Page 77 of If I Loved You Less
I pull back to smile at him. We are nearly in an embrace, but we do not touch. My skin is warm from dancing, and something else, my heart beating exhilaratingly fast.
I lean back and shake my head, before motioning him forward. “What a terrible bore!” I shout in his ear. He laughs, shaking his head.
“You look like you were having fun, though,” he says, not quite screaming anymore. I lean back, looking at his face, looking at his smile. His dark eyes gleam with amusement and fondness.
“Were you watching me very closely, then?” I ask. The smile vanishes, replaced by a nervous knit of his brows.
“N-No, I wasn’t.” He looks away.
I frown. “I find it vexing when people cannot meet my eyes,” I tell him, furrowing my brows. “Am I so intimidating? Or just too beautiful?” The latter is said with mock arrogance.
It isn’t that I consider shyness to be a fault, but it is the looking away that I find entirely annoying.
He fixes me with the full heat of his gaze, and for a moment, it is I who wishes to look away. But I stand my ground, a chill running through me. I swallow.
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“It is not that, though surely you know you are excessively beautiful,” he says, and a thrill runs through me. “It is your soul. You are brimming to the surface with it.” My breath catches at the compliment, the words scoring on my heart. “Of course, people are free to admire you when you do not notice, but the moment you fix your gaze on them, it is frightening, and the intensity of your gaze is what forces their eyes away like a sudden burst of sunshine, painful and bright.”
Very purposefully, he does not look away as he speaks. He clenches his jaw; I can tell he is nervous – but he is brave, too.
He looks at me with open wonder, eyes wide with awe, unflinching and mesmerized.
My heartbeat matches the fast pace of the music beating through the wedding hall.
“I am beautiful,” I agree, not knowing what else to say. I suddenly stand, clearing my throat. “And ready for more dancing. Do not stare unless you wish to join me.”
I join Naadia and Sadaf back on the dance floor, dancing to Bollywood music, doing some steps from the dances Sadaf and I learned for Naadia’s wedding, then some from the dances for Phuppo’s wedding. We’ve forgotten half of it, but we dance until my legs hurt and my cheeks hurt from laughing.
We teach Carlos’s Chilean family some desi steps, and when the music shifts from Lollywood to Latin music, his family returns the favor and teaches us how to sway our hips and turn.
Naadia genuinely cannot move for the life of her, which makes me and Sadaf absolutely lose it laughing. We double over, clutching our stomachs, but Naadia is unabashed, continuing on. I take her hands and we twirl and twirl, the world a beautiful blur.
From the corner of my eye, I can feel Fawad watching. I risk a glance his way as I turn, and he smiles at me, unashamed.
An electric jolt runs through me. I feel at once over energized and faint.
Maybe it’s time to go. I’m not particularly interested in staying too late. Naadia will stay until the end with Sadaf, and Shanzay seems to be enjoying her time with Madiha.
So I say goodbye to everyone, hugging and kissing goodbye.
“You’re leaving already?” Sadaf asks, holding onto my hands.
“Cinderella must go!” I tell her with a laugh. She blows me a final kiss as I walk off the dance floor, smiling to myself. Fawad watches me, and when I near him, he stands.
“I’m heading out, too,” Fawad says, setting his drink down. “We can walk out together.”
I nod, and after the last goodbyes, we grab our coats and make our way out of the hall, away from the noise. Outside, I hand my card to the valet, waiting for my car to be brought around. Fawad stands with me, waiting his turn.
After the loud wedding, the silence is intoxicating. I tip my head back to drink in the night sky, staring at the luminous stars, twinkling down at me like glittering specks of snow.
My jacket hangs loosely on my shoulders, and a chill runs through me from the cold night air. Fawad looks as if he is about to comment, but I point to the sky before he can.
“Orion’s Belt,” I say, drawing out the constellation with my forefinger. “Big Dipper ... Cassiopeia.” I sigh. “That’s all I know.”
I turn, waiting for him to point out more, but he’s looking at me with an awed and amused look on his face. He holds up his hands.
“I don’t know any constellations,” he admits. I am positively shocked.
