The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

I paced around the home and checked up on the rice and chicken curry twice, stirred the kheer unnecessary and opened the cupboard only to realise I had no business with it, then closed it again. The clock on my phone read 2:32 PM and I wondered if Wahab was stuck somewhere in the traffic and if he was, then why didn't he call to inform us? My last exam had been last Sunday and Wahab had called in the evening to ask if the next Sunday was good enough time for him to come, though we both knew I really had no say in it, the notion of asking was greatly appreciated. The last time someone had asked me my opinion was long forgotten and I still felt like I had just conjured up a fake memory while in reality what I thought mattered very little if not at all.

"Adia, for real now. You need to sit down."

I turned my scrutiny glare to her and squinted in mock irritation as her small grin began to widen. Huffing, I walked into the living room and with another loud huff, sat on the sofa, somehow that urged Shifa to laugh. I wasn't sure why she found the scene funny when my whole body was breaking out in cold sweat. Wahab was coming and that made my heartbeat inhumanly short and fast —not a good sign for a future wife to show upon her husband's arrival. However, he had already booked the return train for the next day, I only had to spend a day with him which, a little shameful to admit, was a relief. Thinking of being in his presence while Shifa lingered near did nothing but burden my spirit even more. Perhaps I could be better after the wedding and Shifa's face would stop making me all giggly and squirmy and just... happy. Happier than I had ever been, and I would stop smiling by just thinking of her. I wished it would stop, it had to stop or else living with Wahab could be unbearable and I wasn't sure how much guilt my heart could carry without breaking.

"Why are you so nervous? Haven't you met him before?"

If only she knew my mother, miles away in her home was probably more nervous than me.

Craning my neck to look at her, I questioned her sanity, "I have but this is different."

Stopping her index finger in the middle of scrolling on her phone, she tilted her head in confusion, a frown appearing on her forehead. I wished she would shut up and keep scrolling on her phone but of course, the luck was never on my side, she continued to stare. Still, I had no intention of letting her know why this was different.

When I first met Wahab, I couldn't even form a single sentence and kept my gaze away from him; the second time I met him was in a family event, I only saw him from afar and the third time, I finally exchanged more than three words with him and was immediately in love. Or so I assumed. Zoya said it was love after I told her that my breath remained unsteady long after he dropped me at my home. Maybe Zoya was wrong about love. I had no idea what love looked like; how would I know if it ever happened to me? How would Zoya? She just watched romance movies and thought she knew about love. Good girls from good families weren't supposed to love before their father chose the perfect boys for them. 

Before I met Shifa, I stood firm on my amiable opinion of Wahab, but the belief wavered sooner than anticipated. Then, was it really love? Shouldn't love be stronger than that?

My eyes stayed on Shifa. Her hair had grown past her shoulder and covered half her neck now. She was reading something on her phone and her eyes were somewhat squinted and her brows furrowed as if putting all her attention took more will than she was ready to give and the corners of my lips twitched, soon stretching into an unwanted smile. She just had something in her demeanour which always left me wanting to smile for no reason and I still had to make up my mind about the fact. She had a habit of wearing oversized clothes and usually, I found those funny on other people but in some odd way they suited her—the long sleeves folded twice and still covering her knuckles made her appear smaller than she actually was, and I yearned to know the feel of her in my arms. How much would I hold her sweater instead of her?

 I had considered asking her to change into something more suitable for the occasion, Wahab was her cousin and surely, she won't want him to see her in a blue pyjama and maroon sweater but decided against it. It was a little harder to control my tongue but knowing what her reaction might be helped a great deal. She would just look at me with pity and with a hint of rebellion but that wasn't what stopped me from opening my mouth to let out the offensive words, it was my own selfish need for her to trust me. It couldn't be done by being nagging, judging and narrow-minded. Basically the same as her mother from what I had gathered. But if I had to be honest with myself, I liked her better in those baggy sweaters and she obviously didn't care for Wahab, then why should I? Besides, I had never seen her wear anything traditional, did she even own any? I doubted it. 

"Stop staring. I am shy."

Embarrassingly enough, I felt my ears perking up at the smallest detail from her. It drove me crazy sometimes how hard it was to get her to open her mouth and talk about herself.

"Really?"

Snorting, Shifa shook her head, "Obviously not. But stop staring, you're making me self-conscious."

I nodded, no shame whatsoever and the doorbell rang, making me jump up a foot in the air. My breath practically stopped somewhere in my throat and I felt the whole room getting smaller. Shifa looked up at me and gestured with her hand to wait and stood up, placing her phone on the table and walked toward the door without fear. I wanted to slap myself for my stupidity, of course, she had no fear, Wahab was her cousin, not her fiancé. And she was not the one having ill thoughts about his betrothed. With each step she took, my heartbeat increased a bit. I clasped the hem of my blue hijab and did everything in my power not to wrap the fabric around my fingers and heard Wahab's voice, overlapping Shifa's and wondered what I found good in his heavy, gruff voice when Shifa's too soft voice existed all along. Parting my lips to untie the knot in my throat became necessary and soon Wahab came into my view, and I just wanted to turn and head back to hide in my room until he went away. His white cardigan fit him perfectly, not big on him and his hair had been cut shorter than the last time I saw him, hardly touching his forehead. 

 He beamed and I tried to mirror it to no avail and then Shifa came to stand beside him to take his bag from his hand and smiled at me before walking past me to her room, the mild fragrance of her shampoo lingering around me as a comfortable cover and smiling became a lot easier. 

"Adia. I am starving. I'll go and fresh up, you set the lunch."