Page 27 of The Love Match

When I text Harun about kicking Operation Zahrun into motion, he replies,I think I can handle this one, princess, and doesn’t bother to elaborate.

Fine, but you owe me if this backfires, robot boy,I concede, though I hate not being in charge.

The twins snoop on his social media with me, and we discover from Snapchat that he’s part of some prestigious summer robotics program. I can’t begrudge it when it means our parents have no way to throw us together any day other than Friday.

Nayim walks me home every night—always at a distance.

He even starts carrying treats for the stray cat—who he names Thara, because of how its yellow eyes gleam like stars in its inky face—so it will trot after us and give him an Auntie Approved™ excuse to ramble the entire time.

I guard my heart at first, simply listening, but by the thirdnight, I can’t help spilling my guts in return. I complain about the hoops Harun and I have to jump through, how frustrating it’s been that I can’t help my family enough on my own so we wouldn’t need to degrade ourselves with these dates, how my dreams of writing and college feel at once so close and so very far.

He listens to every word like nothing else matters.

Friday arrives once more, and with it, Date Number One.

Just like the last two dinners with the Emons, Amma fusses with my clothes, hair, and makeup until we leave for their house, but this time, Nanu comes along for moral support, asserting that she should get to know the Emons before things go any further. Tonight, our hosts are waiting for us at the doorstep, a bearded man standing at Harun’s side.

I scowl at my mother. “What now? Did you hire an imam to marry us off?”

“I don’t know,” she replies, and then, at my disbelieving squint, “Allahr duai! Your khala mentioned something extra special tonight, but I didn’t think to ask her what.”

“Uh-huh.”

I narrow my eyes, recalling the last time Amma and her new bestie planned something “special.” But she doesn’t appear to be lying. Arif and Nanu are equally boggled by this turn of events, while Resna’s tiny head bobs back and forth between us all.

I return my wary gaze to the Emons, making my way carefully up the stone pathway to join them. Upon closer inspection, the bearded man next to Harun is just another boy.He must be no more than a year or two older than us, though the beard makes him look more mature.

He sizes up our family over a long nose, through steely eyes as dark as Harun’s, before greeting us extra formally. “Assalamualaikum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh.”

I glower at my date.What the hell?

Harun shrugs as his mother takes the initiative to explain. “Surprise! We thought it might be time for you two to get to know each other a little more privately, but of course we can’t do that without a proper chaperone, can we?”

Amma has the decency to look gobsmacked. “Privately?”

“Don’t you fuss, Zaynab,” Pushpita Khala continues. “Hanif is my bhagna, Harun’s cousin by my sister. He may only be nineteen, but he’s already a hafiz who can recite the Quran cover to cover and would be the perfect chaperone to ensure that the children get to know each other without anything untoward happening. Harun asked Hanif to accompany you, in fact, Zahra.”

My eyes jump to Harun, who has the nerve to smirk.

Oh! So his cousin Hanif must be in on Operation Zahrun somehow. I turn back to scan the older boy. He wears a severe frown that does little to imply he’ll go along with our plan to deceive his aunt and uncle. If anything, he gives off the vibe that we’re inconveniencing him by daring to exist. Then again, Harun has a resting bitch face too. Maybe it’s just genetics?

“I suppose it’s a good idea to give the kids some privacy,” Amma acquiesces.

“It will give us more time to get to know each other as well,” Pushpita Khala says, hooking one arm with Amma’s and the other with Nanu’s. “After all, it’s important to seek khesha-kheshi with in-laws you’ll get along with, isn’t that right?”

Mansif Khalu claps Harun on the shoulder. “Ah, I remember some of my first dates with your mother. Back then, you only met once or twice before you made a lifelong commitment. Be a gentleman, betta, and don’t do anything your old man wouldn’t.”

“Got it, Abba,” Harun mutters, flushing as he avoids eye contact with his father, before catching my gaze.

We trade a long-suffering look, until I kneel beside my sister and whisper, “Resu…”

“I know, I know, ‘Be good,’?” she huffs.

I tap her button nose. “Nope. I was going to say, be yourself.”

She cocks her head at the insinuation, while Arif frowns at us, but neither stops me from climbing into the backseat of Hanif’s Prius.

When Harun attempts to do the same, his cousin exclaims, “You sit up front. No funny business on my watch.”

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