Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

Part Five

Winter

Epilogue

The icy air and the harsh wind swirls around me as I pull my heavy woollen coat and thick scarf tighter around my body, a flimsy protection from the cold. It’s the middle of January and it’s been the toughest winter in a long time. As I wait at the bus stop, large flakes of snow start falling from the heavens. I squeeze myself under the shelter and everyone else does the same; freezing sardines inhaling each other’s warm breath.

A motorcycle zooms past me, its rider all in black with a matching helmet. I know it’s Adam on his way home from work. I stare at his back, but he disappears in seconds. For a second, I stop breathing, as I always do whenever I catch a glimpse of him.

It’s been two months since Hamza broke off our engagement. I wanted to tell Adam what happened. I desperately, desperately wanted to. I called in sick for an entire week after the weekend I was supposed to get married. The day I returned to work, I decided that I would ask him to meet me by the fire exit and tell him then.

But he wasn’t there. He had booked emergency leave and was gone for a whole fortnight. I tried calling him, but I soon realised that he had blocked my number. Then I found out from Kevin that an opening had come up in Marketing when I was off, and Adam had applied for it. When he came back to the office, it was only for a day to pack his stuff and hand over, and then he was gone without so much as a glance in my direction.

I don’t think he knows that I didn’t get married and I’ve lost the urge to tell him. My head is still pretty messed up, and I don’t see much point in dragging Adam into the rubble when I don’t really know what I want. Whenever we share the same lift, I feel an immense sadness; I lost more than a flame, I lost a friend, and his absence has left a gaping hole in my life.

As for Hamza .?.?. well. We don’t have to deal with running into each other seeing as we’re in completely different social circles, different sectors, in opposite parts of the city, which I suppose is a good thing. We spoke once after that day, but it wasn’t a good conversation. He was angry and bitter and he said some things that cut deep; that I was selfish, a narcissist and a cheat. I decided to hang up before the memory I had of him being inherently good became too tainted.

*

The bus finally comes, and we all trudge onto it. I sit behind the driver and close my eyes, hoping I don’t fall asleep and miss my stop. I can’t be home late today because we’re going out and I barely have enough time to get ready as it is. It’s going to be the first social occasion I’ve attended since Hamza, and to say I’m dreading it would be a massive understatement.

It’s Samia’s nikah today and, once again, she didn’t tell me about it herself, I had to find out from my mum. She’s always been secretive but the way she hid this from me after I told her all about Adam and Tariq really, really hurts. Yas said not to take it to heart, she did it to spare me pain, but I know that the truth is she was scared I would be jealous of her and give her the nazar, the evil eye. Bengalis are big believers in black magic and the ‘eye’, the way someone can have bad feelings towards you and their negative thoughts destroy the good things in your life.

‘Finally, Zara, you’re home! Hurry up and get ready, we’re leaving in half an hour!’ Mum shoves me towards the stairs, barely giving me a second to take my snow-covered coat off. I glare at her and kick off my wet boots before dragging myself up to my room. I honestly don’t know why I’m bothering to go tonight. Sam obviously doesn’t want me there and my presence will put a downer on the celebrations. After all, I’ve had two broken engagements now; either I’ve got a really shitty personality that scares away suitors, or I’m cursed. My sisters say that it’s neither, I’ve just got back luck. I love them for always trying to make me feel better, but it’s going to take some time before I can fully love myself. I think I’m on the right track, though.

Amina and Yasmin are ready by the time I get to my room, having taken the day off work, so they keep me company (more like distract me) while I grudgingly take a quick shower and get dressed. At first, I decide to keep my makeup simple for fear of looking like I’m trying to outdo the bride, but then I get annoyed and stick on super-glam lashes and go for a vampy dark-red lipstick. Ha, take that Samia,I think to myself as I open my wardrobe to take out the simple, gold-coloured dress I’ve chosen to wear tonight. That’s when I see the gown I was supposed to wear on my own nikah, and my heart stops. I yank out the gold number and slam the door closed, making a mental note to get rid of it. I don’t need it around, constantly reminding me of what could have been.

‘You look amazing, sis,’ Yasmin says, coming up to me and giving me a small hug as I stare at my too-thin reflection, my cheek and collarbones jutting out of my flesh like blades. She looks beautiful as always, in a navy ensemble, and I hug her back. Arm in arm, we make our way downstairs and trundle into the car.

The nikah is being held in a small events venue in East London, so it doesn’t take long to get there, which is a good thing too, because we spend the entire journey listening to Mum telling us what to say when people ask us about Hamza.

‘Say it was because of cultural differences,’ she decides in the end. I stay silent.

To be fair, my mum was a rock after everything with Hamza unravelled. During my week off work, she really took care of me, bringing me food in bed, stroking my hair, running me baths, buying me magazines and snacks.

And then she told me something she’d never mentioned before, not even after Tariq. She was engaged to someone before my dad and the man broke it off the day before the wedding. For a whole year afterwards, she felt she couldn’t show her face in the community because of all the gossip that ensued.

‘Everywhere I went, people would whisper. Your nani was too embarrassed to leave the house. It was the worst year of my life, and things only changed when the proposal from your dad’s family came.’

The confession stunned me and I wished she had told me this before, especially after Tariq disappeared. Her obsession with what people think, or might say about us, all made sense now. When my week off came to an end, though, she firmly told me to get my act together and get on with life and the softness she had shown me was once again replaced with her usual stoicism.

*

The hall is sparsely decorated with a small stage on one end. There are no flowers or balloons, just candles on each table and a white backdrop with fairy lights. Amina asked Sam what she was going to wear but she didn’t tell her; apparently she wants it to be a surprise. Well, let’s hope it’s not gold because that would be pretty awkward.

I’d be lying if I said that I’m not bothered that she’s getting married before me. I’m only human, after all. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for her. I’m glad she’s met the right person and I will always pray that God keeps them happy. I just wish things would work out for me as well.

My uncle spots us and comes over, giving us all bear hugs. He doesn’t ask what happened with Hamza and I’m grateful for it.

Guests slowly spill into the hall. It’s already almost nine but there’s still no sign of the bride and groom, nor any food. My stomach rumbles, as it does a lot these days, but I doubt I’ll eat much. Eating has become something I do because I have to, not because I enjoy it.

Samia’s family is quite religious so there’s no music or dancing, only a cappella Islamic nasheeds playing quietly in the background. All in all, it’s a pretty boring event so far. With a yawn, I tell my sisters that I’m going to the toilets to check my makeup, and then slowly get out of my seat. At least it will give me something to do.

I hang around in the bathroom for a while, remembering the last wedding I attended when I tripped on my way to the loo and made Samia’s saree come undone. And now, almost a year later, here I am. Still single and still alone, at her nikah.

‘You OK?’ Yasmin asks me when I return to the table and I nod and rest my head on her shoulder for a second. Because I am OK. I just need time.

Samia finally enters the hall. It’s a subtle entrance, with no fanfare announcing her arrival. She looks beautiful in a maroon saree and I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s not wearing gold. I try to make eye contact with her so I can smile at her and try and let my expression reassure her that I’m not giving her nazar, but she keeps her gaze down like a traditional Bengali bride. She slowly makes her way to the little stage where the groom is waiting for her, along with Kamal, who will be performing the ceremony. They both look embarrassed when Kamal starts off with a short speech about the sanctity of marriage and then starts the actual vows.