It was pure chaos.
"Tell Kallu to pick Aunty Yaseen from the airport," my mother called from the dining room as she served breakfast to the older members of our family.
Ifra ran past me towards the kitchen where our Uncle's wife was making tea. One of our younger cousins crawled behind her mother as she carried a tray of mithai through the hallway. Girls from around our neighborhood crowded in the living room, putting dried dates, chocolate bars, dried fruits and other goodies into small bags for the bid. Kainat along with one of our cousins from Australia giggled away as they dashed towards the baji from the salon who had come to apply henna to everyone's hands.
"I have to go to the campus," I whispered, my voice drowning out in the loud voices in the room.
I gripped the strap of my backpack as I watched Khadija Phopo walk through the front door with a tall bundle of bedsheets and pillows. They were probably for the guests who would be sleeping around the house.
"I thought your exams ended," one of my Aunties called out from behind me.
"Yes they did, I have to pick up my transcript."
"Ask your Mamoo to take you, your father's busy," my mother announced as she entered the living room.
"Bhai just left for the airport," Phopo informed.
"I thought Kallu was going to pick Aunty Yaseen," my mother said, puzzled.
"I think Asghar bhai insisted."
I watched both ladies talk back and forth, clueless about half of the people they were mentioning. It was like that with us desi people, we always made it a point to invite everyone to our weddings, from our ancestral villages to family abroad, everyone had to come and live with us if they could.
"Why don't you go with Kallu?" My Nani Khala suggested from the couch across the TV.
"No, no, I'll just get-" I began to protest. I trusted Khaled most after my father, but he was already doing so much.
"Absolutely cannot have the bride going alone," my Mami announced.
"It's okay bachay, he's your brother."
He's not.
"Just go," my mother finally gave in, looking tired. She was usually the one who protested against him being around me.
"Ami?"
"Go, my child," Phopo instructed, leading me to the door.
"Be back quick!" I heard Nani Khala yell from the other end of the house.
"Phopo, he's already busy."
"He'll make time for you," Phopo whispered, patting my shoulder as I flipped over my niqab at the front door.
I know he will. I just don't want him to.
It was true that since Khaled had been part of my life he had become a brother to me, yet he wasn't. It filled me with frustration and unease when my own family failed to understand my worries. I couldn't just keep depending on him without any right.
This is the last time. I told myself as I climbed down the stairs.
I was getting married in three days, and then I would have a husband to travel to places with. Someone who could accompany me wherever I wanted to go, whether it was to university or the other end of the world.
A smile made its way to my face as I thought about my approaching wedding. It continued to surprise me how quickly everything had developed, from being spotted by Aqib to being three days away from getting married. It had been a whirlwind in a way. One day I was at Sara's engagement wearing my simplest abaya, two weeks later I was picking out the clothes I would wear to meet my in-laws, and six weeks later I was having my final fitting for my wedding dress. Mere eight weeks changed the course of my life.
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.
We pretended like nothing happened when we reached the university. I hopped off the bike as he parked outside the main gate.
"I'll be back in twenty minutes," I assured him, fishing for my college ID. He nodded at me, leaning on the bike.
I showed my ID to the guard at the gate and walked through towards the Admissions Office. I had requested for my transcript a week ago, and the office had promised that they would have it ready that day. I hoped they had kept their promise, because I didn't want to go through riding alone with Khaled again.
They did, thankfully. I tucked the thick envelope under my arm as I looked at my surroundings for the last time. I had spent nearly four years within that campus. Running from corner to corner behind Professors, pleading to them to drop my lowest grade. I had visited the campus cafe more than I had visited the classrooms, enjoying the mouth scalding samosas, eating discounted soft serve because the machine was new and the ice cream guy was still experimenting. I had sat in circles under hundred year old trees, talking to aalimahs about life and the Hereafter as they mentioned the struggles of balancing religious and secular studies. I could recall every single time I had laid out my prayer mat in corners around the campus to perform salah, or the amount of laps I took on the library terrace as I memorized theorems for Maths class.
It felt surreal leaving it all behind and going to a place where I knew no one. Yet I felt comfort in knowing that no matter where I was, no matter how unfamiliar my surroundings became, I would always have my memories to comfort me, I would always have my past to hold on to and look back for support.
