I stab the last prawn in my plate with the fork in my hand, giving Granny a look as I do so.
“Really? An angel?” A slight smile plays on my lips.
“She is! Ask anyone. The sweetest, purest and calmest of souls. She’s the perfect example of how a girl is supposed to be like. Didn’t you see her that night we had dinner at her place? How quiet and collected she was? Never once did she make eye contact with you, and whenever she spoke, it was with grace and politeness.” She shakes her head as if mesmerised. She can be so dramatic sometimes. “That’s what a girl is supposed to be like. And that’s the type of girl I want you to marry.”
I’ve heard Granny make the same proclamation several times, these grand descriptions that she thinks will convince me to finally say yes to a girl.
If tonight was like any other night, I would be making up a reason to reject her. But tonight is different.
Tonight I have to introduce her to a girl. A girl I’m positive she won’t like.
So instead I smile at her. “An angel indeed.”
Granny’s smile widens. “Yes, you think so too don’t you?”
It’s a good opportunity to start talking about Mansha, so I don’t dodge the question. “Maybe she is Granny, who knows.” Her happy expression contorts into that of disappointment. “I might have even considered her,” I continue, lying casually, “If it wasn’t for this girl I met.”
For a while, Granny just sits there staring at me. “Girl? What girl?”
I smile a smile I hope to dear god is filled with love and wistfulness for said girl. “There’s this woman I met-” I begin.
“You met a woman?” Granny cuts in.
“Yes.”
“And you like her? You?” She pauses and stares at me for effect. “YOU like a girl?” She squints at me. “Who are you kidding huh? I grew you from this small child into this big man. You really think you can fool me into believing YOU actually met a girl and liked her instead of finding a flaw in everything she does?”
I really want to look away from Granny before she reads something in my eyes. Something that somehow tells her that the girl I’m talking about is the most flawed female I’ve ever met.
But I don’t.
Because Mansha’s flaws work in my favour, not against me. And so yes, I don’t see them as flaws.
So the words I say next might be the only honest ones I’ll say all night.
“No one is perfect Granny. She isn’t either. But her flaws are also her greatest appeal. Her flaws are what make her perfect.” I say, and try not to shudder at the last line.
Granny considers me for a long moment. “So you like her?”
I nod. “Yes. Alot.” I look down at the lonely prawn sitting in my plate with a fork piercing through it, and pop it into my mouth, buying myself some time so I can think my next words through.
I swallow. “Remember the day I took you to the hospital, where you met your angel girl?” Granny shoots me a look at the jab. I smirk in reply.
“Anyways, its the other girl who was standing on the side silently.” Granny frowns, thinking. “She was wearing a black suit.” I push her memory.
Her frown deepens. “The one who had the hearing.” She murmurs.
“Yes! Her.”
Her eyes travel back up to my face. “You like her?”
I nod.
“Why? She isn’t even beautiful.” My eyebrows rise. Granny probably remembers her face clearly now since she doesn’t forget faces.
“You know I don’t care about looks, and Mansha definitely isn’t bad looking.” However I make a mental note to tell the love of my life that Granny thinks she’s ugly.
“Mansha hm?” Granny raises an eyebrow questioningly.
I remember Mansha telling me to smile when I talk about her, so I do. “Yes. We met at the hospital for the first time, and well, honestly, I liked her the moment I met her.” I rack my brain to make up a reason why. “It was just the way she was you know? We-” Only one word comes to my mind. “We fit. The moment we met, we connected, and Granny, I felt it. You might think she’s not beautiful, but I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Another line inspired by Mansha.
I’m thinking up ways to make her pay for my suffering, when I realise Granny is still waiting for me to go on. “And after that, we met at the company. She’s a lawyer and was there with one of her clients.” I intentionally don’t mention Ahmed’s name or even why Mansha was there in the first place. I want Granny as far away from this mess as possible. “Then the night we were invited to dinner at the Jalal’s? I met her then too. She lives there as well.”
Granny’s forehead creases. “They didn’t seem to like their niece.”
I shrug. “Well I like their niece. Alot.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip. “Enough that I want to marry her.”
Granny’s eyes widen. “You want to marry her?” She whispers.
I nod. “I do.”
The happiness that gleams in Granny’s eyes at my words makes my heart clench, and for a moment I feel guilty for lying to her. She’s been wanting me to get married for so long now, and here I am so easily fooling her into thinking she’s finally succeeding.
But I remind myself that the alternative would’ve been Granny finding happiness at my own expense.
At least this way, it’s a win/win situation for all parties involved.
