‘Let’s figure out all your options,’ Fareena said. ‘What can you do besides accept it?’
I thought for a moment. ‘I could speak to HR, but then she’ll make my life more difficult. I don’t think I could bear that.’
‘What else? What other options are there?’
I sat silent for a minute as I pondered the alternatives. ‘I could resign,’ I said after a moment. ‘I could apply for a part-time role somewhere else and then resign. Or apply for a full-time job somewhere that’s more flexible.’
‘How would working part-time impact you?’
‘Not much, to be honest,’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t have rent or anything to worry about and I have loads of savings. In fact, it would probably be better for me as it would give me more time to study properly.’
‘Is it an option to work part-time at your current place?’
‘I’m not sure, I guess I could find out. But I can’t bring myself to speak to Sheila again. Last time was torture.’
‘You could always email her instead, so you will have a paper trail and everything documented properly. That way, she’ll have to be careful in how she responds as well.’
Fareena and I moved on to talking about Noah’s message until the hour was up. She made me think about why I hadn’t replied to him yet, having spent days waiting for his response. She asked me what I was afraid of. He was someone I had already met before and had connected with. He had shown interest in me then and was still showing interest in me now. Why was I still afraid?
‘I guess I’m scared that he won’t like me if we spend longer than half an hour together,’ I admitted at last, picking at the skin around my fingernails. ‘I’ve thought about him so much over the past nine months or so and it could have all been for nothing.’
‘Why would it be so bad if you met and didn’t connect in the same way?’ Fareena asked. ‘Fear of rejection can stand in the way of so many wonderful opportunities, relationships and connections in life. You won’t know which way it will go unless you do it. And if it doesn’t go well, at least you’ll know. And I’ll be here to help you process your emotions afterwards. We’ll do it together.’
With Fareena’s words echoing in my ears, I decided to reply to Noah while waiting on the train platform:
MAYA: Hey Noah, sure, coffee sounds good. How’s Thursday after work? I’m in north London but I work in west London, so anywhere in-between works for me.
The rest of the Tube journey was excruciating. Every time I got a patch of Wi-Fi, I checked my phone to see if there was a response. In the end, I took out his notebook and thumbed through the pages; all his little scribbles accompanying the items on the list and my doodles and notes beneath his. His messy scrawl next to my neat print. How could I give him back his notebook now that it was full of my own drama? Under ‘1. APPLY FOR A PHYSIO COURSE’ I had written, No thanks . . . I’m gonna do something relevant to ME. LLM? SQE? SQE too hard esp as haven’t studied in a while. Research MAs, find the easiest one that isn’t at a shit uni. Look for funding opps.
It wasn’t too incriminating, but it wasn’t something I would want Noah to read. I turned to the next page and read what I had written under ‘READ ULYSSES’. What a load of effin’ BS. Can’t believe I wasted so much of my life on this overrated piece of shit. That bloody Noah is a pretentious git. Probably wants to use the fact that he’s read this tome as a chat-up line. Ouch. No. I definitely couldn’t give it back to him, not unless I Tipp-Exed the whole lot.
Now that I had arranged a date, as per the list’s requirements, I moved on to number twenty. Noah had written ‘Donate £500 to charity’. Next to it was a giant tick and, ‘Done. Donated to Save the Children. Hope they don’t add me to their mailing list though.’ OK, that was easy enough. I wondered if I needed to do this. As Muslims, we are required to donate 2.5 per cent of our wealth every year to charity, which is called Zakat. I usually did it every Ramadan and the amount increased every year, since my savings tended to grow every year.
I decided that donating extra money could only be a good thing. Since I’d already given to Islamic Relief and Cancer Research when I did the trek and the run, I would donate to each of them again as soon as I had access to Wi-Fi.
I liked how Noah had charity on the list and not just poncy stuff to improve his own life and clout. Only good, kind people bothered to give to charity, so he must be both. I shut out the voice in my head reminding me that Zakariya didn’t just donate to charity, he volunteered as well.
Number twenty-one, however, wasn’t as simple:
21. GET A TATTOO 
Bloody hurt more than I thought.
That’s all he had to say about it. There were no descriptions of where it was, what it looked like or which artist had done it for him. How was I supposed to get a tattoo? Ma would kill me, no doubt about it. I could get it somewhere she wasn’t likely to see, but even if she couldn’t see it, God could. As far as I knew, any sort of permanent alteration to our bodies technically wasn’t allowed in Islam, unless it was for medical reasons. With a sigh, I closed the notebook and stood up as Turnpike Lane approached. I could either defy God and my mum in order to stick to the list, or I could alter it and make it more Muslim/Bengali/Ma friendly.
While I was walking home, enjoying the fact that sunset was getting later and later, my phone buzzed. Hurriedly pulling it out of my bag, I saw a message from Noah.
NOAH: Thursday is perfect and guess what – I also live in north! Whereabouts are you?
Smiling, I typed out a quick response:
MAYA: Turnpike Lane. Not the most glamorous location but I like the kebab shops.
NOAH: Oooh kebab, stop talking dirty to me! I’m not far from you, a little further north in Southgate. Anywhere in particular you want to meet?
MAYA: Will coffee in Crouch End work?
