‘She’s already going to kill me. I sent her the email about wanting to change to part-time hours and now the thought of facing her tomorrow is making me sick.’
‘You’ve got nothing to fear. Don’t you get it? You have the upper hand because you don’t need this job. You can leave whenever you want and focus on your studies.’
‘It’s a lot easier said than done.’
‘I know, but you’ve got this. Anyway, here, I got this necklace and these earrings, wear them with that bracelet I gave you last time and keep your makeup fresh and neutral – go for a glossy lip. It will draw his eyes to your lips.’
‘Why would I want him to do that?’
‘Oh, Maya, you’re so clueless sometimes.’ With that, she got up, gave me a quick hug and began to hurry away.
‘Good luck!’ I called after her retreating back, but she didn’t turn around. With a sigh, I gathered all the bags and began the long journey home.
Ma and Baba were out when I got in, visiting some relatives and Malik wasn’t home either, so I rummaged through the various butter tubs and ice-cream containers to see what leftovers had been stored in them. I really needed to get better at cooking. Here I was, trying to become more confident and independent in every way, yet I was rubbish at one of the most important life skills.
As I waited for the leftover fish and green mango tenga to warm up – a yummy soup-like curry that was mostly tangy but also a little sweet – I checked Noah’s RateMyDate profile for the hundredth time. He really was something to look at. He had that All-American look about him, but with a bit of British rough and readiness. There was a new picture on his profile and I opened it up eagerly. He was outside an old building, possibly a town hall or a listed building of some sort and wearing a charcoal-coloured suit that clung to every muscle and hard line of his body. I don’t think I had ever seen a suit that looked that good. It was like something you would find on the runway, not north London. Men like that should be made to wear pillowcases over their heads to hide their beauty and shapeless sleeping bags on their bodies to hide their physique. Why had he uploaded this picture? Was it because he was trying to attract more women in case our date went badly? I resisted the urge to screenshot the picture and send it to Lucy for her opinion. She was busy sorting out her own life and I needed to be less reliant on her. After seeing the picture, I was glad that I let her talk me into a bit of beautification. At least I’d be putting my best foot forward as well.
A text pinged through and I immediately assumed it was Noah cancelling, before I remembered that he didn’t have my number. Grabbing my phone, I opened it up to find a message from Zakariya:
ZAKARIYA: Hey Maya, how are you? Are you free after Arabic on Thursday?
Instantly, I felt awash with guilt. I wasn’t free. In fact, I was bunking Arabic altogether to meet Noah. What sort of woman had I become, texting one man while meeting up with another? I replied, wondering what excuse to give:
MAYA: So sorry, I’m not going to be at Arabic, I’ve got an appointment after work. A really important one that I can’t cancel I’m afraid. Sorry.
As I re-read what I had sent, I realised that I had been rambling; something that wasn’t supposed to be possible over text, when you had the chance to edit before you sent. I should have just kept it simple; the more I went on, the more insincere I sounded. He wasn’t stupid, he would know that something was up. He deserved more respect, more honesty than that.
Picking up my phone again, I continued to write:
MAYA: Actually. I’m meeting someone for the first time. Kinda like a date, I guess.
ZAKARIYA: Wow, OK. Well, good luck! 
I re-read his message at least five times. What did he mean by ‘Wow’? Was he disappointed in me? Why did he write ‘well’ before ‘good luck?’ I replied with a simple, ‘Thanks 
’.
Sheila wasn’t in the office the following morning and according to her calendar, she had external meetings all day. I had brought my makeup bag into the office, hoping to do a little touch-up before I left for my date. Now that my boss wasn’t around, I had more time to make myself presentable, so at four o’clock, Lucy and I disappeared to the toilets to sort my face out. The other night, I had felt bad about depending on her so much. But this morning, I saw that she had turned our shopping trip into content for her social media and the guilt faded away. We were helping each other out.
‘How did it go with your mystery man?’ I asked her as she got to work on my face, trying not to move my facial muscles too much.
‘I don’t know,’ her voice was quiet and I waited for her to elaborate. I didn’t want to be too forceful and drive her away.
‘What don’t you know, hun?’ I asked quietly after a few minutes of silence. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here to listen if you do.’
Lucy didn’t say anything so I closed my eyes and let her get on with my makeup, but when she got to my lips, she sighed.
‘I really like him, Maya,’ she began. ‘He’s a good guy and there’s so few of them around. He’s smart, he works hard, he’s successful. He looks after his family and respects them. He’s respectful towards me.’
‘He sounds great.’
‘He is, but there’s a massive cultural difference and I think he thinks his family would disapprove, which is why he hasn’t told them and doesn’t want me to meet them. And until he does that, we can’t move forward. He’ll never live with me outside marriage, but it looks like he won’t marry me unless his family is happy with our relationship.’
I thought about my own parents and culture and as much as I wanted to slate this guy who had my friend in pieces, I had seen all this play out countless times. Boys who weren’t allowed to marry their girlfriends and then had arranged marriages to unsuspecting women who never knew that their husbands’ hearts were elsewhere. Boys who defied their parents and ended up miserable later because the odds were against them. There were, however, some positive examples where the family accepted the non-Bengali spouse and these cases were slowly becoming more frequent. To me, the fact that Lucy didn’t know what her man was thinking, or if he had told his family, meant that he wasn’t serious.
‘I don’t know how traditional this guy’s family is,’ I began carefully, ‘but if I were in the same situation, I would tell my parents if it was serious. There are more and more mixed-race marriages these days and if you want to be with someone enough, at the very least you’d tell your parents. You can’t know how they’d react unless you give them the chance and respect to do so.’
‘What do you think your parents would say, if it were you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied honestly. ‘It could go either way, but I think they would come around if they saw that the man was good.’
‘And what if he isn’t Muslim?’
