Page 54 of The Matchmaker

“It’s happening again.”

“Wh-what’s happening again?” I stammer, unsettled by both of their expressions.

“Mom. No. Please,” says Nina.

“You were right.” Khala looks at her daughter. “We should have stopped this whole matchmaking business years ago. He is onto us.”

“No one is onto anything,” says Nina.

“What else could it be?” Tears slip down her cheeks. “This harassment is exactly the kind of thing he would do.”

“Who ishe?” I stare at both of them. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing. Mom’s having a moment. You know stress does that to her.”

She’s right. Stress can cause Khala to relapse, summon memories from long ago. Whatever this conversation has stirred up, it’s clearly traumatic. Before I can bring her water and reassure her, she looks at me and croaks, “I only ever wanted to protect you.”

“You alwayshaveprotected me, Khala.”

“It seems I did not protect you well enough.”

“Mom. Enough. He’s dead,” says Nina.

“Are we absolutely certain? Perhaps his family is behind this. They are not the sort to let things go.” Her lower lip trembles. “They were biding their time, waiting to strike. Fiaz can be tricky.”

Fiaz? I’ve never heard that name before. Have I?

“Who is Fiaz?” I ask.

“It—it’s not important,” Nina mumbles. She won’t meet my eyes.

“Forgive me, Madiha.” Tears stream down Khala’s face. “I thought we were safe. I truly did.”

“Khala, it’s me,” I say gently. “I’m Nura. Your niece.”

“You are Madiha.”

Nina takes Khala’s hand. She tugs. “You need to lie down. This was a lot of information thrown at once.” She glances toward me. “Why don’t you go? We could all use some rest. We’ll talk about this later.”

I can’t move. It’s not what Nina said. It’s the way she said it. How she won’t meet my eyes. How badly she wants me to go.

“Who is Madiha?” I ask again.

“Madiha is your real name,” Khala says.

“This isn’t the time or the place for this, Mom.”

“It needs to become the time and place,” I say. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

“You are right,” says Khala. “It’s long past time you learned the truth.”

Fifteen

Khala begins to speak, and I don’t move. I scarcely let out a breath.

“Our matchmaking began in Lahore years before my birth. Though back then, it was hardly a business. Matchmaking was simply what people did for one another,” Khala says. “We kept an eye out for suitable matches for people in our lives, but my mother’s uncanny ability to make auspicious ones drew attention quickly. I helped her as the work steadily grew, and when the time came that it grew to be too much for her, I took over.”

I know all this. Our origin story is hallowed family lore. But I don’t dare interrupt her.

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