Page 79 of If I Loved You Less
The next morning, I feel unaligned.
After Fajr, I can’t fall asleep despite having only slept a few hours. I got home late last night, after the wedding celebrations, but I’m not tired. I’m wide awake.
I lounge on the chaise in my bedroom, one of Mama’s shawls wrapped around my shoulders. I am turned backwards to look out the window to my backyard, to see the line of full green trees, the steady trickle of the waterfall into the pond. I watch the sun inch across the sky, dawn spreading its wings to paint the sky pink.
I am ... thinking.
Of him, though I do not wish to admit it. I hope he is mine, for I fear I am already his. And the thought unnerves me. Can it be true? Is that what this is?
It is wholly unexpected. I am ill-prepared, and thus do not know what to do, what to think.
Is he thinking of me? I wish I could see him, though at the same time, I wish to never see him again.
I am pulled from my thoughts at the sound of the doorbell ringing. I sit up, the shawl slipping from my shoulders. I wait, and there it is again.
Who could it be, this early on a Sunday morning?
I put a scarf on and go to answer, bare feet on the cool morning floors, and gasp at who it is.
“Shanzay!” I cry. Her leg is wrapped in a cast. But that isn’t all. She is with —“Rizwan! What on earth happened?”
“Humaira, I’ve had such a night,” Shanzay says, limping inside with her crutches. Rizwan is carrying her coat and purse. I motion them to the living room, where I help Shanzay lay down. I turn to grab a blanket for her, but Rizwan has beaten me to it.
After I’ve gotten her water, and she looks comfortable enough, and I am positively bursting to know the details, she continues the story.
“After the wedding, I got into an accident,” she says. “It was literally crazy. Rizwan was driving by?—”
“Ohmygod!”
“I left something at the hall, and I thought I recognized the car and the person on the stretcher,” Rizwan adds.
“I didn’t have anybody to call – I thought of calling you,” she says, before I ask.
“But I said not to bother you,” Rizwan says.
“So he went with me to the hospital,” Shanzay continues, looking at Rizwan, eyes wide with gratitude. “It was so awful, but Rizwan stayed the whole time. Thank you, again. Really.”
“It was nothing,” Rizwan says.
“It was not nothing,” Shanzay insists to me, then turns to him. “I seriously owe you. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to deal with all of that alone. I’ve never been in an accident before.”
“Shanzay’s right,” I say to Rizwan. “That was really sweet of you. Truly commendable. And thank you for bringing her here.”
“I didn’t want her to be alone,” Rizwan says.
“Aw, Rizwan,” I say, overcome with gratitude, as well. “You’re so kind. A real knight in shining armor.”
Distracted by the commotion and emotions, I did not notice someone else slipping through the open, unlocked door. Shanzay’s gaze focuses on a figure behind me.
“Fawad, you’re here, too!” Shanzay exclaims.
I startle, whirling around. My heart kickstarts as if I’ve run a mile.
What is he doing here? So early?
He looks as if he has slept even less than I, and is still in his clothes from last night. His tie is still pinned straight, his blazer and slacks not the least bit slovenly. The only part of him disheveled is his hair, sticking in all directions, as if he’s run his hands through them dozens of times.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, feeling unsteady.