×——–×
Mansha’s POV:
“I barely see you these days.”
I look up from the papers I was bent over, to see father leaning on my door frame, smiling at me.
Years spent working beneath the harsh sun under continuous stress has bleached his brown hair white, and brought numerous wrinkles to his kind face.
And yet, whenever I see him, I’m reminded of peace.
I push my papers aside. “I barely see you too.”
He walks in and props himself on my bed. I whirl my seat around so we’re facing each other.
“That’s because you’re rarely home. And that’s where I’m usually found.”
I smile, but don’t say anything.
Father’s kind eyes smile back at me, like they always do, waiting patiently.
The moment holds a certain familiarity for me, with me refusing to share my problems and father still solving them all with just his presence.
He’s my peace. The person who keeps me sane while I’m going insane, for whatever reason.
He’s the anchor that keeps me stable while storms try to sink my ship.
And yet, I never speak.
I never tell.
Father scratches his beard, a mixture of dark brown and white hair, while his black eyes scan my face.
That’s the only thing we have in common. Our eyes. They’re the color of an endless dark pit.
“You haven’t come out of your room since you came home last night.” He finally says.
“I realise. Mom hasn’t been subtle about how angry she is because of that.”
Mom really is frustrated with me for staying in my room all day working on my case even though I’m not going to be working starting Monday.
She says it’s useless and I should be spending my time doing something more productive, like spending time with my family.
I get where she’s coming from. She truly believes I won’t be going to work starting Monday. And at the pace my anxiety level is going, I don’t want to go.
“She isn’t wrong. You barely spend time with us now.”
I’m only half listening to father.
Because all I want to do is curl up under my sheets and never come out.
The realisation that I was supposed to have dropped the case by tonight hit last night, and I’ve coped with the anxiety that came with it by doing paperwork and staying as far away from doors and windows as possible.
My entire being hates me for being so scared.
Father smiles at me.
“But know that I don’t feel any less proud of you. I feel like the most important man on earth whenever I see you working.”
After all this time of disregarding their threats, it’s now I choose to take one seriously? When the next hearing will be the turning point for the case?
“Then I don’t see why you’d possibly want me to quit. And that too for something as irrelevant as men.”
I know I can’t just hole up in my room forever. Tomorrow is Sunday and I have to leave for work on Monday.
And yet staying in this makeshift hiding place brings me a sense of relief. As if, if I delay whatever fate my rivals plan to subject me to for not dropping the case, I can avoid it entirely if I hide during the days they probably would have done something.
Something like killing me.
“How naive do you believe your father to be if you think I’d ask you to leave what you love for a bunch of men?”
Fathers words bring me back from my self sabotaging thoughts, and I give my him my complete attention.
“Asking me to quit so I can focus my entire attention on getting married is just re phrasing that you want me to quit so that I can focus on finding the perfect men to spend the rest of my life with. Which, by the way, also means letting said men come to my house, smile at me and expect me to quit my job and stay at home instead, devoting my life to doing housework and serving his needs.”
Father frowns. “It’s not about making you quit for a bunch of men. It’s all about successfully sending my darling daughter into the next phase of her life. It’s like a transition. I sent you from school to college to university to workplace. Now it’s time I send you into the next step of your life. Your husband’s house.” He catches my hand and rubs it between both his. “You might be fine with avoiding this. I’m not.”
I blink at father.
My voice of reason.
The men who understood me without me ever having to explain.
“I sent myself to university father. I had the option of graduating from college and getting married immediately, like every other girl around here, but I chose not to. Because I was old enough to choose.” My throat constricts, and I try to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in my throat. “I- I chose for myself.”
“Consider not choosing to get married as leaving college and deciding not to go to university.” The lines on his round face stretch as he smiles. “Plus, you don’t want to be stuck living with your parents for the rest of your life do you?”
I try to swallow the lump again. “I don’t want to get married father.” I wanted it to come out as a non negotiable statement.
But it comes out as a plea made by a daughter to her father.
“I want you to get married Mansha. It’s what comes next.”
I know.
I’ve always known.
Even when I didn’t want to accept it, I still knew. That’s why I proposed to Khizer in the first place. It had to happen eventually, so I’d rather it happens my way then any other way.
And yet I still tried to change his mind. One last attempt made by this ship to not sink despite having it’s anchor.
But that attempt failed, like I knew it would. So when I tell father about Khizer, I hold no regrets, no doubts about the decisions I made.
I don’t feel guilty when the lies smoothly flow through my mouth and into the ears of someone who trusts me daftly.
Because, even though I didn’t want to lie, he left me with no other choice.