Page 36 of Writing Mr. Right

“I see.” Aashiq nods, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Amna Bhabhi speaks this time. “How long have you and Ziya been together? She’s never mentioned you before.”

“Not very long,” I interject. “But it’s been…nice being with him. He’s a good guy.”

The corners of his lips turn up, and I match his smile. I realize I didn’t even have to tell a lie—I meant my words. While Aashiq can be a little overwhelming, these past few weeks with him have been some of the best I’ve ever had.

“Where did you two meet, then?” Tasneem Baji asks.

“He works with me at the law firm,” I answer.

“Yes, yes,” he quickly accepts. “I’ve been shadowing Ziya at her job. I’m trying to see if what she does is something I want to do someday.”

“What, answer the phone?” Tasneem Baji snickers. “Or put appointments into a logbook? I didn’t realize the work was interesting enough to warrant someone shadowing you.”

I grit my teeth, forcing my anger back. It’s no secret that of the jobs among us siblings—with Imran Bhai being an elementary school teacher, me being a legal secretary, and Tasneem Baji being an accountant for a huge firm—hers is the most prestigious and highest paying. She met Sohail Bhai there, and after they got married, they settled in the Upper East Side, which coincidentally happens to be the same time she started gainingan attitude about mine and Imran’s jobs. It also coincidentally happened to be the same time I stopped accepting her invitations to get lunch or dinner. At this point, I can handle my sister in only small doses, like today, though even right now feels far too taxing.

Before I can speak, though, Aashiq furrows his brows. “Why did you do that?”

She freezes. “Do what?”

“Talk about Ziya’s job like that.” He scrunches his nose. “You didn’t have a very pleasant tone, which isn’t very nice.”

Red fills her cheeks, and Amna Bhabhi quickly steps in. “I think she just means she can’t see why Ziya studied political science but then decided not to use it to pursue law school,” she says. “It seems like a waste. I mean, the most logical thing to do after getting a political science degree is go to law school, am I right?”

“No,” Aashiq says in a confused tone, like he can’t fathom how Amna Bhabhi would reach that conclusion. “That’s assuming everyone’s life paths and interests and even backgrounds are the same. As long as you find something you enjoy or you’re passionate about, it doesn’t matter what you do with your degree. Heck, lots of people find success in fields other than the ones they studied in. It doesn’t mean she’s wasted her time or her skills.”

Of all the things I expected Aashiq to say when he got here—that Imran Bhai should quit his job and pursue his dreams of being a Twitch streamer, that Khirad should drop out of school and dedicate her time to an acting career after being in one school play, or that my dad should become a professional woodcarver—him defending my career isn’t one of them. Warmth spreads through my body, and I have to blink fast a few times to hold back tears poking at the corner of my eyes.

Tasneem Baji clears her throat. “Well, I suppose you’re right about that. And at least it’s a sensible job. I worried for a secondthere she was actually going to try to become a writer.That, I’m sure, would have been disastrous.”

And as if she’s pulled the safety pin from a grenade, incredulity explodes in Aashiq’s eyes. “And why is that?” he asks, eerily calm, a sharp contrast to the searing heat in his irises.

Tasneem Baji must sense it, too, because her back stiffens. “Oh, I just mean it’s good she has a realistic career while she works on her writing. I mean, she’s been writing for so many years, and she has nothing to show for it. Imagine if she didn’t have her law work to support herself. She’d be really struggling.”

“She doesn’t havenothingto show for it,” Aashiq fumes.

Okay, I need to de-escalate. I’ve never seen him so worked up before. “Aashiq, it’s okay. You don’t have to—”

But he keeps going. “She may not have anything published, but she’s made progress in her skills, which is just as important. And maybe even more impressive, because no matter how many rejections she’s faced, she hasn’t let it get her down or stop her. No matter what, she has faith in herself, and that’s what matters.” He raises a finger. “She’s also basically juggling two full-time jobs at a time, and it’s amazing how she has a brain that’s able to not only work in a law firm but also be brilliantly creative. That’s not something just anyone can do.”

To their credit, both Tasneem Baji and Amna Bhabhi stay silent. Tasneem Baji’s face is bright red, and Amna Bhabhi casts her gaze to her feet. I feel pretty flustered, but gratitude overshadows my embarrassment.

I think Aashiq can tell he accidentally made the situation uncomfortable, because his ears tinge pink. “And, well, I’m very glad Ziya chose the path of being a legal secretary,” he says. “Because of that, I got to meet her at New Scope. I got to know her, and be with her, and I can’t imagine anything better.”

Heat blooms in my cheeks, and though I should probably say something, I can’t bring myself to. All I want to do is relishin Aashiq’s words, and revel in his gaze on me, like he’s just happy to be near me and nothing else matters.

We’re all thankfully saved from having to say anything else when the back door opens and Imran Bhai calls out, “Food’s ready!”

Everyone awkwardly gets to their feet and shuffles toward the kitchen area, but as I pass Aashiq, I hook my pinkie around his, just for a moment. He pauses at the action and whips his head to me. I don’t say anything, though. I just let my gratitude shine through my eyes. He responds with a dip of his chin, and then we move forward together.

17

Our family friends arrive just before lunch, and we all take our places at the table. To my surprise, Ammi completely fawns over Aashiq. She pours food on his plate, refills his glass of water without asking, and keeps the conversation focused on him. I’m not entirely sure why; it’s not like he has any super great qualifications that would earn him desi mom approval, like being a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer or having a big family or a loaded bank account. She doesn’t seem to care he works under me, and she shared her condolences when he revealed he didn’t have any family. If I had to guess, she’s just glad her last single daughter has finally found someone, so she’s trying her best to get him to lock me down. To my mom, thirty years old is truly spinsterhood.

I wonder if when Jane Austen wrote Charlotte Lucas’s speech inPride and Prejudicethat she knew it would still ring true for brown girls in the twenty-first century.

The rest of my family, thankfully, is more relaxed. Tasneem Baji and Amna Bhabhi both pointedly ignore Aashiq, which I can’t blame them for after the way he decimated them earlier. Imran Bhai and Sohail Bhai ask him a few questions but mainly make conversation among each other. The kids are allon their own devices, watching YouTube videos or Netflix, though Aashiq’s a hit with them, too—as soon as he strikes up a conversation about the merits ofMinecraftoverRoblox, they all shut their tablets off.

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