Page 87 of The Love Match

“It’s nothing,” I mumble, though I’m secretly pleased by how impressed he is.

“It isnotnothing. Trust me, I’ve spent enough money on writing tutors to know that, and that was just for essays,” he chides. “You think you’ll do it?”

I worry my lip. “I don’t know how my mother will react. She’s always seen writing as my hobby. While she might be pleased if I’m able to attend a free creative writing course, she’ll probably think it’s a waste of time. She already has all these other plans for me.”

Now that she thinks Harun and I are a no-go, thoseplans involve finding another suitable match. It would be the comfortable life that she’s promised, I have no doubt, but it doesn’t sit right with me, to rely onanyhusband so much.

Harun squeezes my hand, contemplation creasing his forehead. “Writing is your bridge.” It takes me a minute to get it, but when I do, I snort, and he smiles. “Actually, that’s not the same at all. My folks are all talk. They didn’t actually mind when I told them I’m studying mechanical engineering. But Zar, you’re so good at writing that youhaveto do it.”

“Yeah?”

His eyes are dark and sincere as he nods. “Yeah.”

I might have stood on my tiptoes to kiss him right then and there, if some guy with a bullhorn and mic didn’t boom at that exact moment, “VIP tickets, please make your way over to the balloons listed at the bottoms of your stubs.”

“Wait.” My eyes bulge. “Are we gettingona hot-air balloon?”

“I did ask if you were afraid of heights,” Harun reminds me.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“No buts,” he replies. “You trust me, right?”

I hesitate for no more than a second, then nod. He’s always taken such care with me during these fake dates, even though they were often more of an inconvenience to him, what with him providing the chaperone, ride, and dinner every single time we met up despite Operation Zahrun beingmyidea all along.

He gives our interlocked fingers one last squeeze, before leading me toward the balloon labeled on our ticket, one decorated with blooming flowers. The pilot opens the hatch for us, and Harun helps me climb aboard. The basket wobbles as I do. I turn to hold on to him, then go red when I realize what I’ve done, grateful that we’re the only passengers.

Harun doesn’t seem to mind. He hangs on to me in return as we make our way over to the rim of the basket, around the engine at the center. I keep my eyelids shut, my cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the thump of his heart beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

My grip tightens when the whoosh of the flames blowing into the balloon joins the sound of his heartbeat, steadily lifting us off the ground to the cheers of people below. Sensing my nerves, Harun starts to explain to me in his deep, calm baritone the process by which hot-air balloons work, the safety procedures, and so on, until my panicked breathing and the basket grow level.

“Zahra,” he murmurs next to my ear. “Open your eyes.”

I peel my eyelids apart and gasp at the sight that awaits us.

Solberg Airport and Readington Township are far, far below. Hundreds of people crowd together like ants, waving their arms and glow sticks at the balloons and the musicians performing concerts onstage. Other balloons float, some higher, some lower, but so many, we can hardly see the twilight sky swirling between us.

I know I keep saying it, but I thinkthisis the highest I’ve ever been, yet I’ve never felt more grounded than I do with Harun’s arms around me. As I stare into his eyes, there’s no more doubting any of what I’ve been feeling for him. How funny that I fought against this so long, only to fall for exactly the boy my mother wanted for me.

“I like you,” I blurt.

“I like you, too,” he says.

I shake my head. “No. I mean that I have feelings for you. The unplatonic kind.”

Harun gapes at me.

I bury my face in his chest, muffling a frustrated whine against it.

Feelings. Like. They’re both such inadequate descriptions of the swirl of emotions that squeeze my heart like an embrace, the emotions that have only steadily, inevitably been growing since I met this boy in the dimness of his family’s restaurant.

“You’ve always been there for me, honest with me, understood me,” I say. If I don’t get this out, I’ll regret it forever. “I get it if it’s too soon, but I don’tjustlike you. I’m pretty sure what I’m feeling is so much bigger. I’ve fallen in… love with you.”

The last part I choke out in one flustered breath. His gasp reverberates through his chest into my skin, but despite being brave enough to confess my love for him, I don’t have the courage to look up yet, in case he rejects me now.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, and—”

Gentle fingers ghosting under my chin coax me to lift it. Dark brown eyes sparkling, Harun smiles down at me, so wide my thumb twitches with the urge to rub circles around that infernal dimple. “For someone so smart, you can be awfully dense sometimes, Khan.”

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