Teen fiction: Abir has big things to do but her classmate Arsalan is turning out to be a distraction

“I’m quite sure he likes you.”

I turn to Amal, a frown on my forehead. “Who?”

“Sahil.”

I sit up in bed. “What?”

Amal and I share the same queen-sized bed, and she sits up too. “I mean it,” she whispers. I want to tell her not to talk rubbish, but my sister isn’t the sort to just make up things. Even though half the time her face is buried in a book, she’s observant and very analytical.

Something hot claws up my throat. “What makes you say that?”

Sahil is Samreen Khala’s brother-in-law. He’s in his first year of software engineering and is a couple of years older than I am.

He’s also very cute.

Okay, cute might be the wrong word. Cute makes him seem like the needy kitten who’s always mewling at our doorstep every evening. Sahil is more than that. He’s tall and has dimples and a proper chiselled jawline. But more than that, he has a very disarming smile. He likes to stop and chat with Ammi and Nani whenever he drops by to pick up Samreen Khala, as he did this evening.

He doesn’t chat with us because there’s always some sort of protocol about talking to guys. Ammi wants Amal and me to go inside our room whenever he drops by, so we’re not in his field of vision. But of course, we don’t really listen.

Amal and I make some excuse or the other to come out and talk to Samreen Khala and pretend that we’ve only just noticed he’s there too. That’s what we did this evening as well.

Amal looks at me and shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I get.”

Sighing, I fall back to my pillow. Amal and her feelings are useless. And I don’t really want him to like me.

Here’s the thing: from the time that Samreen Khala got married, which was about three years ago, Sahil has been one of the very very few young men that Amal and I have met. So it has kind of become a thing for Amal and me to joke about him and pretend to get excited.

When I was about Amal’s age, I probably did have a tiny crush on Sahil. After all, he was pretty much the only young man that I saw up close. This had long faded, and I was determined that romance was not going to be part of my life now. But I still got a bit embarrassed at any mention of Sahil.

I am a science student, and while I love computers, I do understand biology. So while I don’t fancy Sahil, yes, I like being around him and maybe even talking to him. I feel a little breathless and excited and happy. But what of it? I get breathless and excited and happy whenever we go to Wonderla too. Also, watching him get flustered in our presence is fun, and well, he’s more than cute.

I don’t have the time for boys. I need to get good marks in my exams, pass the competitive ones, and find myself a good college so I can become a top-notch software engineer. And then I need to get a job that will pay me enough to buy all the Lancôme moisturiser I want for myself and Amal and Ammi. Nani won’t use anything other than Ponds cold cream, sadly.

“Okay, it’s more than a feeling,” Amal admits, waiting to see if I will bite the bait.

I don’t. It’s been a tiring day that went off to an awful start because I’d been paired with Arsalan for chemistry practicals.

No. I will not think about him before I go to sleep. God forbid he appear in my dreams!

Amal is so quiet that I turn to her to see if she’s fallen asleep. Her brow is furrowed, like she’s thinking very hard.

I nudge her, and she blinks and looks at me.

“What happened?” I ask her.

“Nothing,” she says.

“Something happened at school?”

She shakes her head. “No, why?”

“Just thought I’d ask,” I mumble as I shut my eyes.

“But you know what I think?”

I sigh and look at her again. If there’s something in her mind, she will make sure I hear it, whether I want to or not.

“What?”

“I think you and Sahil would be really good together.”

“Amu, it’s okay. I don’t want all this jhamela, yaar. I’ve got all my life plans in place. I can’t have anything messing all this up.”

Amal shakes her head regretfully.

“What?” I feel a little defensive.

“You’re too analytical, you know?”

“So are you. And it’s a good thing. More girls should be like us.”

“I’m not like you,” she says, a little dreamily.

I look up at the ceiling. “You are, Amu. We’re both sorted, and we know what we want. It’s not marriage to some cute guy who happens to look at me for a few seconds longer than he should.”

“Who even talked of marriage?” she asks.

“It has to lead there, no?” I ask her.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Be the grandmother you are. Don’t come to me when you realise you’re old and shrivelled at twenty and all the cute guys have been taken.”

I have a feeling she’s right on some level. Maybe I am taking this a little too seriously. But I don’t have time for all this nonsense.

Today has been really exhausting. Apart from the awful time in college, I had to try to figure out the situation with the dining table. There has to be a way to work this out, but thinking about it has given me a headache.

I fall into a listless dream, one involving a dining table, with Sahil and Arsalan both facing off sitting on top of it. I’m watching the two of them with my hands on my hips. Just as I yell and ask them what the hell they’re doing, the dining table collapses and crashes to the floor.

I wake up, rubbing my eyes blearily. I might have to lobotomise myself if I want to make sure Arsalan doesn’t creep into my brain.

An excerpt from The Henna Start-up, Andaleeb Wajid, Duckbill.