Page 24 of Writing Mr. Right

I chew the inside of my cheek. He’s got a point; he has a chance to discover what he likes. Who am I to deny him that opportunity? “Does expressing yourself involve wearing your tie crooked?”

Aashiq wrinkles his nose, then turns his gaze downward. “What?”

I gesture for him to stand up, and when he does, my hands go for the tie. I readjust it until it’s straight. “There,” I say. “You’re good.”

When I look up at him, Aashiq’s curious stare explores my face. I’m not exactly sure what he’s trying to find, but the extended eye contact brings heat to my cheeks. His gaze lingers on mine for a beat before he takes a step back. “Thank you,” he says, though his voice is strained.

My hands hover in the air for a moment, then drop to my sides. “You’re welcome. We should probably get to work.”

His shyness suddenly dissipates. “Not until you write your affirmations for the day. And you need breakfast.”

I glance at the clock on the stove. “There’s no time. We’re going to be late.”

I turn around and go to the front door without waiting for a response. Thankfully, his footsteps clack behind me, and I hold the door open for him after I step out. Once I’ve locked it, we make our way to the subway station. When we get out close to the office, Aashiq makes me stop and buy a bagel. I almostprotest, but the exercise I did combined with the fact I’ve already been awake for a few hours makes my stomach growl.

“This kind of food is nice every once in a while,” Aashiq says as I unwrap the paper and take a bite. “But you should get into the habit of making food at home. It’ll help to boost the balance in your life.”

“My life is perfectly balanced!” I garble around the cream cheese.

“It isnot,” he counters. “You do everything in extremes. Either you’re so dedicated to your work that you’re there until the late hours of the night, or you stay up until the early hours of the morning doing your writing.”

“Well, I guess it’s your job to fix that.”

He refrains from an eye roll. “You’re not making it easy for me.”

“I am who I am.” I stuff more of the bagel into my mouth.

Yet another thing that causes Aashiq to wrinkle his nose. “You shouldn’t be in such a rush to eat, either. Not only is it bad for your digestion, but you could choke.”

“Now you sound like my family doctor,” I grumble.

“Maybe you should listen to one of us,” he says. “It’s not just the health factor. Food is something you’re blessed to be able to enjoy. Inhaling your food takes away from your mindfulness. It’s important to relish and appreciate each bite so you can remember you’re lucky to have food that’s good and clean and won’t make you sick.” He eyes the wrapper holding my bagel together. “For the most part. I don’t know how much I trust street food, personally.”

My chewing slowed during his speech, and I drop my gaze down to my bagel. It’s nearly done, but as we wait for the elevator up to the office, I take smaller bites anyway, conscious of my chewing. Maybe he’s right. I typically think of food as fuel; something I only need to keep me going. Actually, I often think of eating as more of a distraction than anything.I’d rather be working or writing, so I eat as fast as possible so I can get back to work.

But he has a point about the mindfulness of food. Isn’t that one of the reasons I fast during Ramadan? To remember how blessed I am by Allah, to think about how lucky I am? Ramadan isn’t all about food, but fasting all day, knowing I’m going to eat again at sundown, is enough to remind me I’m so fortunate.

By the time we get off the elevator, I’ve finished the bagel, but as I toss the wrapper into the garbage, I make the conscious decision to be more aware of my eating habits.

Once the day starts, it takes off, and I spend most of the morning fielding calls, rearranging court dates, and collecting files. At Aashiq’s insistence, I even teach him how to use the photocopier. He says it’s so he can be helpful, and to keep up the “shadowing” cover. But I think he just wants an excuse to carry a big stack of papers around the office and act like a lawyer.

After a busy couple of hours, I finally get a chance to sit properly at my desk. I take a ten-second break, then pick up a pen and go through the to-do list I drafted with Aashiq last night. I usually keep these details in my head, but itiseasier to have it all visually laid out.

Aashiq, as usual, hovers behind my chair. He peers over my shoulder, then, completely unprompted, asks, “Why is it so hard for you to say something nice about yourself?”

My pen skids on the paper, drawing a long jagged line throughappeal for trial date change. I slowly turn my head. “What?” I prompt.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your attempts to dodge writing your affirmations down,” he states. “Why is it so hard to acknowledge something good about yourself?”

I grind my molars. “Well, a therapist would probably say it stems from the adults in my life picking at my insecurities since I was a child.”

He gives me an annoyed stare. “Comeon,” he says. “It’s not hard to list good things about you. You’ve got great qualities!”

I snort. “Oh, yeah? And how would you know?”

“I’m a part of you.” Aashiq places his hands on the back of my chair. “And I’ve had a chance to observe you in the real world.”

“Alright.” I put my pen down and turn to face him properly. “What have you observed, then?”

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