Page 98 of If I Loved You Less
He takes out Earl Gray for me and breakfast blend for himself, turning the kettle on. The roar of water boiling crescendos, steam pouring out of the kettle until it finally quiets with a steady bubble of water.
“I wanted to apologize,” I say, as he pours the water into teacups over the bags. He sets them under a tea cozy to brew.
“For what?” he asks, taking out milk, sugar, and honey.
“What I said the other day.”
He blinks, then his lips part as he remembers.
“It’s alright,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”
He really seems unbothered by what I said, when I thought he might hate me. I watch as he makes our teas, taking the teabags out, adding milk to both, then sugar to mine and honey to his. He hands me my mug, giving me a small smile.
Relief warms my chest, and I take a sip of my tea, which is perfect. He sips his as well, leaning back against the kitchen counter, facing me.
“It was still ... rude,” I say tentatively. A smile tugs at his lips, and he shakes his head. “What?” I ask, confused.
“I—” He breaks off. “Nothing.”
He steps forward, leaning against the island. His face is somber, and he takes his glasses off to run a hand over his eyes, then slips the glasses back on. “I have been greedy with your father, and it’s true, what you said, that my own is never around.”
He swallows, struggling with the words as a muscle tics in his jaw.
“The harsher truth,” he continues, “is that my father has never loved me the way your papa loves you, or even how Mahmud Uncle loves me.”
His eyes are open with sadness. My heart splinters for him.
“It is why I am always in such a mood when they visit,” he says. “My parents have been separated for years, but even before then, it was always a loveless marriage.”
My mouth drops. “I didn’t know,” I say, dumbfounded. “I never?—”
“Good,” Fawad says. “I’ve always tried to protect Asif from it. I’m sure if he knew, Naadia would, too, and you would, as well.”
“You did a good job,” I say, quietly. To not only endure witnessing his parents in a loveless marriage, but to protect his younger brother from it. It hurts to look at him, but I do not look away. “Fawad, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” he says. “It’s why they stay in Pakistan: they both have their own social circles, and it is easier to avoid one another.” His focus shifts to his teacup. “Actually, I was the one who told them to go, after I graduated college. Things were getting worse, and I couldn’t bear it any longer.”
I want to reach out and hold his hand, but I do not. Instead, my grip on my teacup tightens.
“It’s why Asif and I are so close,” he says, smiling at me now, “and why I am always over at your house. Your papa has always treated me with kindness. He has reminded me that there is love in this world.” He pauses, his hand fidgeting. “At times, I must confess I thought myself incapable of love, just like my father. We are so alike, you know.”
You are not incapable, I want to say, but I do not interrupt.
“Asif is different because he never knew how cruel my parents were to one another, so he grew up with hope,” he says. “But from a young age, I saw there was no love between my parents, so I never believed in it.” He laughs, looking at me. “It is blasphemy, to you, I know, but I always thought love to be one of those cosmic things, happening to a few, never to happen to me. I’ve discussed it at length with my therapist, and I think I’m starting to realize that that isn’t true.”
He pauses, as if contemplating exactly what to say next, and if he should say it or not. I look at him expectantly, taking in the sight of his dark hair, falling over his forehead, the slant of his nose, the curve of his lips. He is so beautiful; I could spend all day staring at him.
“I never used to believe,” he says. Something in his expression changes. He leans closer, voice soft. “But you made me believe, Humaira. Youmakeme believe.”
Time slows, then stops entirely.
My breath catches. I abruptly stand, teacup clinking on the table as I release it.
“I must go,” I whisper. I cannot hear this, whatever it is he’s going to say.
He’ll tell me he is in love—with Shanzay—and I cannot bear to hear it.
Tears flood my eyes. I quickly blink them away as I rush to the front door. I step outside just as he reaches me.
