Page 29 of The Love Match

I bat my eyes at Harun, getting ready to say something heinous and bratty, but Hanif plucks the bill out of his hand without letting our charade escalate. “The prices at these places are outrageous. One jumbo popcorn should be quite enough for three people, thanks.”

I hesitate, watching Hanif march over to the concession stand himself. My own thriftiness has a reason, but aren’t the Emons—and, by extension, Hanif—loaded enough to get pizza, popcorn,andnachos? Or is this vengeance for me acting too greedy?

Harun sighs and trails after his cousin, but doesn’t put up a fight as we’re handed small soda cups. Whatever the reason, I guess our ploy is working. On the way into the theater, Harun texts me,Nice save, general, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

Soon we end up in center section seats. Hanif plops himself smack in the middle of us, the gigantic bucket of popcorn in his lap. Between him and the aunties—Bangladeshi,Pakistani, and Indian—trickling in after us, Harun is right.

This date is effectively a nonstarter.

The dramatic instrumentals ofKabhi Khushi Kabhie Ghamecho through the dimming room as the opening credits play across a black-and-white scene of a little boy and his mother. Hanif harrumphs and takes an angry bite of popcorn when a photo of Shah Rukh Khan fills the screen, muttering something about him being a Muslim sellout.

Harun and I grin at that, but it’s when the tagline, a quote from director Karan Johar, materializes that I make faces at him:It’s all about loving your parents….

His blank expression divulges that he has no idea what the movie is about. I shake my head as he runs a chagrined hand through his hair, but I can’t fault him. K3G is a Bollywood classic that was released years before either of us were born.

I watched it with Dalia, Dani, and Ximena when we were twelve, during a sleepover at the Tahirs’, and while I still remember most of the best scenes—the four of us bounced on Mr. Tahir’s bed to “It’s Raining Men,” pretending to be Pooja, until he got home from the tea shop and yelled at us to go to bed—I forgotBE A GOOD KIDwas the overarching theme.

My eyes roll skyward.A bit on the nose, no?

But once the film starts, even Hanif can’t resist losing himself in the plot.

My whole heart aches when Anjali’s father dies, leaving her and her younger sister destitute. When Rahul marries her and his rich family disowns him, a tiny sniffle escapesme, causing Harun to send me a stealthy,You okay?

I’m good,I reply just as surreptitiously, the darkened screen of my phone almost invisible inside my open purse. Hanif loudly blowing his nose into a crumpled tissue he found in his vest pocket draws all eyes to him before my “date” can express doubt at my emotional state.

The movie is long, and I’m grateful Hanif at least allowed us the one popcorn. Harun and I reach for the bucket at the same time. His searching fingertips brush against mine, slippery from the butter, and I almost recoil.

But then I get an idea.

Flinging a smirk past our chaperone, I entwine our hands together, marveling once more at how unexpectedly warm he feels. Although his fingers are stiff, his pulse thumps a beat quicker than mine in the flats of our touching palms.

A scandalized gasp erupts beside me, though I can’t tell which cousin it belongs to. We’re forced to jerk apart when Hanif gives the bucket between us a good shake, spilling kernels all over the floor and onto our laps.

I hear Harun slurping from his Coke cup like his life depends on it. He doesn’t try to grab more popcorn for the rest of the movie, but whether he’s simply doing his best impression of a Victorian gentleman appalled by a glimpse of ankle, or he’s actually shy, the deed is done.

When the credits roll, we return to the world outside the theater in a daze.

Gruffly, as if he wasn’t bawling his eyes out a mere minuteago, Hanif says, “Dating requires a movieanddinner, correct? Where is there to eat around here?”

His dour gaze suggests we’ll be disowned like SRK if we recommend anything other than a halal restaurant, which probably means it’s a perfect time for me to insist we eat at a diner back in Paterson famous for “Texas” wieners made of questionable meat, but Harun replies, “That’s okay, Bhaia. The movie was two hours too long and I’m wiped out. I’d rather not waste more time on this.”

Although I might not have minded debating the ending with him, my head nods of its own volition. “If you’re going to be a cheapskate, fine. I’m already full anyway. You know… from all that popcorn.”

If Hanif picks up my jab at his popcorn hogging, he doesn’t let on, but I notice Harun dimpling at me on our way back to the car. The ride to the Emons’ is quiet, but not awkward.

When we arrive, the once-pristine living room is in shambles, Resna plunked amid the mess, playing with some of Harun’s robot models exactly as I hoped.

With undue pride in his voice, Hanif announces to the gathered group of haggard adults, “You’ll be pleased to hear that not a single inappropriate thing happened under my watch. They barely spoke at all. But Mansif Khalu, can I have a word?”

While he and Harun’s father retire into another room to discuss my bad manners—with any luck—our mothers try not to reveal how disappointed they are. Harun and I sharea sneaky eye roll and a snicker that quickly transform into identical, scornful stares the instant our audience’s attention returns to us.

Later that night, on the car ride home, a new text pops up on my phone.About that movie…

I grin.

Date One was pretty successful, if you ask me.

Chapter10

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