I watch all this unfold in front of me and my eyes well up for so many reasons. Seeing the groom is unnerving but at the same time, reassuring. I’m glad I didn’t end up with him but even so, it sucks that he got to reject me when I didn’t even want to meet him; I agreed to placate my mum.
When it’s time for Sam to say ‘I accept’, she looks absolutely petrified. It takes a lot of coaxing from Kamal, to get her to say it and I glance over at my uncle to see that he’s starting to get teary. His reaction gets me all emotional. Samia chokes out her consent and then Kamal raises his hands and launches into a long prayer, asking God to bless the happy couple. The guests also raise their hands, with most of the non-hijabi women covering their hair loosely with their dupattas as a sign of respect for the sheer holiness of this part of the ceremony. My sisters and I do the same as we hold up our hands in prayers, only I add in a few prayers of my own, asking God to give me peace and contentment, in this life and the next.
When the prayers are over, the serving staff quickly start dishing out the food but I don’t feel like eating. Samia is now sitting at the head table and everyone is going up to her one by one to offer their well wishes, so I compose myself and do the same, approaching her table with trepidation. When she sees me, there’s a flash of guilt in her eyes before she plasters a phony smile on her face.
‘Zara! So glad you made it!’ she cries, like I’m some stranger that may not have made the time and effort on a week night.
‘Of course. Congratulations! You look beautiful,’ I say simply. I can feel my smile falter as my lower lip begins to tremble, so I mumble something to her husband and hurry towards the exit. I need some fresh air. But of course, this is a Bengali nikah so things are never as simple as leaving the building. I’m accosted by three different aunties on my way out; two of them ask me why my engagement broke off and the third obviously didn’t get the memo because she congratulates me on ‘finally’ getting engaged.
Bursting out into the freezing night, I inhale huge gulps of the frosty air. I miss Hamza and Adam so, so much. I know that Hamza was right to break it off with me; knowing that my heart wasn’t fully his because there was a huge piece of it that belonged to Adam.
And probably always would. Yes, Hamza ending things temporarily crushed me, but one thing I realised, throughout all this, was that I was looking for Mr Perfect and only found Mr Perfectly Fine. He’s a good guy, but he wasn’t the one for me.
The night of the kiss will forever be a monumental moment in my story, and not only because of the kiss itself, but because it was the moment that Tariq lost the power he had over me. It was the moment I faced my worst fear right in the face and came out on top. It was the moment I realised I was free, I was strong, and I was happy. I can never thank Adam enough for his role in freeing me from the shackles of my past. And as for the kiss? That was the whipped cream on the hot chocolate, wasn’t it?
I manage to make it through the rest of the wedding with my dignity intact; smiling at all the right places and not bursting into tears every time I think of what I’ve lost. I think I do a pretty good job, but later that night, Yasmin tells me that my misery was obvious from a mile off and then I really do start to cry. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough. I’m always one step behind .?.?.
*
As the days turn into weeks, I wait for the pain and emptiness to ease and it does, a little. My birthday comes and I turn thirty. The sky doesn’t come crashing down. My eggs don’t rot overnight. My mum doesn’t book me on a Biman Bangladesh flight to Osmani International. Life continues regardless of pain, or loss, or anything else that is important to me but so insignificant in the universe.
One evening, a couple of weeks after my birthday, I stay in the office late to get through a mountain of work that has become harder with Adam’s absence. We’ve got a temp graphic designer who doesn’t really get me, or my style, and I find myself having to go through rounds and rounds of edits before I’m happy with anything. Kevin’s asked me to speak to HR and start recruiting for a permanent role, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to.
It’s almost seven by the time I wrap up, and I yawn as I wait for the lift to arrive, debating whether or not to take an Uber home. A bus journey feels so unappealing, more so now that it’s started to rain. Mum’s been on at me to learn how to drive and I decide to add that to my list of things I need to achieve; before a husband, even. A car is probably more useful than a man, anyway.
The doors creak open and there he is, standing in front of me with his helmet in his hands, a smattering of stubble on his jaw and dark circles under his eyes. His gaze meets mine for the briefest second but it’s enough to stop my world from orbiting for a moment. He doesn’t say hello. He never does. I nod an acknowledgement and step into the lift, my heart thudding so insistently that he’d have to be deaf not to hear it. The doors close and then it’s just us, and his intoxicating scent of soap and spices.
I want to say something to him, but he’s made it so abundantly clear that he wants nothing to do with me, that I’m afraid to. What if he tells me off, or worse, ignores me?
The seconds tick by and Adam shifts on his feet. It’s been weeks since I was last in the lift with him, and we weren’t alone that time. I need to make this moment count.
‘How have you been?’ I finally mumble, my voice trembling with nerves. There’s a silence and I hear him inhale shakily.
‘Fine,’ he replies tersely and my heart soars at his response. Well, not the response itself, but the fact that he responds.
‘Do you like your new department?’ I continue, like the two of us conversing amicably in the lift is the most normal thing in the world. Like he didn’t leave our team to get away from me. Like he doesn’t think I married someone else after he confessed how he felt about me. I sneak a glance at him, and to my horror, he looks as if he’s about to cry.
‘My aunt died this morning,’ he whispers when he realises that I’m staring.
‘Oh my God! Adam, I’m so sorry.’ I place a hand on his arm and he turns towards me properly when I do, his expression one of pure anguish.
‘Why are you talking to me, Zara?’ he demands, pulling his arm away as if I’m contagious. ‘You’re married.’
‘I-I’m n-not,’ I stammer, my face turning beetroot. ‘We called it off. It’s over.’
‘What?’ If he looked pained before, now he looks completely floored. The lift pings its arrival on the ground floor but neither of us moves. We stand there, staring at each other. The doors open, and then close, and we remain standing there.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I say eventually, not sure what else to say. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
Adam’s shoulders sag. ‘Thanks. And no. Just your prayers. I need to go. My mum’s waiting for me. I shouldn’t have come to work today.’
‘OK.’
We look at each other for a few more seconds and then he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, as though walking is a task that’s requiring too much from him. I watch his retreating back and exhale.
He spoke to me, and it’s a start.