the Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali

No parties, no shorts, no boys. These were my parents’ three cardinal rules. But what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, right? I quickly changed out of my NASA pajamas and into my favorite black crop top and dark blue vintage jeans, liking the way they accentuated my curves. According to Mom no one needed to know that I had boobs, much less a belly button, except for me, Allah, and my future husband. Of course, the whole “no boys” rule was a moot point in my case, but fortunately my parents didn’t know about Ariana.

“Rukhsana, Mom is never going to let you out of the house wearing that.”

Startled, I spun around to see my brother, Aamir, leaning lazily against my door frame.

“Knock much?” I said, quickly pausing the music playing on my phone.

“I did. It’s not my fault you couldn’t hear me over that screeching you call music.” Aamir smiled as he sauntered into the room and plopped down on my bed.

Of course, my brother was right. I would never be allowed

to go out wearing this. Which was why I was planning to throw on my oversized school hoodie to once again become the shapeless blob my parents preferred to think of me as. “Aamir, you know this isn’t my first rodeo.” I ruffled his hair affectionately. “Plus, you always have my back, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I’ll cover for you,” Aamir said, pushing away my hand. He was very particular about his hair. “But it’s going to cost you,” he added with a grin.

“What do you want this time?” I pulled the bulky hoodie over my head.

“Something good. I haven’t thought about it yet.” He surveyed my outfit. “Ariana’s going to run away when she sees you, but at least Mom will be happy.”

I punched him playfully in the arm before going downstairs. The smell of chai led me into the kitchen, where I found the pot

bubbling on the stovetop. I inhaled its spicy aroma deeply, allowing the cinnamon and cardamom to soothe my nerves. It was almost five o’clock, time to head over to Jen’s house to finish getting ready for the party. But first I had to convince Mom to let me go.

 She walked out of the study having just finished with her Asr prayer, absentmindedly rolling up her prayer rug.

She wore a faded blue shalwar kameez, one of the few old ones she kept for when she cooked. Other than the few grey strands escaping the black bun at the nape of her neck, she looked much younger than she really was.

I took a long sip of my tea before placing the cup on the kitchen counter. “Mom, don’t forget, I’m going to Jen’s house soon.”

She removed her head scarf and draped it over the back of a chair.

“Again?” she asked, deepening the worry lines on her “Why, Rukhsana? You just went the other day.” She picked up the pot and poured herself a cup of chai, taking a careful sip before returning her gaze to me.

“Mom, I told you,” I said with a deep sigh. “We have a project due on Monday and tonight is the only night we’re both free to work on it.” I waited, a familiar knot forming in my stomach. I hated how I felt right now, like a child asking for just one more cookie. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she decided my fate for the evening.

“I need your help with dinner first. I’m making murgir jhol and your dad will be home soon. You can make the roti and then go.” That was that. She turned away to pick out jars of spices from the rack and lined them up neatly on the counter next to the stove.

Great. Now I was going to show up to the party smelling of fried onions and garlic. Just what I needed.