Page 5 of The Mismatch

He shook it.

‘It fucking hurts, too.’ He laughed then. The sound rang hollow. He locked his gaze with hers for a moment, and in the sunlight his eyes looked deep brown, striking. ‘I feel like a knob, I didn’t know anyone was here.’

The compulsion to tell him she understood was overwhelming. Because she did. She knew all about disappointing parents. Knew how even though you expected them to let you down, it still felt like your insides were being shovelled out when they did. You should never let yourself hope when it comes to a parent like that, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.

‘You didn’t hear any of that, did you?’

‘No,’ she said, and pressed her lips together to stop herself from saying anything else.

‘I’m not the only one that’s bleeding.’ He looked at her finger, where a bright red streak of blood was oozing from her fingernail.

She hadn’t realised she had pulled it again. During her time at university, when her anxiety worsened, she had learnt to accept that the skin by her nails would always be sore. That washing her hands would have to hurt due to the damage she was unconsciously inflicting on them.

Unlike her friends and peers, studying English Literature did not come naturally to Soraya. She enjoyed it; her own life was so staid at times, so rowdy at others, that being transported into detective stories, happy-ever-after romances, intense literary fiction and epic historical novels, was more of a need for her than a pastime. Their love of romances was one of the few things she and her mum had in common. But none of this meant Soraya was academically gifted. She had to work twice as hard to get worse grades than students who wrote their essays in one stint the night before. For this if for no other reason, she was glad university was over.

She shrugged. ‘Weird.’

‘What’s your name again?’ he asked, even though she knew he already knew. They were Facebook friends; he had occasionally liked her photos, which she found odd. He was a popular rugby player, and she was a quiet nobody, who admittedly dressed very well. He knew, but was doing the typical male thing of pretending he didn’t. She might never have had a boyfriend before, but she knew what guys were like.

‘Soraya, and you’re … ?’

He narrowed his eyes at her, still cradling his hand. Up close, she noticed his dark eyebrows almost met in the middle. She thought if anyone else had let their hair grow in this way it might look unattractive, unkempt, but perhaps it was the fact that this was a deliberate move that made it work for him.

‘Magnus,’ he said. ‘We had seminars together.’

‘I thought you didn’t know who I was?’

He shook his head and a glimmer of a smile traced his lips, but it was obvious he was distracted, his mind on other concerns. ‘I guess I did.’

There was a short silence, in which neither of them made any moves to leave.

He cleared his throat before asking, ‘You had a good summer, then?’

She had spent it between London and Brighton, and on the whole it had been unremarkable, her sleep pattern worrying. Most days she woke at 1 p.m. or 2 p.m. and spent the day applying for jobs in between Netflix TV show marathons.

‘It was OK. Didn’t do much to be honest. How about you?’

‘I started a new job a few months ago, so have been working all summer. Anything to not move back home.’ He shuddered at the thought, and she laughed.

‘Yeah, I really don’t want to go back home for good.’

They looked at each other for a moment, and despite the fact that they were both now joking, smiles on their faces, she noticed the sadness in his eyes remained. She wondered if he was seeing the same thing in her eyes that she saw in his. Shethought so, because he gave her a smaller, soft smile, as though in acknowledgement.

Her phone pinged.

Parvin:We’re walking up now.

‘Oh, my family are here. I’ve got to go. See you later, I guess.’

She turned away and rounded the corner to see her mum, brother and sister making their slow way towards her. She power-walked over to them, getting away from Magnus to prevent any meeting of the two worlds she had endeavoured for so long to keep separate: her university life and her home life.

The first thing she noticed was Parvin’s figure-hugging dress. It was calf-length, so didn’t show any flesh that could be deemed incriminating by the men in their family, but still outdid Soraya’s. Not because the dress was particularly nice but because Parvin was Parvin. She was blessed with a flat stomach, big bottom and tiny waist – a Betty Boop body type only she could be gifted with. Today, her long bleached-brown hair was curled into beachy waves, and Soraya noticed boys and girls checking out her sister.

Despite being twins, Parvin and Amir looked starkly different, which was exactly what Parvin wanted. Amir’s thick shiny almost-black hair was slicked back, which served to emphasise his slightly receding hairline. His beard was sharp and well groomed, giving his face a chiselled quality.

Her mum resembled a mother hen, standing between her unruly children, her hijab sharp and floral-patterned, matching her yellow A-line coat.

‘Where’s Dad?’ Soraya asked, noticing an absence in the group. In actual fact there were two absences, but only one was spoken about.