Chapter 32

Book:The Perfect Match Published:2024-5-31

I stopped by a cafe and changed into a denim shirt before I came to pick Granny up, and grabbed a coffee for good measure, because despite having taken two panadols, the headache wasn’t going away.
I’m waiting for Granny in the car and sipping my black coffee when my phone begins to ring. Its Ahsan. I cut the call, not in the mood to talk.
Encounters with Ahmed always leave me feeling weird. I can’t describe it, but there’s a certain unease deep within, that makes me wanna crawl inside myself and never come out. It leaves me feeling weak and worthless.
I sigh, rubbing at my forehead. Maybe I should see a doctor, this pain is just not going away. I take another desperate swig from my cup. My phone begins to ring again.
“Fucker.” I curse, picking up my phone to shut it off. But this time the caller ID shows Mansha’s name.
My hand hovers at the red button for a while, hesitating. But really, I shouldn’t. For the past week I’ve been taking her to the doctor under the guise of dates and long drives, and whether I like to admit it or not, they have made us quiet familiar with each other. And I was completely fine with that, liked it even, until Mansha started asking questions about me.
And even though she asks random ones, they’re still about me, and that makes me uncomfortable. To the point that I make the worlds most ridiculous jokes just to avoid them. It’s stupid, but since Mansha stopped making all our conversations about her and shifted them to me, I’ve been avoiding conversations with her all together.
I’m still hesitating when the car door opens and Granny gets in. Giving her a welcoming smile, I put my phone on silent and give her cheek a kiss.
She starts talking the moment she’s in the car, first chiding me about never being home, then briefing me about all the neighborhood drama that I missed, which included the puppy dog from the house behind us dying and the newlyweds that live in Saeed’s block getting divorced.
“Been together for only a month too.” Granny says with a sigh. “Saeed told me it’s because the girl only married him for the money. She came from a middle class family you see.”
“You talked to Saeed?” I drive the car out of the colony and onto the road.
“He visited two days ago. That why I told you to come home for dinner.” She pouts. “But you didn’t come.”
I give her an apologetic smile. “Still, why is Saeed always giving you all the negative gossip.” That man literally has nothing else to do. He works from home and has all the tea, which he fills Granny in on at least twice a month.
“That’s not the point! What I mean to say is, Mansha comes from a middle class family too…” Her brows are furrowed in thought.
“Every girl you’ve ever wanted me to marry was middle class Granny. Mansha is nothing special.” I point out.
“Yes, well, that’s ’cause girls from the upper class are too open minded. They’ll demand that you stay home and do all the housework while they go out to earn the money. Such egoistic females, it’s disgusting. Haven’t you seen the ones in our society? They expect men to fall to their knees infront of them.”
“Yes well, Mansha isn’t like them.” I empty my cup in one sip.
“I think she’s just like them. Didn’t you notice how much attitude she has? Barely even talks. I like her sister more honestly.” She gives me a sidelong look. “Maha was it? What do you think about her?”
That makes me frown. “Granny, she’s a child. And I chose Mansha.” I shoot her a condescending look. “I ???? her.”
Really, saying the word is so easy. And such a lie.
“Well, hopefully she loves you too and won’t use you. She does seem to be very materialistic though.”
“Aren’t we all?” I make a mental note to tell Mansha this.
I spend the rest of the ride home trying get into a good mood and getting Ahmed out of my head. By the time I roll the car into the parkinglot of her building, I can smile without it looking fake.
I let Granny go ahead and walk to the back if the car to Saleem.
“Catch up with the guys while I’m gone. Ask them if everything is ok around here.” He nods. “Grab something to eat too while you’re at it.”
I rush over to the elevators where Granny is waiting for me. For the past week Mansha only left the house with me, but I’m positive there are people keeping an eye on her, but I still haven’t figured out who they are.
“Do you think Mansha cooked today?” Granny asks once we’re inside the lift.
“I don’t know. Why?”
She shrugs. “I wanna make sure you like her cooking.” She eyes me. “You don’t really seem to care though. Are you so mad for her that you don’t even care if you’ll be able to digest her cooking? What if she makes it very spicy?”
I chuckle. “Then I’ll just drink a lot of water. So don’t worry. You’re worrying too much. Just appreciate Mansha for who she is.”
She sighs. “Oh well, if you’re happy I’m happy. As long as she makes you come home every night.” I laugh, not wanting to pop Granny’s bubble by telling her Mansha won’t be home at nights either.
We walk out of the elevator and to her house, and are greeted by a very excited family. Only Mansha isn’t with them, and her parents guide us into the sitting area, and Maha is the one who brings us water.
The first thing Mansha’s mother asks is about Granny’s sprained leg.
Granny smiles, just like I told her too. “It’s perfectly fine now, thanks to your daughter.”
“Yes, Mansha helped us alot.” I avoid Granny’s gaze, and get up. “Where’s Mansha?”
“She’s in her room, getting ready.” Her mother gives Granny an apologetic smile. “She wants to look perfect for today’s occasion.”
Granny’s eyes sparkle. “Or for my son. Khizer, if you’re so excited, go ahead and meet her in her room, why don’t you?”
I blink. Mansha’s mother and sister laugh, while her father manages a small smile. “Yes, Khizer, go ahead, she’s your fiancee after all.” He says encouragingly.
