Page 94 of If I Loved You Less
I do not mind, it does not usually bother me, but sometimes it just makes me sad. As if no one will ever trulyknowme, will never trulyseeme.
Perhaps all I am is a glossy veneer, shiny and polished, to cover the coarser truths hidden just beneath the surface.
Perhaps we are all veneers – is that why I cannot seem to fall in love? Because I crave something that cuts deep, right to the bone, and no one can give it to me?
Or can someone?a voice in my mind teases.
The day passes in a wretched blur, and the weather fits my mood: cold and gray. I listen to sad music to further cement my miserable mood as I go to the dry cleaner’s to pick up Papa’s clothes after work.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have anything for Mahmud Mirza,” the girl tells me. I frown. That’s strange. I always pick up Papa’s clothes on the last Monday of the month.
“Did he not drop anything off?” I ask. The girl shrugs.
I head back to the car, driving quite slowly on my way home, something unsettling within me.
Did Papa change his routine without telling me? I do not see why he would. Unless he wishes to keep me even further from him.
He has been terribly distant since I caught a cold after the wedding, which is not what I wanted at all. It isn’t that he is angry with me, but it’s like he no longer has use of me, and so I scarcely see him. In the morning, he makes his own coffee, and I feel like he’s abandoning me.
But I am too worried about Rizwan to focus on Papa, just yet.
Am I being ungrateful if I refuse Rizwan? Do I think too highly of myself in imagining that I deserve true love?
Or perhaps I am just plain stupid, and what I seek does not exist.
What can be done? In matters of the heart, you cannot push, and I cannot accept defeat.
If I am hopeless, what is left? A life of gray.
I will not give up on love. I would rather be miserable than hopeless.
Mist rolls across the horizon, as haunting as I feel, as I pull into a coffee shop parking lot. More, I always want more; I am insatiable, never satisfied, never content.
Does it have to do with those encounters and memories and feelings with a certain someone that I have locked away? There is something in the back of my mind, a hidden box that I dare not open for fear of what will come out if I do – for fear ofwhowill come out, to be more precise. Here is something – someone – that perhaps could not be mine.
I head into the cafe to grab a scone and tea, cold raindrops wetting my cheeks and eyes. I sit inside, sipping my tea, watching the rain fall. The sky is parchment white, the trees a subdued green and brown.
People pass by, students and parents and toddlers and lovers and old couples. I watch them, smiling warmly on instinct if our eyes meet. It unnerves me to see how well I can play pretend. I am afraid I will spend my whole life in pretense.
What is to be done?
Rizwan is great, there is no doubting that, but am I a fool for wantingmore? Am I a fool to wait?
I am afraid if I refuse him, I will lose this chance. He is so close to all I desire – perhaps time together will bring the rest. Will I regret refusing him if I do? I know marriage is a choice you make every day – that once you choose someone to marry, you must keep choosing to love them every day, despite difficulties that might arise - but the first time you choose someone should surely be the easiest, not the hardest, right?
I cannot come to a decision, so I drive home.
Perhaps a hot shower will help.
When I return home, Papa’s car is already there. I unlock the front door, and as I enter, I hear the sound of laughter – his and another’s – coming from the office. Heading to the door, I say, “Salaam.”
It’s Fawad in there with Papa. He looks at me quickly, returning my greeting, then looks back to Papa, who is not being exactly warm, either.
Something in me unravels, but I haphazardly push it back in place. I stay in the doorframe, not entering.
“I went to pick up your dry-cleaning,” I say. “There wasn’t any. Did you forget to drop it off?” My tone is gentle, bright.
“I switched places, did I not tell you?” Papa says, not looking up from his papers. “Fawad brought it for me.”
