Puranay Rastay ✓

chapter ‣ 4a

But not everyone was viewing the whole thing in a positive light, my class fellows found it interesting, or even suspicious how things had progressed so fast. They were skeptical as soon as I had given them the wedding invite.

"What's the hurry?" a girl from my Marketing class had wondered. "Is there some sort of problem? Are your parents okay?"

"Have you checked out the guy thoroughly?" another one from the Entrepreneur Club had asked. "Guy living in the US who wants a wedding ASAP, sounds fishy."

My answers to them had ranged from being a mixture of reassurances to agreeing with their worries. I knew that everyone had good intentions, yet it astonished me how they thought a quickly arranged wedding could be an indication of something wrong.

If both parties were willing and ready, why would there be a delay? Could two consenting adults not make the decision to get married immediately after meeting? Did there need to be a time period for them to get to know each other before marriage?

I did agree that it was best to check each other's backgrounds and compatibility before diving into a life-long relationship, yet wasn't trust in one's fate important? If Aqib and I prioritized meeting again and again to determine whether our favorite colors were the same, how far would we exchange notes about our compatibility before actually getting married?

Besides, my case was different. I knew the Chaudharys because of Sara, who highly recommended them. As for compatibility with Aqib, I could already see he was compromising, so I was willing to as well if needed.

"Khaled!" I called out seeing him near the neighborhood car garages, engaged in conversation with someone. He didn't stir. "Kallu!" I tried this time, seeing him notice me immediately.

It pained me to see how he responded to an almost insulting nickname rather than his own notable name.

He jogged over to me, his eyes lowering as he stopped a few feet away,

"Yes, Rida?"

"Can you take me to University?" I asked.

"Right now?" he questioned in surprise.

"Yes."

He turned around, looking over at the garages. "Mamoo has the car."

"So how do we go then?"

"My bike."

Ya Allah, I thought a few minutes later as Khaled stopped across from me on his bike. He patted the spot behind him, scooting a few inches to the front.

I had ridden on that bike several times in the past, but mostly with young Ifra separating Khaled and me. It felt odd riding alone with him.

I protested in my head, going back and forth between giving in or running back inside, abandoning the visit to the university altogether.

It's the last time. The tiny voice inside me pleaded.

I sighed heavily as I gave in. Sitting behind him, I gathered the layers of my abaya so they wouldn't touch the back tire of the bike. I hugged my purse tightly, using my other hand to grip the steel handle at the end of the bike to stabilize myself.

The December air slapped across my face as we started our journey. We zoomed past cars as we squeezed through tight spaces, the bright colors around us blurred and faces morphed into plain shapes. It felt liberating whizzing by familiar places, free from the confines of a closed vehicle. We could feel like we were traveling, away and away.

An excited squeal left my mouth as Khaled sped up the bike to speed through a yellow light before it became red. Unconsciously I found myself reaching for him, wrapping my arm around his back to stabilize myself. I recoiled my arm immediately upon realizing what I had done, yet the heat of his body in the cold December morning was comforting.