Page 70 of The Mismatch

In the solitude of her bedroom she allowed herself one small scream. Again, she felt like a caged animal, unable to escape. Even Parvin was on his side. She told Soraya that she needed to be more careful, that she was stupid for being so reckless. There was no sympathy in her texts, and talking to her sister made Soraya feel even more alone. She left Parvin’s most recent message unread; she didn’t have the energy to reply.

Despite the winter chill creeping into her single-glazed bedroom, she was warm in her bed, the back of her neck sticky. She wrapped her heavy hair in a bun, even considered chopping it off with the kitchen scissors. But wouldn’t that be a cliché?

She walked over to her full-length mirror. She had lost weight, her cheekbones jutting out more, and no longer considered this a glamorous attribute. She looked unwell. The bruises on her face had faded into a slight yellow-green. MAC concealer and thick foundation covered them from the outside world. The only person who had seen her injuries was Oliver; they held no secrets from each other.

Sick of her own reflection, she turned off the lights and stared at her dark silhouette. On the bed, her phone vibrated. She grabbed it and answered the call without thinking. Then wished she had considered what she was doing.

‘Hi,’ Magnus said softly.

‘Hi,’ Soraya replied.

‘How come you’re up?’

‘How comeyou’reup?’ Soraya was aware her voice was flat.

‘What’s going on with you?’ His harsh tone made her shut her eyes; they stung from tiredness. Silence lingered. Soraya’s throat tightened.

‘Are you even in Brighton?’ he asked.

Her eyes opened and she flicked the light switch on. ‘Why would you ask that?’

Magnus sighed. She had never heard him so down, so frustrated.And it’s because of me. Not for the first time, she wished she didn’t have the complications that came with her upbringing – or perhaps, rather, that he had the capacity to understand her situation.

‘I’m just …’

‘Just what?’ Magnus asked, holding on to her words.

‘I’m not feeling well.’

‘Oh, come on. Is it us? Are you not into me anymore?’

‘I need to go, I’m sorry.’

Soraya hung up and instantly regretted it. She hoped he’d ring back.

He didn’t.

The connection between Magnus and Soraya was different after her dad hit her. She knew he felt it too. Their texts to each other were less frequent. As well as Muslim guilt there was the danger of being caught again, of being disowned, of her dad’s power over them. It wasn’t just her safety she fearedfor; it was her mum’s. And even Magnus’s. What if her dad told Amir she was seeing a boy? What if they somehow came head to head with Magnus? What if they visited her flat unannounced, only to find him in her bed? The men in her family were unrestrained in both their emotions and their sense of pride. She’d been stupid to think she could have a normal relationship.

Her family catching her with Magnus had become a recurring nightmare. In her dreams Magnus would be in her family house in Brighton. Soraya would try and sneak him out, down the two flights of stairs without waking anyone. She never succeeded and often woke with a start as her dad’s hand came pounding down on her head.

Such thoughts continued for hours, her mind tormenting her with possibilities.

Her relationship with Magnus had gone from an experiment to real, and she’d never truly considered the potential fallout with her family before.

She attempted to write in her diary but her words were jumbled, not full sentences, illegible in places. She looked at her pros and cons list about Magnus. It felt so long ago now since she had made it. She envied her past self for being so clueless as to what was to come. She tucked it under her pillow.

The shrill buzz of her doorbell startled her. It was 2:30 a.m. She tiptoed into the hallway. Despite not actually being asleep, Soraya felt a twitch of irritation at Oliver.

She picked up the intercom receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Soraya?’ It was Magnus.

If it hadn’t been the middle of the night, she would have hung up. She looked down at herself. She had stains on her white T-shirt, and despite the cold she wore shorts. Dark thick hair covered her legs, stubborn and strong. He had never seen her like this.

Her finger hovered over the buzzer.

‘Come on,’ he said softly. She shut her eyes and pressed the door release.