Page 20 of The Matchmaker

“I’m famished.” I flush, grateful for the distraction.

I grab a bite-sized samosa and masala shrimp. I arrived an hour late, as is proper protocol for a desi event, but now it’s nearly two hours past the official start time. I’ll need to settle in for an especially long night ahead.

When we sit down at our table, I take a bite of the shrimp and quickly grab a glass of water. “This has got a kick to it. How was the samosa?”

He doesn’t reply. He’s looking over my shoulder. Following his gaze, I see a slim desi woman in a silk sari approach our table.

“Dr. Shah?” She smiles at him, then quizzically at me.

“Halima, this is Nura—my childhood friend. She’s the matchmaker behind the nuptials this evening,” Azar quickly says. “Nura, Halima is the best nurse on the face of the earth, bar none.”

They talk for a few more moments. When she leaves, I tap his elbow. “That’s a first, running into someone you know. I’m kind of surprised it hasn’t happened before.”

Azar doesn’t reply. He studies his uneaten food.

“Azar? What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath, then looks at me. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being your pretend fiancé.”

“You told her we were friends.” I give him a funny look. “I’ve never explicitly told anyone we’re engaged; your presence just wards off the inevitable questions.”

“It’s not that. I’m just thinking…. At a certain point, we have to stop this, right? I mean, how do I explain this to someone?”

How do I explain this to someone?Tiny fireballs of terror go off inside of me.

“Are you…are you seeing someone?”

I wait for him to laugh. Mr. Hasn’t Ever Been on More Than Two Dates with the Same Woman. But he’s not laughing. He’s fidgeting.

“I wouldn’t say I’m seeing her. It’s only been a few weeks. It just got me thinking, you know?”

A few weeks.My insides feel like they’re seizing up.

“Do I know her?”

“Her name is Zayna.”

“She works with you, right?”

He nods. I think back to the little Azar has told me about her. She joined his ER a few months ago. Which means Halima will likely be telling her all about running into the two of us at this wedding.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I ask.

“There’s nothing to tell.” He shrugs. “It’s all really new.”

A few weeks isn’t new. Not when it comes to Azar. Besides, they work together. They’ve known each other even longer. I take in a deep breath to steady myself, but this sensation passing through me—it’s like I’m free-falling.

“I—I’m glad you’re hitting it off with Zayna,” I finally say. “She won’t mind your being my plus-one to weddings, will she?”

“I have such little free time as it is, it just doesn’t feel fair to her.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be thirty-three this November. We can’t keep doing this forever.”

Somewhere deep down I had to know this would eventually happen. That there would come a moment when he’d find someone. Fall in love. I should count myself lucky we’ve lasted as long as we have. There’s no partner in the world who would be okay with her boyfriend spending every weekend going to weddings with another woman. There probably aren’t very many who would be okay with our friendship at all.

He searches my eyes for a reaction. I swallow. All those years ago at Emory, I blamed our near kiss on sleep deprivation from a week of pulling all-nighters. Or the hookah we’d snagged from his roommate, passing it back and forth while we sat on his bed watching our favorite survival show,Wild.He’d just told me he’d gotten into NYU medical school moments earlier, and the news was still sinking in. We’d known each other forever. We’d been in and out of each other’s homesgrowing up. Hanging out at the creaky kitchen table at Khala’s. Or the overstuffed leather sofas in his family room, the scent of his mother’s potato parathas wafting over to us. Through college, it had been a new setting but the same Nura and Azar. We were in and out of each other’s routines. Wewereeach other’s routines. That night, it had hit me: Come August, he’d be gone. That night, I’d taken in the heart-shaped curve of his mouth. The stubble against his jaw. I’d leaned forward. A sudden desire to hold on to him. To be with him. I’d realized a truth so real it had taken my breath away: I loved him. I remember how he recoiled. He’d looked at me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Desperate to undo the damage I feared I’d done, I’d rolled my eyes and laughed. Teased him for his stunned expression. Then I’d begged him to pretend it never happened. Turns out, though, you can’t pretend a moment like that away. We kept in touch over the years—phone calls on birthdays, memes texted back and forth—but it was never the same again. It took years, until he moved back to Atlanta and we officially cleared the air, to put the past behind us. I’ve moved on. I completely accept that we’re just friends. But he was always meant to be a friend I would lose, wasn’t he? Sure, we will always know each other. I’ll attend his children’s birthday parties. Send gifts on holidays. But it won’t be the same. These days of easy togetherness are numbered.

I clear my throat. I know I’m jumping to a million conclusions. Who knows what’ll happen between him and Zayna, though the fact that she’s outlasted every woman who came before her tells me things are more serious than he’s letting on. Still, I’ll be his friend as long as I can. And I’m going to find out everything there is to know about Dr. Zayna Chaudhry. My best friend’s love interest warrants a healthy perusal to make sure everything checks out, doesn’t she? Azar deserves the best.

From my peripheral vision I see the mother of the bride heading toward me.

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