Page 39 of The Love Match

“Coulda had me fooled,” he counters. “I thought you liked musical numbers.”

“Yeah,in movies.”

Now that I’m in the spotlight, I remember how my friends have always teased me for having a singing voice that could shatter glass.

How whenever I sing in the shower, Arif pounds on the bathroom door to tell me I sound like a pair of cats fighting. How Mr. Tahir lasted only one slumber party after buying the twins a karaoke machine for their tenth birthday before he realized our heartfelt renderings of BLACKPINK songs wouldn’t be winning any Grammys anytime soon.

Then I notice a movement from the corner of my eye and realize how pale Harun has become, knuckles blanched almost white around the microphone in his rigid, trembling grasp.

Oh, crap, he’s legit scared.

Glancing between him and the dispassionate audience, I realize I have to take one for the team, since he’s gone along with everything I’ve suggested so far, including this duet. His blown-out pupils flick toward me in surprise when I move to take his hands in mine, bringing the microphone between us.

A peppy collaboration between Ariana Grande and Justin Bieber blasts from the speakers. I start yowling along, purposely loud so all eyes—and formal noise complaints—fallto me instead of him, and then smile when thirty seconds in, his brisk voice choruses mine.

Our gazes lock, our lips part, and—

Well, we’re as cringey as you’d imagine, though Harun, with his gravelly baritone, is marginally better than my awful, keening pitch. At least our enthusiasm can give the Biebs a run for his money.

We screech the chorus simultaneously, not even bothering to attempt a sound that resembles the correct pitch. Even Sammi pokes her fingers into her ears at the highest notes, but by then, we’re fully committed, yelling into the mic and bopping our heads so hard, his glasses almost fall off.

In that instant, our faces are mere inches apart, his hand a comforting weight around mine. My feet move of their own accord. Harun’s eyes widen behind their frames when I retreat two steps and offer him my free hand. He shakes his head but doesn’t resist as I pull him into an awkward, bumbling dance.

It’s nothing like the choreographed numbers in K3G. Nothing like Nayim, with his deft, poised fingers. But I don’t mind because I’m breathless and dizzy beneath the beam of the spotlights, my heart drumming in my chest, veins, and temples as I spin, confident that dependable Harun won’t let me fall.

Chapter14

The hostess practically snatches themic away the instant the song ends. “Wasn’t that, er, energetic? Let’s give a round of applause to these two very brave guests.”

Scattered claps follow.

It doesn’t matter, because Harun and I barely make it back to our table before dissolving into raucous guffaws that summon disapproving tuts from the other customers sitting around us. Harun is looking at me like he’s seeing me in a new light and doesn’t entirely hate it.

Fair. Dalia likes to say I’mwonderfully weird.

It takes several minutes before we catch our breath enough for him to whisper, “Thanks. I don’t—I hate being the center of attention, especially with so many strangers.”

I bask in the warmth of something other than the lingering heat and adrenaline. It seems like he’s growing more comfortable opening up to me, too. “You’re welcome, partner.”

Only then do we notice Sammi isn’t there, though ourorders have arrived. The white cheddar and broccoli soup I picked looks woefully tragic next to Harun’s fish and chips and Sammi’s braised salmon, but at least letting him pay for it while posing as a gold digger won’t dent my pride as much. With the complimentary breadsticks, it might even keep me full.

Our chaperone returns from where she was speaking to the waiter, putting her hands together in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, darlings. I have to go.”

“Was our singingthatbad?” quips Harun.

“No! You were great!” she lies. “But Bilal called. We have some surprise guests and they’re waiting for me. Don’t worry, though! You two enjoy dinner—on me. There’s no reason your parents have to know.”

With another wink, she’s gone, leaving behind a fistful of twenties and the faintest whiff of expensive-smelling floral perfume.

Harun and I turn to each other, then burst into a fresh round of laughter. Sure, we haven’t done a convincing job of proving to Sammi that we aren’t meant for each other, but I have a feeling she made up her mind about our compatibility before ever meeting me, simply because her cousin’s happiness was the most important thing to her. I can respect that.

“If she’s paying, we may as well order another app,” Harun says.

I fake-glare. “You rich people are terrible.”

He chuckles, but I can’t help stealing glimpses at him asI nibble on the salmon he slides toward me without another word, some unnamed emotion bubbling up inside me.

It isn’t true, no matter how much I once willed it to be. Heisn’tterrible. He could have easily rejected his parents and me when this whole matchmaking thing came up, saving us both the trouble, but he didn’t, because he wants them to be proud of him.

---