Chapter 3 Push or Pull

Sitting alone in the guest room, I felt the unfamiliar quiet settle around me, thick and still. Everyone had left for the mosque, and the house seemed emptier than I'd ever felt it. I hadn't realized how much I'd come to rely on their presence-on the comfort of Kashifa's family bustling around, the familiar sounds of conversation in the background, the closeness of people I was slowly growing attached to. But it was Kashifa's absence that weighed on me the most.

I found my hand resting on the arm of the chair, almost as if I'd half-expected Kashifa to be beside me, his fingers wrapped around mine, the way he'd always done. The warmth of his touch had become an anchor, something I'd grown so used to that now, without it, I felt unsteady, restless. I could almost feel his hand in mine, reassuring and grounding. It was unsettling, how much I craved that simple, quiet connection-so small and unassuming, but so powerful in its absence.

I shifted, glancing toward the door, counting the minutes until they would return, until I would feel that familiar comfort of Kashifa beside me. And yet, in these moments alone, my longing sharpened, became something undeniable. It was more than just his touch that I missed; it was him-his calm presence, his quiet laughter, the way he made even silence feel like something meaningful. I was holding on to that feeling as I waited, my fingers curling around nothing, but aching to hold him again.

Am I slowly falling for him? The thought caught me off guard, creeping up from somewhere I hadn't dared to examine too closely. It was strange, this feeling stirring inside me for Kashifa, like a quiet pulse I couldn't ignore. A warmth spread across my face, and before I knew it, I let out a small, helpless smile.

"Damn, August," I muttered under my breath, almost laughing at myself. "Don't fall too hard."

But even as I told myself that, I knew it was already happening. I couldn't deny how deeply I'd come to care for him-how much his presence had settled into me, filling gaps I didn't know were there. Yet the truth lingered, a stubborn whisper at the back of my mind. Kashifa was Muslim, and I was not. He came from a world where this-whatever this was beginning to feel like-wasn't just complicated; it was forbidden. Haram.

And yet, even knowing that, knowing how impossible this was, I found myself sitting here, my heart already reaching out in ways that scared me, hoping for things I couldn't allow myself to have.

As I sat there alone in the guest room, I found myself drifting back to earlier that day, reliving each detail as if Kashifa had only just stepped out. I remembered the way he'd stood in the doorway, framed by the soft morning light, his presence filling the space with a quiet strength. His hair was still damp, neatly combed back, and glistening slightly, giving him a fresh, effortless look. The faint scent of his citrus cologne reached me, crisp and bright, lingering like a soft whisper in the air, a scent that felt like him-both refreshing and familiar.

A white, embroidered cap rested snugly on his head, a simple but dignified addition that made something tighten in my chest. He seemed so put together, his calm expression softened by that familiar glint in his eyes-the one that always seemed reserved just for me, like a secret we shared. His gaze lingered on mine, steady and warm, carrying a reassurance that felt deeper than words.

"Be back soon. Don't miss me too much, okay?" he'd said, his lips curving into a small, teasing smile, one corner lifting in a way that made my heart skip. He said it lightly, as if it were only a passing farewell, but the words stayed with me, filling the quiet now, echoing as though he'd never left.

Abbu and Ahmad were already waiting outside, their voices drifting in from the yard, calling him to hurry up. And then I'd spotted his older brother, Zakeerin, standing in the doorway behind him, giving me a cheerful wave before ushering Kashifa along. I waved back, trying to keep my smile steady, even as I felt Kashifa's hand brush the doorframe one last time. He looked back, holding my gaze, his expression lingering with a warmth that made me feel like I was the only one in the room.

Now, sitting here alone, the memory was as vivid as the moment itself. I could almost feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, the steadiness he brought with him every time he walked into a room. His parting smile, the soft, teasing words he'd left me with, all of it was like a quiet, steady warmth that I couldn't shake-a warmth that had slowly crept into something more, something undeniable.

I wanted to tell myself it was simple; that missing him this much was just about the comfort he brought, the ease of our friendship. But deep down, I knew it was something else entirely. Something that, even if I couldn't say it aloud, was growing too strong to ignore.

Kashifa's memory lingered, filling the quiet room with a warmth I hadn't felt in a long time. I started to realize, maybe for the first time, just how deeply I was beginning to care for him-not just as a friend, but as someone who had come to mean more to me than I'd ever expected.

Did I really like him? It was a terrifying question, but it felt impossible to ignore. Being around Kashifa was like being seen in a way I'd never experienced before. He listened when I spoke, his gaze attentive and unwavering, as if every word I said mattered. And he shared parts of himself, too, letting me in on his thoughts, his worries, and his quiet laughter, even when no one else could hear it. I craved that feeling more than I wanted to admit-the feeling of being someone important, someone who was valued, someone who was truly seen.