I lower my head. “Ah, sir. You underestimate my shyness.”
“Just look at how down to earth my grandson is!” Grandma gushes.
“Down to earth and boring.” Maha grumbles.
“I’m not boring!” I object.
“This,” She points her index finger at me. “Is boring. My sister likes bold people.”
I’m not surprised. “I am bold.”
“Then go to her room!”
“Ok Maha, stop insisting.” Her mother chides. Maha just keeps giving me a challenging glare.
I huff. “Alright I’ll go.” Everyone in the room cheers, and I turn on my heels and walk to Mansha’s room, which was probably the one with the door closed. I’d seen her come out of it every time I came to pick her up.
I was actually wondering where she was so I could ask her to make me a cup of coffee, but I suppose this is how it is when you’re about to get married.
Everyone is corny as fuck.
I turn the door knob of her room and poke my head in. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, using her phone, and looks up at the sound.
“Hey beautiful.” I say sarcastically, closing the door behind me.
“Why the fuck are you here?” She’s looking at me with a scowl on her face, and a birds nest on her head. I point at it.
“I thought you wanted to look beautiful for tonight.” She raises an eyebrow. “Your mom.” I clarify.
She sighs. “Whatever. Did they ask about your Granny’s injury?”
I nod, plopping down on her bed and resting back on the pillows. “They did. Granny said what I asked her to say, but we’ll have to tell her the truth soon.”
She gets up and walks to her dressing table. “We will, but after the marriage. She might break it off if she thinks her grandsons life is in danger.”
I sigh, watching her trying to brush through her unruly hair. “How’s your wound?”
“Since I’m brushing my hair for the first time in a week, clearly better.” She grumbles.
“For the first time?”
“I didn’t brush it all week ’cause I couldn’t and there was no need to.” She glares at my reflection in the mirror. “But a girl always has to look beautiful for her husband doesn’t she?”
I chew on my bottom lip, and a memory crosses my head. Her hair were also a problem while she was unconscious. “Tell you what, cut them.”
Her hand stops midway, and she raises an eyebrow. “Cut my hair?”
“Yeah. They get in the way alot.” I wave my hand at them. “They’re bothering you even now aren’t they?”
She huffs. “That’s ’cause I didn’t comb my hair for an entire week. Plus, no one asked.” Her hairbrush gets stuck in a tangle of hair, and she winces.
I raise my eyebrows. “They come to your waist. When was the last you cut them anyway?”
“I like them long.” She tugs at the stuck hairbrush.
I should offer help, but really, this is the most ridiculous Mansha has ever looked. “Would you like some help?” I ask anyway, because I know the answer.
“No thanks.” I cross my arms and lean back on the bed, watching her struggle with her damned hair. She eyes me. “You’re a creep. Get out.”
“I will if you promise to get me a coffee after you’re done cleaning this war zone.”
“No. Eat food like normal people.”
I shrug. “Then I’m not getting out.”
“What are you, a child?”
I open my mouth, ready with a retort, but noises rise from the other side. Mansha’s arm stops moving as she listens, then her mouth falls open.
“That’s Aunty Sugra.” She says in a loud whisper.
I look at her questioningly. “So?”
“So we have to go, she knows you’re here.” She rushes over to the bed and presses the hairy hairbrush in my palm. “Quick, comb my hair.”
I stare at her. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re trying to shove me in her face.”
She smirks. “That bitch deserves it.”
I let out a dramatic gasp. “So I’m a trophy wife now?”
She scowls. “Isn’t this deal all about supporting each other?”
“Not at each other’s expanse!” For the life of me, this woman has no fears. “You can’t be messing around with the elders of your house grump.”
“I can. Getting married gives you a certain amount of power, and you have to use it right.” I glare at her. “Please. I’ll get you coffee.”
“You really are a fox lady.” I get up and we walk back to the dressing table. Taking a few feet back from her, I gather up a chunk of her hair and start combing. They’re surprisingly soft.
“She’s always going on about how I can’t get myself a man, and then she created that drama about me stealing you from Sara. I have nothing to lose and she deserves whatever I’m going to throw in her face.”
I nod, and keep combing. I’m already a few feet away from her, but the scent of her hair still wafts into my nostrils, and even though they smell like jasmine, I feel queasy. The noises outside have grown louder, and I can see Mansha’s lips moving, but I’ve zoned everything out, until the only thing I can see is the brush and hair.
I take another step back, hoping that it will make it better. But it doesn’t, and instinct tells me to drop the hairbrush and leave the room. My heart clenches, willing me to do it.
“Are you even listening?” Mansha is glaring at me.
I force my lips up in a smile. “I wouldn’t ignore you even if I could grump.” Her face twists with disgust, but she doesn’t notice the space between us. Or maybe she does, but thinks it’s because of the deal.
Part of her hair is done, so I brush them to the side and get to the other half. I could just drop this right now and leave, but I don’t want to. Because what’s more thrilling then plunging head first into a lake full of piranhas.
So I brush her hair, chunk by chunk, until they’re all straight and smooth again, then I take a step forward and tie them up in a ponytail. Somewhere in the process my left eye and head begins thrumming with pain, and that just adds to the torture.
A memory of a bloody bed flashes through my head as I tighten the band, and I finally lose it and pull away, forcing a smile to my face.
It’s my favourite mask.