Page 56 of If I Loved You Less
No, he simply loved theideaof me, as so many others did. He did not see me, not really. All he saw was what I could offer him.
I don’t even care. I get out of the car and slam the door. His car pulls away with record speed. I cannot believe he actually left me here, at the end of the street, at night, while it is snowing! In my heels and cashmere cape! (The cape really is cozy, but my shoes will be utterly ruined! And I love this pair.)
As I trudge through the snow, I walk past the Sheikhs’s. I have half a mind to go up and yell at Asif for not giving me a ride back, but think better of it.
I just want to go home and sleep, and that is exactly what I do.
* * *
The next morning, I am in my pajamas, making myself coffee, when Fawad arrives.
“It’s me,” he calls from the foyer. He’s let himself in with the keycode. “I knocked but I don’t think you heard, so I let myself in.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. One sec!” I call back, grabbing a scarf. “Okay, you can come now.”
I pour foamed milk into my latte, then turn to say salaam to him. He gives me a look, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and my stomach drops.
Oh, he is going to scold me. He must have heard about the Emad debacle from Asif.
Damn Naadia. I texted her the rundown of events last night, to which she sent a slew of laughing emojis, and I replied with copious knife emojis. I want to yell at them both.
Actually I don't care about Asif knowing, but I know Fawad is going to be patronizing about it.
“I only know because I asked Asif why on earth you were walking home last night in the snow and he told me,” Fawad prefaces, coming round the counter to face me.
I pout, putting my coffee down. He is angry. He has that scrunched look on his severe face, his lips flat in a frown.
A lecture is forthcoming. I know he will say I deserve this for all my meddling, and he will be right, which is worse.
“I know it’s a mess,” I start, “but will you at least hear my piece before you start scolding?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Well I’m going to say it anyway.” I throw my hands up. “I didn’t know he liked me!”
“You pride yourself on how well you perceive people, yet you scarcely see things!” he says, tone condescending and cruel. I frown.
“Why are you yelling at me?” I whine. “I didn’t even do anything!”
I abandon my coffee and exit to the family room, which is much brighter and open. Outside the windows, the backyard is covered in a blanket of white snow. I want to dive in and hide away, but there’s no hiding from Fawad as he follows me, long legs stalking purposefully.
“Humaira,” he says, voice exasperated. “You have no idea just how many boys are obsessed with you! And you callously make fools of them all!”
“What do you care, anyways?” I snap, whirling around. He’s right behind me and the motion puts me eye-level with his throat. I lift my chin to glare at him. “Don’t tell me you are one of those fools.”
Emotion floods his eyes – anger, and something else. He stares down at me, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. My heart ricochets against my chest, erratic and unsure.
“No.” He sets his jaw. “I thank God every day that I am not.”
He steps closer, but I do not back down. We are hardly a few inches away now. If I took a deep inhale, we might be touching. A chaotic little voice dares me to do it.
I hold my breath. Even so, I can feel the heat of his skin seeping in the thin gap of space between us. I want to lean into it.
His gaze flicks to my mouth, so quick I think I have imagined it – then with a final glance, he exits the room.
The instant he does, cold air washes over me. I shiver.
He slams the front door shut, and I hear his groan of frustration just outside it.
