Chapter 6

Late that night, I was in bed, trying to watch a movie that I’d heard was good. I always seemed to hate movies that people recommended to me, but I tried them anyway.

Imran came in, a smug look on his face, and told me Mum was calling me.

Immediately, I began to worry about everything and anything. What had I done that she might be upset with me for?

I got up. I walked down the hallway and knocked on the door before going into Abu and Mum's room.

"Imran said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes. I wanted to ask what you think of Usman." she smiled.

The hell?

"What do I think of him like...?"

"Like, as someone to... get to know," she said.

"I, uh--"

"It's completely your choice, Amaya," she assured me, "Aunty Rabia really likes you though, and so does Uncle Salim, and Usman said he does as well."

I pictured Uncle Salim, the calm, serious man I saw more as Maryam's father than an entity of his own. He'd been kind, but not particularly friendly. I was surprised that he had any opinion about me at all, let alone a positive one.

And then, the second part of Mum's sentence registered. In the time I'd been here, all my interactions with Usman had been group situations, and sure, he was a nice guy with a sense of humour and a decent head on his shoulders, and he looked at me a little more than some people did, but the news of him actually liking me came as a surprise.

I hadn't really considered him, I'd never taken the time to try to form a firm opinion about him. I'd admired, I remembered, right in the beginning, the respect he treated both his mother and father with, and this had been, to me, a sign of a good person. But he was also a more serious boy, in general, than I was used to. He didn't grin the way Husain and Ahmad did, but he did laugh and joke. Still, he was intense.

But then, he didn’t scare me. And that was important. Serious people could be terrifying, but Usman was the kind of serious that made him dependable, reliable, not the kind of serious that made me feel threatened.

And anyway, I had been called serious many, many times. It was a common insult-- or compliment, depending on the lens I chose to look at it through-- and I was hardly scary, or particularly unpleasant. I was more awkward and embarrassing than anything.

***

The next day was busy in a way that was both pleasant and hectic.

It was midday when we decided to go for a picnic at a park.

After I helped put out sandwiches and food, I asked Imran if he wanted to play catch. He agreed, and so I led him far away from the others.

I tossed the ball at him, "You knew about Usman?"

He caught it before answering, "Yes."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what do you think of him?"

He shrugged, "He's a good person. You guys are pretty similar."

"Huh?"

The sentence surprised me. Imran picking up on similarities between me and Usman was strange. What we showed to people was so different. Usman was funny and smart, but he had a side to him that was darker and brooding. This side was one that I knew I had but never showed. I'd assumed Imran did not know about this part of me.

"How is he like me?" I asked.

"I don't know. He's just a lot like you. You know that thing you do when you look into the distance and just tune everything out? He does that too. And when you guys do, you, like-- there's something about the look in your eyes. All sad and guilty and faraway."

I was shocked. Imran always left me a little confused with how well he knew me. Sometimes he saw things I was sure he wouldn't in me. He could read me like a book, and it scared me that one day he might read something he shouldn't.

Him seeing the pain in my eyes and being able to tell I wasn't just daydreaming when I got caught up in my thoughts was an observation I didn't think he would make.

"So, you approve of me getting to know him then?" I questioned.

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, if he hurts you, I'm still gonna break him into little pieces, but as far as I can tell, he's a good match."

I nodded, then caught the ball he'd thrown as he spoke, took off my glove.

"You done?"

"Yup," I answered.

I walked back to the bench, where the Maryam and the mums sat, watching as the boys tossed a football back and forth. I nearly laughed at the sight of the dads teasing the boys for their lack of both throwing and catching ability, and the boys, in return, groaning, while Fatima and Aleena ran between them, nearly getting hit in the head with a flying football more than once.

Then, the peacefulness was interrupted by a piercing scream.

Aleena had fallen, and she was curled up on the ground, sobbing and gripping her foot.

Acting on pure instinct more than anything else, I was beside her in a minute, crouching beside her and asking if she was okay. A split second before me, Usman ran up beside her, and he was now holding her to his chest, a hug, and soothing her.

"Where'd you hurt yourself?" I asked gently, touching the tips of my fingers to her cheek, which was uncomfortably close to Usman's body.

"My ankle," she cried.

I placed my hand on her ankle, pressing softly, "Does that hurt?"

"A little."

I rubbed it, waited a little bit.

"Does it feel better now?"

She nodded, sitting up in Usman's lap, wiping away her tears. Usman ticked her stomach, crooning out something in an accent that made me smile. Aleena giggled, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

It was an adorable picture.

Then she got up, and, to my surprise, hugged me tightly. She smiled a real smile at me, and then walked off to her mother's arms.

This left me and Usman sitting alone, and our eyes caught one another's. He smiled at me, he smiled at me, and it was so beautiful that I forgot to smile back for a second. Then he got up and he walked back, and, a second later, I did too.

I went back to the girls, and whispered to Mum, "Yes."

"What?" she asked in confusion,

"My answer is yes."