Page 85 of The Love Match

“Yes, Professor?”

“Do finish up the rest of your manuscript so I can celebrate when my favorite heroine gets her happy ending, won’t you?”

Laughing, I prance out of the campus more inspired than ever.

Maybe Harun was right: maybe the world is already here for me.

For us.

Chapter30

Amma frowns when I returnhome before the typical end of my shift, and I curse myself for forgetting to tell her I called out.

Maybe it’s for the best. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to her about the class.

Thinking on my feet, I say, “Mr. Tahir let us out early. The twins and I were going to meet up with Mena at the wheelhouse.” Amma’s brows draw together, and I squirm in the kitchen doorway, wondering why she seems so troubled. “Is that okay? If you need me for something, I can cancel.”

“No, I don’t need you,” she says, but she’s slicing the eggplant she holds over the curved blade of her daa with more force than necessary. “Is it actually the twins you’re seeing?”

Ice bleeds into my veins. Could she somehow have figured out my plans with Harun?

No way. Not after I objected to the match so heartily.

“Of course I am,” I reply with as much affront as I canmuster. “Didn’t you hear the aunties at the mela? You don’t have to worry about Nayim anymore. We broke up.”

Her grip tightens on the daa. “That’s true, then? The imam’s wife said he returned to Bangladesh. You haven’t talked to him?”

“I don’t know anything about him anymore.” I shrug but can’t quite keep the caustic edge from my voice at the revelation that she and her friends have been gossiping about Nayim. About us. Of course they have. “Your friends are probably right. They usually are. He’s somewhere far, far away from me, in any case. Just like you wanted.”

Such a long beat passes that I think she’s done with me, until she stands up and claps her hands together. “The best way to cure a broken heart is to find something new to fill it! Perhaps we should find you something prettier to wear in case you bump into a nice Bengali boy?”

“Huh? S-something prettier? Another boy? What’s wrong with this—”

Before I can protest her comment about fishing for a new suitor or finish listing the merits of the T-shirt and jeans I’d thrown on to meet Professor Liu, Amma has already manhandled me into her bedroom to cart out the luggage under her bed, where she stores the creations specially made for me, Arif, and Resna.

In no time at all, I end up waiting in Woodland Park, where Dalia has driven me again, dressed in a flowing pink, strawberry-print dress my mother modeled after a trend shesaw on Pinterest a couple of years ago, dizzy from having gotten sucked into Hurricane Amma for the umpteenth time.

Her delight in getting rid of Nayim irks me, but I begrudgingly accept her wisdom when Harun swallows hard at the sight of me, eyes wide behind his glasses and cheeks ruddy.

“Y-you look pretty,” he says, before remembering to greet Dalia.

She shoots me a smirk. “I can’t believe you’re already meeting the family, Zar.”

By family, she means our not-chaperones for the night: Sammi and a martyr of a boy who can only be her younger brother, Harun’s best friend and cousin, Shaad. He resembles Harun in every way but the most important, lacking the earnest sweetness Harun hides behind a frown. Shaad’s loose curls are styled back using gel; there’s a pout on his full lips; and red-soled Air Jordans don his feet, matching the tint of the Ray-Bans over his eyes.

The sulk and sunglasses vanish as he appraises Dalia, pulling the latter down his aristocratic nose. “Well, well, well. Maybe today won’t suck, after all. Are you joining us too?”

He gives her a smolder that she breezes right past with a practiced smile. “Nope, sorry. Some of us have jobs, not inheritances.”

If possible, the barb elicits a dopier grin. “Shame. Next time?”

Harun levels an apologetic glance my way. “Sorry aboutthat. Romeo over there wheedled today’s plans out of me, and then Sammi Afa got it out of him. She said she’d only cover for us if we let them tag along.”

Sammi slings her arms around her cousin’s and brother’s shoulders, forcing both to bend toward her almost comedically. “You can’t imagine how delighted I was to hear about your escapades with Haru-moni, Zahra. Much as I love these two, I need you to rescue me from a testosterone overdose. We never did have enough girls in the family.”

Dalia elbows me. “Who knows? If you play your cards right, that might change soon.”

“Dal, please,” I grit out, casting a long-suffering look at her.

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