Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating(12)
Humaira sighs. For a moment, I think she won’t even tell me what kind of help she’s looking for, because she just looks around herself. Like she’s trying to kill time, or find an excuse or something. I’m just about to tell her to either hurry up and get on with it or hang up the damn phone when she finally starts speaking.
“Look. Before I tell you, I just want you to know that this is a weird situation and I just thought of you because … I talked to you at your locker the other day, and … in the moment, I couldn’t think of literally anyone else.”
“Okay …” I have to admit that she has piqued my curiosity, even if I am a little offended at how much she emphasized “literally anyone else.”
She takes a deep breath and says, “So … yesterday I kind of came out to my friends.”
“Oh.” That certainly isn’t what I was expecting. She doesn’t seem happy to be sharing this news with me, either. She rubs at her arms and stares downward.
“Yeah … it didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. They were … really dismissive. I told them I was bisexual and they basically said I couldn’t be because, well, I’ve never kissed a girl.”
“Okay …”
“Well, so. I had to tell them that I have kissed a girl, because … y’know.”
“Right …” My piqued curiosity has turned into a kind of cold anxiety. Because I’m afraid I know exactly where Humaira is going with this.
“So I told them that we’re together,” she finishes off in a rush. “They already found it weird that we were kind of talking in biology, and I guess there was like a weirdly pixelated version of half of you in one of my Instagram photos from last weekend at that dawat, so it was just like … the natural conclusion, and now—”
“You want us to stage an elaborate breakup?” I offer, already knowing that’s not what she’s asking me.
“More like … an elaborate relationship, followed by a breakup?” She’s looking at me with so much hope sparkling in her that I almost—almost—feel bad about the fact that I’m going to crush her.
“You realize that this would be the most complicated thing ever?” I ask. “Have you even considered the implications? We would have to come out to the school, to our families, to the community! It’s a big ask, Humaira.”
“You can call me Maira,” she mumbles.
“I do not want to call you Maira.” I sigh. “Look. I’m sorry your friends are assholes, but … I can’t help you. I’m not out to my parents yet.”
“I didn’t know you were—”
“Yeah. Because you didn’t think about me, or how pretending to be in a queer relationship would affect me, right?”
Humaira at least has the decency to look embarrassed. She shakes her head and says, “I’m sorry. I should have … thought about it more. I was just …” I can hear a waver in her voice. “My parents are so accepting of my sexuality and my friends were … awful. I guess I was just so overcome with how terrible I was feeling. I didn’t really think—”
“Whatever.” I cut her off. Humaira is the kind of girl who definitely thinks she’ll get what she wants by turning on the waterworks. Her friends are, after all, white feminists. “If that’s all, I have to go. I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet.”
“Okay … bye. Have a good—”
I hang up before she can finish. Leaning back on my bed, I heave the kind of deep sigh of relief that makes the bed reverberate. Dating Humaira Khan, or even pretending to, would have been … a lot. I’m not even sure why her friends would believe for a moment that it’s actually true. We’re so different.
Too different.
chapter seven
ishu
AMMU AND ABBU ARE QUIETLY ANGRY FOR THE WHOLE weekend. I know I should broach the subject of Nik and her boyfriend (fiancé?) with them, especially since Nik keeps texting me day in and day out to see what the situation is. But after seeing their anger, I decide to leave it for a bit. Maybe in a few days they’ll calm down enough for me to try and put in a good word. Though I’m not even sure what I could say to warm them to the idea of their apple-of-the-eye daughter going against everything they’ve worked for by dropping out of university.
The only good thing to come of it all is that Abbu and Ammu have started to pay more attention to me all of a sudden. They both take the day off from work on Sunday so that we can sit down to have lunch together.
“I’m sure the news from Nik has got you thinking,” Ammu says midway through our meal of rice, chicken curry, and daal. I knew it was coming but it doesn’t stop my heart from plunging into my stomach with nerves. Ammu speaks slowly, like she’s really picking her words. “We just want to make sure you know that sometimes … people make mistakes like this.”
“When they’re young and think they’re in love.” Abbu sighs like the very idea of love is preposterous. “There are more important things than love, Ishu. Or what young people think is love.”
“You can’t survive on love,” Ammu adds. “You survive on security. Money. A good job. And with that everything else will come too: happiness and love and a family.”