All of the friendships I had experienced in those years had taught me one thing or another, whether it was how to deal with someone completely infuriating, or how to talk to someone extremely needy and sensitive. Every single moment and experience had helped me grow.
My tears moistened my niqab as I made my way back to the main gate. The air that filtered through the fabric chilled my face, making me unwillingly recall how warm Khaled had been when I had touched him.
Astaghfirullah. I whispered. It was wrong to think like that about someone other than the one who deserved it.
I said a final Salaam to the security guards at the security building, slipping them an envelope which contained an embarrassingly small amount of cash as a goodbye gift. I wanted to give sadaqah before the biggest event of my life, and who deserved it more than those who had aided in looking after me in the past four years.
Khaled was rubbing his hands together for warmth as he sat on the yellow and black road divider across his bike. He got up as he saw me approaching.
"Let's go," I announced, keeping my eyes glued to the uneven ground.
I knew he couldn't have read my thoughts from minutes ago, yet it made me embarrassed how I had thought along those lines about him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, swinging his leg over the bike.
"I'm fine," I whispered, seating myself with my transcript hugging my chest.
A heaviness weighed my heart, but I didn't want to talk about it. Marriage was a means of good, something so many people desired. If I were to express how I already missed my past, others would call me ungrateful.
"Ice cream khaani hai?"
I snapped my head towards him, but he was pulling onto the busy road. Ice cream was sweet, and sugar made you happy, right?
"Haan, please."
His nod was subtle as he gave his indicator and turned right at the intersection. The convenience store where he pulled up was brimming with students from neighboring colleges and high schools.
"I'll be right back," Khaled whispered, eyeing boys with low hanging uniform pants and loose ties crowding the entrance.
"Okay."
I hugged my transcript tighter and surveyed the nearing bus stand. There was a beautifully painted overhead bridge for the pedestrians, facilitating the walk from the schools to the bus stand, but people were still running down the road, dodging incoming traffic.
I remember a time when an education was more than test taking.
"They only had the classic one," I heard Khaled say a few minutes later as he handed me a clear plastic bag with one cornetto cone.
"Where's yours?"
"Not hungry," he said in a voice so low, I almost didn't hear it.
"Paisay nahi thay na? Wait, get one for yours-" I started to dig in my bag for loose change when he started the bike. (you didn't have enough money, did you?)
"Rida, we should get going."
"You do this every time, Khaled, 'tis not good." I dug my teeth into the sugary goodness, feeling my worries melt away. "Achi hai." (it's good)
In the afternoon sun and my need for a distraction, the ice cream cone was finished within minutes, and I was back to drinking in the surroundings. Looking around me, I saw cars of different colors and sizes, instantly filling me with thoughts of what car Aqib owned. Was he an SUV guy or a sedan fan? Did he have a white car or a black? Or did he have a car at all?
Khaled eased the bike as we reached a red light. I gripped my hand over the thick leather seat, refusing to hold him. I wasn't sure what was going through Khaled's mind, but I hoped he didn't expect me to hold him either. The bike started again with a light jolt, joining the other cars as we cruised home. I focused my thoughts on the chilly air again, closing my eyes to relish the feeling of being weightless.
It was a blessing to feel. To feel the chill in the air, the heat of the sun, to smell the sweet scent of the flowers that erupted in random gardens, and to witness the numerous colors on my body alone. Reds, blues, yellows, and even the boring brown of my eyes. All of those ignored senses were the greatest treasure, which couldn't be bought no matter the price.
A loud pitched sound made me open my eyes, the jolt of Khaled braking the bike told me the sound had come from our bike's tires as we swerved to the right to avoid a silver car that had decided to turn right without any proper signaling.
I found myself hurled forward into Khaled's back as the car behind us crashed into us. Khaled fell first, falling towards where the front tire had turned. I fell right after, feeling the warmth of his body like I had earlier. My vision clouded with black dots, telling me I was slipping into unconsciousness.
That's what you get for defying the limits set by Allah. I thought as I saw red dripping down my eyes.
My eyelids drooped, turning everything black.