All my life, I'd craved that kind of attention. I had grown up feeling invisible, overlooked, and sometimes misunderstood. But Kashifa... he made me feel like I mattered. With him, I didn't have to pretend or perform; I could simply be. He provided the quiet understanding, the steady presence, and the warmth I'd longed for, as if he somehow knew exactly what I needed without me ever having to ask.

But even as I let myself dwell on those feelings, I could feel myself pulling back, knowing just how complicated this was. Kashifa and I were from two completely different worlds. He was Muslim, raised with traditions and values that were so different from my own. His life was tied to his family, his faith, and the norms that defined both. And here I was, sitting here with thoughts I couldn't allow myself to have-thoughts that crossed boundaries I knew he could never ignore.

I thought of his family: his father- Abbu, with his kind but watchful gaze, and his brothers, who treated me like one of their own. How would they look at me if they knew what I was thinking? If they knew that I was beginning to fall for Kashifa... and that I was gay?

The thought made something inside me twist, a shame and fear I couldn't shake. I knew that for Kashifa's family, his faith, his culture, this feeling would be not just unacceptable-it would be forbidden. It would be a betrayal of everything they believed in, everything they had taught him to honor. And as much as I wanted to hold on to these feelings, to let them grow, I couldn't bring myself to risk breaking the trust Kashifa's family had shown me.

For a moment, I let myself imagine it-letting him know how much he meant to me, risking everything to be truly honest with him. But as quickly as the thought came, I pushed it away. I couldn't bear the idea of losing him, of losing the warmth and connection he'd brought into my life. If I spoke up, I could lose not only him but everyone who had welcomed me so openly into their world.

So, I swallowed the longing, burying it as best as I could. I told myself it was better to keep these feelings to myself, to hold on to them quietly, no matter how much they ached. Kashifa might never know how much he meant to me, but at least I could stay by his side, for as long as he'd let me.

I decided to splash some water on my face, hoping it might offer a brief escape from the relentless heat bearing down through the windows. I'd already bathed earlier, but the afternoon sun was unyielding, its heavy, burning rays filling every room. This was only my third day here, and already I'd fallen into a routine of changing clothes twice a day, the damp cloth clinging to my skin as the sweat beaded constantly. The air felt thick and unrelenting, like it held more than just heat-it was filled with something else, something pressing on me from within.

I leaned over the sink, letting the cold water run over my hands before splashing it onto my face, each drop a shock of coolness against the warmth that seemed to linger in my skin. I told myself it was just the sun, just the overwhelming heat that was making me feel this way, but I knew there was something else I was trying to shake off. Kashifa's smile, the quiet strength in his gaze, the way his hand had lingered on the doorframe as he left-all of it was still with me, warming me in a way that went deeper than the sun. And in that warmth, I could feel something more, something I knew I had to let go.

I pressed another handful of water to my face, this time almost forcefully, as if I could wash away the thoughts I'd just had. This is for your own good, I told myself, feeling the droplets trickling down, cool and grounding. If I let myself fall for him, if I clung to this feeling, it could ruin everything. Kashifa was kind, he made me feel seen, heard, but I was asking for a kind of closeness that could never be, a connection that could only bring heartbreak.

Slowly, I straightened up, the water cooling on my skin as I wiped my face with the towel. I knew I had to let this go, let him go, even if it felt impossible in moments like this. It was safer to keep these feelings at bay, to let them wash away like the water slipping through my fingers. Because wanting more from him-from this-was a luxury I couldn't afford.

"Did you miss me?" Kashifa's voice came suddenly from behind, and I felt his arm drape across my shoulder, his face close to mine. His eyes glinted with a familiar mischief, an energy that was both playful and somehow comforting, as though he'd been looking forward to this moment as much as I had.

"No," I lied, trying to keep a scowl on my face, but the way he smiled, seeing right through me, made my resolve crumble. He was so close, his expression open and unguarded, his face lit with that easy, handsome smile that had a way of catching me off guard every time. I could feel my own mask slip, a warmth rising in my chest that I tried to push back, but couldn't quite ignore.

Kashifa chuckled softly, his smile widening as if he'd seen every bit of the truth in my eyes. "Later, we'll go out with my friends," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "They invited me to go to Salman's place. And Salman texted me earlier-he told me to bring you."

I nodded, feeling an unexpected thrill at the thought of going with him, being included in his world, if only for a while. But it was more than just the invitation; it was the way he was sharing it, the enthusiasm in his voice, like he genuinely wanted me there beside him. Moments like these, the closeness we shared, made it so easy to get swept away, to forget all the reasons I'd told myself to keep my distance.

But as much as I wanted to lean into that closeness, to savor the warmth of his arm around my shoulder, I reminded myself to stay guarded, to keep my feelings hidden. Because as natural as it felt, there was still a part of me that knew this wasn't something I could let go unchecked. Still, for now, I allowed myself to hold on to his presence, if only for a little while longer, feeling the lightness in his voice and the joy he seemed to take in sharing these moments with me.