Page 21 of If I Loved You Less
“You work every day, you crazy lady,” Naadia reminds me, shaking my arms back.
“I could work from home! I am nothing if not a dedicated khala.”
“My unborn child appreciates the enthusiasm. But still no.”
“Oh, come on! You know Papa is dying to be a grandfather. I’m sure it’ll even make him like Asif again.”
We both laugh. “I don’t think anything will make him like Asif again.”
“A baby might,” I sing-song. “Papa always says the best part of his life was when I was a baby and you were a toddler.”
“You mean when we would both be up screaming and crying all night long?” Naadia would always respond when Papa said that. Papa would sigh wistfully.
“How I miss those days.”
He preferred it to our teenage years, which were quite angsty, particularly on the part of Miss Naadia. I mean, she went as far as to get a nose piercing, despite Papa’s express dislike for it. (The piercing is gone now, but it was a wild six-month period.)
“Imagine if the baby looks like Asif, though?” Naadia says, eyes widening. “Papa wouldn’t be able to cope.”
“You’re right about that,” I say, grimacing at the thought. “Best to hold off, then.”
“The man is crazy.”
“That he is,” I agree. But we adore him anyway. “I am going to go find some chocolate,” I tell Naadia, going toward the pantry, but as I approach, I hear hushed voices.
Perhaps I should not eavesdrop, but then I hear a familiar voice and cannot resist.
“She seems like a perfectly nice girl, but I’m afraid the friendship will only play to Humaira’s vanity,” Fawad is saying. I inch closer, brows furrowed.
“Surely a few compliments will not corrupt our dear Humaira,” Phuppo replies, voice light.
“It’s not that,” Fawad argues. “Humaira has always been the most clever and most beautiful girl in the room, but her vanity lies elsewhere. Shanzay will play into that vanity, and I’m worried it’ll cause harm.”
“I disagree,” Phuppo replies. “Even if Shanzay feeds her vanity, I think it is good for Humaira to have a companion close by.” She pauses. “Humaira is lonely, Fawad, more so than she will ever let on, even to me—lonelier than you could imagine.”
There’s a quiet pause. Then Fawad’s voice, soft and sad, “Trust me, I can imagine.”
An emotion I do not wish to identify skims through me, followed by shadowed thoughts I do not wish to see the true shape of.
Not wanting to hear any more, I retreat, back to Naadia.
“No chocolate?” she asks, frowning. I shake my head.
“Tell me about rotations,” I say, forcing my face and voice to brighten. “Wasn’t someone having an affair with the attending? What happened with that?”
“Ohmygod, I didn’t tell you? It’s the wildest thing…” She launches into a story I eagerly lose myself to until a little while later, Phuppo’s voice carries throughout the house.
“Everyone, please come eat!” Phuppo says, calling us to where the food is arranged. As everyone gathers around the buffet, Phuppo comes over to me and puts an arm around my shoulder, pulling me a little to the side.
“He isn't coming,” she whispers.
My heart sinks. I know who she is referring to, and while I had told myself not to get my hopes up, I am still disappointed, more so than I should be.
What a waste of a good outfit.
“Who?” Naadia asks, confused. She was standing right beside me and heard.
“Rizwan,” Phuppo whispers. I blink rapidly, swallowing the lump in my throat. I know it is silly, but there’s another chance at love struck down.
