Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

Chapter 18

A week later, my sisters and I are outside the Alexandra Palace ice rink, waiting for Hamza to arrive. I’ve taken Layla’s advice on board and decided that in order to gain some clarity on my situation, I need my sisters’ perspective.

I’m thankful that coming up here doesn’t make me feel nervous anymore. It took a good few years, but I managed to overcome my anxiety. This place holds so many positive childhood memories for me; skating at the rink, rowing on the lake, fireworks, picnics, weddings .?.?. I couldn’t let Tariq taint all those special moments for me. I’d already lost nearly a year of my life because of him; all the weddings and parties I was too afraid to attend, all the nights I stayed at home locked in my room, too broken to go out. And as I stand by the wall and look down at magnificent London spread out before me, I’m glad this beautiful piece of my history – and perhaps future – isn’t forever lost to me.

‘Salaam Alaykom!’Hamza’s booming voice startles me out of my morose thoughts. I smile back and wave shyly, my insides a bundle of nerves, like my dad’s cable drawer with its countless phone chargers, laptop chargers, USB cables and other wires, all tangled up beyond redemption.

‘Wa Alaikum Salaam,’ I reply when he gets closer, unsure of how to greet him in front of my sisters. Hamza seems to sense my dilemma and gives my arm a quick squeeze before extending his hand to Amina first, and then Yasmin.

‘Ah, the formidable Choudhury sisters. I’ve heard a lot about you! It’s so nice to finally meet you!’

He shakes hands with them enthusiastically, pumping their hands up and down as if the harder he shakes them, the more they’ll be inclined to like him. I see that Yasmin is trying to supress a smile, whereas Amina’s expression is more difficult to read.

We make our way around the building to the ice rink entrance, where Hamza insists on buying our tickets, all the while keeping up a steady stream of conversation with my sisters. Well, with Yas anyway. Amina looks more uncomfortable than I imagined. He tries to engage with her but she responds with closed answers, which makes it challenging for him to continue the conversation.

When we finally get onto the ice, Yasmin whizzes away like she always does, gliding and spinning like a pro. She used to take lessons when we were kids and likes to show off her skills to anyone willing to watch. Hamza looks at me in awe.

‘Can you skate like that, too?’

‘No,’ I mutter, carefully stepping onto the ice and promptly falling down hard on my backside. Whose stupid idea was this? Probably Yasmin’s. She’s always stealing the bloody show. Today is supposed to be about me. I stare at her as she pirouettes at the centre of the rink, in her leggings that show off her legs for days and her slouchy sweatshirt casually rolled up to her elbows, her perfect hair swishing about in time to the music. The pang of envy hits me hard in my gut, and I feel bad straight away. She’s my sister. What kind of lowlife feels jealous of her younger, sexier sister? Hamza laughs, though, takes my hand into his gigantic paw and pulls me back onto my feet as if I’m no heavier than a feather.

‘Well, it’s nice to see that there’s something you’re not perfect at.’ He smiles, before letting go of my hand and also gliding away. ‘Catch me if you can! You’re it!’

‘Hey, I wasn’t ready!’

It doesn’t take me long to find my footing on the ice and when I do, I start having fun as we play a lively game of ‘It’. Amina also seems to be enjoying herself, despite her aversion to most things physically challenging, as she desperately scuttles across the ice like a cockroach. I catch her straight away, colliding into her hard and sending both of us sprawling.

‘You’re “It”,’ I groan, rubbing my hip as I try to stand again. Hamza appears like a guardian angel, pulls me back up and I smile gratefully at him.

After our painful but exhilarating skating session, we go for lunch to one of my usual Turkish hotspots nearby. I know that Hamza will insist on footing the bill so I don’t want to take advantage by going somewhere expensive. By this point, Amina has warmed up and they’re bantering away like old friends. He’s surprisingly good at manoeuvring his way around conversations with my sisters and has this uncanny ability to read between the lines and quickly but subtly switch topics he can sense are contentious. They talk politics, finance, international affairs and policy, and all sorts of other stuff, half of which goes over my head and the other half .?.?.? Well, I lean back and let them talk. Today is about them getting to know each other.

At one point, as I watch them talk about the British occupation of Egypt and Bangladesh, Hamza suddenly starts to look quite handsome. His green eyes sparkle as he gently teases Yasmin about her lack of knowledge of British history, his smile bright, straight and friendly. And it’s at that moment, that I realise that knowledge, intellect and good manners are almost as attractive as good looks and sex appeal.

When he books an Uber for us to go home in because, ‘Taking the bus after all that ice skating will be too tiring,’ both my sisters seem to be won over.

‘Omigod, Z, he is perfect,’ Amina gushes on the ride home, as we sit back exhausted, bruised and stuffed from the day’s activities. I can’t help but raise an eyebrow as I take in her elated expression. I’m not used to Amina gushing about anyone or anything. ‘What? Don’t look at me like that! He is!’

‘Really? How so?’ I lean back against the seat and rest my head on Yas’s shoulders.

‘He ticks all the boxes, sis. He’s tall. Striking. Highly educated. Good job. Intelligent – emotionally and intellectually. Friendly. Everyone’s going to love him and he’s crazy about you. What more do you want?’

‘Erm .?.?. A bit of a spark?’

Yasmin remains worryingly quiet throughout the ride and it’s only when we get back home and we’re in the safety of my bedroom that she tells me what she really thinks.

‘Look, Z, I can’t tell you what to do,’ she begins, plonking herself on my bed and kicking all my decorative cushions to the floor as she tries to get comfortable.

‘But .?.?. you’re going to anyway?’

‘Is he a nice guy? Yes. Does he tick most of the boxes? Definitely. But you need to be attracted to him.’

I sigh and look away, unable to bear her worried stare any longer. She’s right. I know she’s right. But what about that spark I felt today when I saw how engaging and smart and interesting he is? I confess this to my sister, but instead of understanding where I’m coming from, she rolls her eyes.

‘This is so typically you, Zara. You’re clutching on to straws now. How long has it taken for you to feel this spark? Six months?’

‘It’s not the first time, though. I’m slowly seeing different sides of him that I’m attracted to.’

‘Look, you asked for my opinion and I gave it. It’s up to you to make the choice.’ Then, when I don’t respond, she softens and adds gently, ‘Why don’t you ask to meet his sister? Seeing his family might help you make up your mind?’

That night I struggle to fall asleep as the day’s events roll around in my head like a chicken on a rotisserie. I thought Hamza meeting my sisters would help clear up this cloud of doubt, and maybe it has a little. Seeing that dynamic side of him has shifted my perspective and it’s good to know that Amina at least has my back if we decide to go ahead with things. But still, it’s not enough, is it?