Page 28 of The Love Match

Harun does as asked, but my phone vibrates in my purse a few seconds later, once Hanif has pulled away from the Emon house.

Sorry. He’s a pain.

It’s okay,I type back.If you think Hanif is the right call for OZ, then I’m in.

The… programming language?he asks.

I roll my eyes, which Hanif zeroes in on in the rearview.Operation Zahrun.

Harun sends me a series of confused emojis, followed by,Didn’t we agree that name was kind of misleading?

You’re the one who said it sounds like broom, so let’s sweep this ridiculous idea right out of our parents’ heads,I retort.If you can keep up with the plot, that is, Mr. Valedictorian.

Stop writing in codes I don’t know then,Harun answers, ignoring his cousin. From my vantage point in the back middle seat, I can see how much they look alike from their profiles, but also how different they are. Hanif is glaring murder up at the road like he’s just daring some foolhardy truck driver to try to cut his little Prius off. Meanwhile, the smile that twitches at one corner of Harun’s lips contradicts his complaint as he continues,I’m more familiar with Java, C++, and Python tbh.

God, you’re a nerd,I reply, smothering a laugh.

Takes one to know one, and thanks to this nerd, we’ve got a breakup expert on the crew.

Your cousin? Seriously?

Hanif is notoriously hard to please. He’s already sent three “good Muslim girls” running for the hills since my khala pulled this matchmaking crap on him and tried to set him up with the daughters of her friends from masjid. Think you’ve got what it takes to make him hate you, Khan? ’Cause he will report your every flaw back to my parents without a second thought.

Harun turns in his seat to size me up.

Trying not to give away how much his doubt flatters me, I arch a lofty brow back.Puh-lease. I’m a professional disappointment at this point.

All my life, I’ve managed to let Amma down without making an effort, so turning off my date’s snooty cousin should be a piece of chomchom.

Harun’s smile dissipates, and I wince at the prospect of revealing too much, but when Hanif glares daggers between the rearview and his cousin, then growls, “Harun, you should respect your date by lowering your gaze,” both of us get distracted.

Although the words are directed to his cousin, they’re intended for us both. Good Muslim boys and girls are disciplined enough not to gawk at potential matches. But I’m not trying to impress our passive-aggressive chaperone, so I give Harun a good, hard stare, long enough to hear an audible gulp, even though he’s turned back around in his seat. Hanif scowls lividly up at the road.

Only when both cousins are suitably unnerved do I swing my attention back to my phone to ask,So where are we going anyway?

I figure having Hanif along is punishment enough, so I picked a movie.Harun hesitates mid-type, before finishing his thought.AMC is doing a Bollywood night, and you seem like you’d be into that.

My cheeks grow warm at the way he’s put real thought into our fake date. What tipped him off? Did he cyber-stalk me inreturn and seen the vintage posters of SRK alongside selfies with my friends, books, pics at the tea shop, and gorgeous BTS boys?

Aww, how cute!

Harun sends me an eye-roll emoji. I resist the temptation to yield to a fresh fit of giggles. As much as we want the date to go badly, Hanif tossing us out of a speeding car would be the very last resort, if only because I don’t want to damage the sundress Amma made me.

Luckily, we reach the parking lot of the AMC theater before our driver explodes. Hanif manages to find a spot close to the amphitheater-shaped building. As I ascend the winding stairs with the boys, gripping the metal handrail in one hand and my skirt in the other, notes of famous Bollywood songs carry over to us.

The ticket boy, a white teenager with a wispy mustache, appears as unenthused as Hanif about the whole affair while Harun buys three tickets from his booth. When he heads for the concession stand to get us popcorn and some drinks, I say, “Hold on a minute. I can buy my own snacks, you know.”

The thought of wasting my pitiful savings on these fake dates makes me want to wither up like a salted slug and die, but my pride won’t let him pay for me. Harun gives me a pointed look when I start digging through my purse for my beat-up wallet, jerking his head subtly at his observing cousin. My rummaging hands stop.

Shit. The plan.

I glue a simpering smile onto my face. “—is what I’d say if this weren’t a date. But since it is and your family is filthy rich, you should pay. I like my popcorn extra buttery.”

Hanif examines us for a moment more. Sweat begins to dot my forehead as I internally curse his unreadable face.Think I’m a gold digger, think I’m a gold digger—

At last, he says, “It’s true. Gentlemen pay for dates, Harun.”

Harun stares me dead in the eye before he extracts a twenty from his own wallet, knowing we’ve won. “You’re so right, Hanif Bhaia. What was I thinking?”

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