Page 21 of The Love Match

Throughout dinner, our parents endup devising a master plan: every Friday for the foreseeable future, Harun and I will have dinner together, either with our families or accompanied by another chaperone, until the two of us concede that we’re head over heels for each other like they’ve predicted.

“This is likeGilmore Girls, but way more Austenian and miserable,” I lament in a whisper to Harun from the passenger seat of his car. I didn’t complain when he volunteered to drive us home again or when he asked me and Amma if he could talk to me for a minute after everyone else stepped out of the car, so I could reserve all my protests till we had more privacy. “Except Rory got to have like three epic romances and free tuition. If that isn’t white privilege, I don’t know what is.”

Harun side-eyes me like I’ve grown two heads, the absolute heathen. It reinforces for the umpteenth time that the two of us aren’t meant to be, but Amma arches both of her brows at me from the sidewalk, amusement in her brown eyes. Shedoesn’t lurk to eavesdrop, prodding my siblings into the house. I squint up at the first-floor window but don’t catch sight of the landlady, either.

We’re totally alone.

“You know, my mother’s going to become president of the Team Zahrun Fan Club if we give her reasons to think we’re madly in love,” I complain.

“Team Zahrun?” His brows pinch together in deliberation. “Sounds too much like the Bengali word for ‘broom.’?”

“Well, we’re trying not to be romantic,” I remind him. “What’s less romantic than cleaning supplies?”

Harun ignores me to drop his head onto the steering wheel, one hand reaching up to roll the blue glass beads of the tasbih hung around the rearview through his fingers. I can’t see his face, so I don’t know if he’s repeating zikirs under his breath like I sometimes do to help myself calm down, but he looks utterly defeated. Even hiscurlsare droopy and dejected. I have to ball my fists in my lap to avoid patting his back.

“Are you okay?” I ask instead.

He sighs. “This is messed up. I know I should go back home and tell them no. They’d never actuallyforceme.”

Neither would my mother, but I can almost hear thebutthat’s about to follow, and decide to voice what he hasn’t. “But you don’t want to upset them.”

Harun removes his hand from the tasbih and shakes his head without lifting it from the steering wheel. “I’m about to go to college and I want to do it on good terms, not have theshadow of this over our heads for the next couple of months, or worse, when I bring home a girl I actually like.”

Once again, it’s as if we’re reading each other’s minds. Our lives couldn’t be more different, but I completely get that feeling of not wanting to upset your parents. I can’t shake the image of Amma smiling so happily for the first time in such a long time.

“It might be best to tear the bandage off fast… but I don’t like the idea of letting my mom down either,” I say. “I’ve worked so hard to avoid exactly that since my dad died, and Amma… she’s been killing herself trying to give my siblings and me everything she thinks losing him took from us.”

Tonight’s matchmaking is yet another misguided attempt at that.

Harun lifts his head up at last. “Shit, sorry, Khan, I didn’t mean—” I wave my hand to dispel his unease, but he keeps giving me that kicked-puppy look I’ve seen on too many faces since Baba passed.

“I can’t ever understand everything you’re going through,” he murmurs instead, “but I know how you feel about your mom. My parents are the reason I have everything I do. I know it wasn’t easy for them, starting over in a new country.” His eyes catch and hold mine. “I respect them,” he says simply, “and you respect her.”

I nod.

It’s astounding how much this boy gets me. We could go home and outright tell our parents no, but perhaps there’s away for Harun and me to navigate this that will end with the fewest broken hearts and future matchmaking attempts. Perhaps by pretending to go along with what she wants, I can even leverage my efforts to guilt-trip Amma and minimize any future disappointment on her part when she learns I’m planning to study writing next year, after all.

Perhaps…

“Give me your phone!”

“What?” Harun’s forehead scrunches in bemusement. “Why?”

“Don’t worry,” I reply. “It’sjustso we can figure out how to get out of this on the down low. Your heart is safe with me, robot boy.”

I try to keep my tone light and teasing, but nerves gnaw at my stomach. With so many people and feelings involved, we might screw things up worse if we’re not careful.

He shoves a hand into his pocket and produces a smartphone despite his bewilderment. “Jeez, you’re so pushy. Has the princess thing gone to your head?”

Glowering, I snatch the phone out of his hand and inspect the device. It’s one of the newer models, so big I have to grasp it in both palms, with a shiny screen nearly as broad as a tablet’s and a plain black silicone case around it. Even his lock screen is one of the default northern lights live wallpapers that come with the phone.

He’s like a stock photo brought to life, I swear.

“There.” My fingers move rapidly as I input my info into hiscontacts and send a text to my own refurbished phone. “You’re in, robot boy. Or do you prefer lizard boy? Frog prince?”

“Haha,” he deadpans. “You’re a regular Mindy Kaling.”

But a hint of a dimple flashes at me, and when I notice him changing my name toPrincessin his contacts, I find that I don’t mind. If we’re going to be dealing with this together, I guess it’s only fair that we have code names.

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