Page 93 of The Love Match

“Thank you,” I murmur, time and again, while Nayim shakes their hands wholeheartedly.

Is this really what he wants? To be his father’s son? The heir to a princely estate? Myhusband?

I swallow the hard lump in my throat and my mouth goes dry.

But eventually, the crowd below the stage thins enough from people clambering on top of it that I can slip away with a muttered, “I need to go to the bathroom,” while Nayim shakeshis hundredth hand of the night, beaming so wide that his face must hurt.

I elbow through the crowd, ignoring any congratulations lobbed at me or jealous smiles that undoubtedly wonder how I, a poor girl from Paterson, managed to win a prince’s affections.

My heart pounding, I make my way back to the picnic blanket. To Harun.

Pushpita Khala and Mansif Khalu are having such a heated discussion about something—me?—that they don’t even notice me approaching. Sammi Afa has a phone up to her ear, looking worried. She sighs, presses a button, and lifts it back to her ear, trying again. Hanif glares at me, more disgusted than ever. Shaad immediately looks down and won’t meet my gaze.

My eyes scan the blanket, but Harun is gone.

Not bothering to waste another second, I kick off my heels and run barefoot through the park, trying to find him.

Tears begins to blur my vision, but I keep running, wondering what the hell just happened.

And wondering how this fairy tale has gone so very wrong.

Chapter32

Thankfully, he’s not hard tofind.

Even if I didn’t already know about his fondness for bridges, I’m able to spot Harun’s lonely figure on the usually crowded footbridge overlooking the waterfalls from a mile away.

He has his head buried in his arms on the rustic wooden railing of the footbridge, unable to hear my padded footsteps over the latent instrumentals of what has somehow turned into my engagement party, the voices of half the city, and the ceaseless flow of the water below.

Cautious of splinters, I tiptoe over to him and stand at his side, our arms an inch apart. Droplets of water spray across my skin, raising goose bumps across it, and I will him to close the distance so I can nestle into his warmth, but he doesn’t.

I break the silence first, speaking around the lump in my throat. “Harun… I had no idea Nayim was planning all of this.”

“You two haven’t talked?” he asks without glancing up.

I shake my head, then feel foolish when I realize he can’t see. My eyes are burning for some unfathomable reason, even though I know,I know, that if I can just convince him of this, convince him of the truth, everything will be fine again. “I haven’t even seen him since the picnic, but I’m going to straighten all this out, okay?”

This time he says nothing, and despair creeps past all the logic I’d been assuring myself with earlier. I reach for his hand, but the weight of Nayim’s ring on my finger sends another wave of shame through me and I drop my arm back to my side. Heat races to my cheeks. “Please… I love you, Harun. I, just… I don’t know how this happened.”

“I love you, too,” he croaks back.

I can’t help sucking in a relieved lungful of sea-salt air. “Good. That’s—I’m glad. We can figure this out.” I take several more deep, shuddering breaths. “We can figure this out,” I say again, but I’m not sure if I’m saying it to him or to myself.

He peers up at me at last, eyes red-rimmed behind his glasses. “No, you should—you should accept his proposal, Zahra.”

“What?” His words are a punch to the gut. I feel dizzy. Nauseous. I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

Desperately.

“You don’t,” I begin, and my breath hitches, “want me anymore?”

He turns toward me, jaw set. “It’sbecauseI love you that I have to let you go.”

Understanding floods me. “No.”

“Zahra—”

“No!” I interrupt, balling my hands into fists. “People who love each other try, Harun. They don’t ‘fall on their swords.’?” I lift up my fingers in an attempt to do air quotes, but my hands are too clenched to do it properly. I can feel my body shutting down, shutting off, entirely, and move to cling to the railing to anchor myself.

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