross my arms across my chest.
