The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER FIFTY

Shifa offered me the window seat and sat beside me, her legs propped up on the small folding table before us and immediately busied herself with a history textbook. She had another entrance exam a few days after the wedding, which made me wonder how many colleges she had applied to, but I didn't ask. Of course, I couldn't ask. Trusting my voice again was a risk I dared not take, last time I spoke to her—I basically told her to kiss me. You'd hate yourself if you allowed me to kiss you now, she had said, and went inside her room to pack the bags, leaving me on the sofa with my heart pounding in my ears and a shame that wouldn't dwindle for a good amount of time. I couldn't be more grateful for her rejection. Yes, I would have hated myself beyond what the words could express. Not because she was a girl or that I was engaged to her cousin, no, I realized later that night as I lay wide awake in my bed, I just didn't care. A shocking realization but true, and that had kept me awake till 4 in the morning. My mind was filled with thoughts of Shifa while I belonged to someone else, if that was not already weighing on my moral consciousness, kissing her would have been the death of me. How could I keep living with Wahab if Shifa had taken me up on my word? But the urge still lingered, coming in small strokes whenever I saw her. I wanted to kiss her, that was the problem. I wanted her to touch me, whatever the case.

I turned my eyes on Shifa. Her hair was down, cut even shorter than before and I didn't think about what her mother might say. Her overlarge, bright yellow hoodie didn't help. I suspected that she had the haircut on purpose and her grin after I pointed out the length of it was just a confirmation of my doubt.

There was still time for the train to leave and the crowd in the station seemed to be only getting bigger and I decided to act like nothing happened last night—just as she did. Though, if only my cheeks had helped. Just having her sit by my side tickled my stomach.

"How does history not bore you?"

The corner of her mouth quirked up a little, "I don't know. It just doesn't."

"I slept through history class in school. That was nap time."

She chuckled and closed the book, placing it on the table, she tilted her head to the side, and stupidly enough I held my breath thinking she was going to lean her head on my shoulder, "Well, my history teacher was gorgeous, so..."

Twisting my torse, I stared at her face, looking for traces of lies but when she just ducked her head back as if recreating the face of her history teacher, I couldn't keep the amusement at bay. But that got me thinking and I didn't keep the words inside.

"How long have you known?"

"Known what?"

I took a quick look around us before leaning in a bit and asking, my face already aflame, "That you... you know? That...you-," I cleared my throat and continued, "-didn't like boys?"

For a second, I thought I had offended her, she kept staring at my face without saying anything but then she took a quick glance behind me and dropped her head on the seat, "Do you know Ida?"

I tried to picture her face, yes, I knew her but never met her or even saw a picture, only the ones in the photo albums and she was hardly older than 12. One of Wahab's distant cousins, if I remembered the family tree correctly. I nodded and Shifa sucked in both her lips, seeming somewhat embarrassed, "She visited when I was in 11th standard, I think then I knew. Not completely but yes, a guess, you can say."

She went back to her book, for reason other than just reading, apparently as she brought the book all the way up to her forehead, successfully hiding her face behind it. I didn't bother her for another few minutes, let her embarrassment fade away.

"What did she do for you to come to the realization?"

She didn't lower the book and I felt her shoulder rise in a shrug, "Nothing. I just liked her face."

The train started moving and finally, Shifa put down her book and grabbed her phone and earphones from the table, her arm grazing mine as she bent to the side. I stared out the window, watching the people become a blur of colours. My mother had called thrice already to make sure I didn't forget any of my belonging which just strengthened my suspicion—I wasn't returning to continue my studies and all of a sudden, I recalled my cousin who had eloped with a boy of a different religion. Shifa claimed that she would have done the same if left with no other choice. But I—

"Should I ask when you knew that you don't like boys either?"

Her words made me crane my neck up in a swift surprise to see if anyone heard, when I found no one looking at us, I let go of the breath and turned to glare at her. She laughed, shaking her head as if what she just asked me was not enough to make me want to jump out of the moving train. Not like boys? What about those celebrity crushes then? And the attraction I felt for Wahab couldn't be just an imagination of my mind to trick me into believing that I had a choice and in the end, I chose him to spend the rest of my life with. But that wasn't true, he was chosen to be my husband and what wife didn't find her own husband to-be repellent?

"Why are you so scared of the person you really are?"

I heard my heart again in my ears, "Please, stop."

I thought she would be repelled at my reaction, say things which she knew would hurt but nothing came out of her mouth and her hand reached out to rest atop mine on my lap, her palm covering my whole fist and I couldn't look away from her fingers, caressing my wrist. Her voice was softer than the petals of a flower and with each word my sight blurred.

"I still have all the clothes I brought with me from home, a dozen of hijabs packed neatly in a bag and whenever things get a little overwhelming with my mother or when I just want to give up on myself, I take that bag out and," she sighed and there was a small quiver in her voice but unlike me, she didn't start crying, though her voice got lower, "What I am trying to say is—I always have a choice. I could return home and let my mother puppet me around or I could endure her taunts and work for a better life where she is not in my head telling me how I should live."

There were a lot of things I could have said but the fear of my future kept me silent and after a few minutes passed, Shifa withdrew her hand, and I went back to staring out of the window. She thought I had a choice. My father would first kill me and then himself if he even got a gist of what went behind my head. I didn't say that

"I can't hurt my parents."

"But you are ready to hurt yourself, I see. You are not going to come back here."

At that point, not even tears came. I had already wept over the fact enough times. I scoffed, "I know."

A  vendor approached with tea, and I watched Shifa buy two cups. Train tea tasted like water mixed with sugar and if I didn't need something at that moment was bad tea, but I still took the offered foam cup. I thought that was the end of it, the conversation when she took a small sip and leaned her head back on the seat, but Shifa had not thought the same. The warm breath of her words drew a shiver from me and the clear show of how much she affected me made her smile. I tried not to pay attention to her advancing closeness, her knee brushing against mine and her elbow touching my arm. It took me a fistful of willpower to not lean on her and bask in the warmth of her presence.

"Would it have changed anything if I had kissed you last night?"

My eyes stayed on the cup, watching the brown liquid ripple whenever my hand shook, "I don't know." And I'll never know.