The three men followed. “You don’t belong here!” the first man yelled. “Give me that phone!”
Rashid leaned back and threw his phone in a perfect arc to Aydin, who caught it one-handed. “What phone?” Rashid asked, all innocence.
Everything began to happen in slow motion.
“FUCK YOU!” the first man roared, and lunged at Aydin. Frightened, I yanked on his shoulder, pulling him away from the man’s fist, but the momentum made me lose my balance. I fell, landing hard on my back, the breath knocked out of me.
“Hana!” Aydin yelled, crouching beside me.
Despite the sharp pain in my hip, I noticed the second man charge. At the last second Rashid neatly sidestepped, then pushed the man forward so that he toppled face-first onto the concrete a few feet away.
While our would-be attacker was being helped up by his friends,Rashid signalled to me. “We should go.” My cousin’s voice was quiet and unwavering. How could he be so calm?
My hands were shaking. I caught the eye of a young woman in the small crowd that surrounded us, and she looked away. A glance at Aydin reflected my own mix of emotions back at me: shock and fear.
Aydin helped me up, hands grasping my elbows. I was dazed, blood pulsing in a drumbeat through my veins, my back and left leg already sore as I processed what had just happened. We had been attacked on the streets of downtown Toronto. Those men had tried to assault both Aydin and Rashid, yet somehow I had been the one who ended up sprawled on the ground.
We hurried around the corner, all thoughts of lunch forgotten. I looked back, but the men seemed uninterested in giving chase. Or maybe they were waiting for backup. What if they came after us, armed?
I touched my hijab again, wishing I had chosen a colour that blended in better. The thought made me want to laugh and cry, and I realized I must be in shock.
Aydin was still holding Rashid’s phone. “I’m calling the police,” he said.
“For what?” my cousin asked.
Aydin and I looked at him. “Those men attacked us!” I said.
Rashid started to laugh. “They were probably drunk. If I called the police every time someone called me a bad name or tried to steal my phone, I would never get anything done. Come on, we can buy lunch at the stadium. I heard they sell halal hot dogs.”
Aydin and I exchanged worried glances but followed. “I still think I should call the cops,” Aydin said to me in a low, tense voice. “They were looking for trouble. They might do something worse to someoneelse next time. And we should take you to the hospital. Are you sure you can walk?”
“Nobody said anything,” I said, my voice cracking. “There were people all around us, and nobody spoke up.”
Rashid walked ahead of us, eager to enter the massive fifty-thousand-seat Rogers Centre, known as the SkyDome to long-time residents, with its signature retractable roof. “Let’s get some popcorn too,” he called over his shoulder.
Aydin and I exchanged another glance and followed him inside.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The pitcher talked to the catcher. The batter took a single swing before spitting on the ground. The first baseman leaned on one leg and made a complicated hand motion to the shortstop. Play paused while the first-base coach and batter conferred.
Three more hours of this.I was vibrating with so much adrenaline I couldn’t sit still, though my back, hip, and left leg throbbed painfully. I shifted, and Aydin caught the movement, worry clear on his face. He abruptly got up and left.
“How did you know they wouldn’t come after us?” I asked Rashid, seeking a distraction from the pain. My cousin was shovelling popcorn into his mouth, eyes riveted on the field as if he were watching a tense Hollywood blockbuster instead of a sleepy mid-week baseball game.
“His buddies were hanging back after he fell. If they really wanted to start something, they would have attacked again. When they saw you fall down and the crowd form, they backed off. Besides, I didn’t look scared enough to make it worth their time. Men like that enjoy the fear on people’s faces most of all.”
I raised my eyebrows, impressed at his analysis. “How many fights have you been in?” I asked.
My cousin took a bite of his second halal hot dog. “I only fight if I know I’m going to win. That’s the accountant way.” His parents were definitely part of the New Delhi mafia.
I settled back in my seat. It was comfortable, and we had an excellent view of the game. The stands were only half filled, mostly with school kids on a class trip, retirees, and tourists. I shifted again, and pain shot along my thigh, making me inhale sharply.
“Here, use these.” Aydin appeared beside me with two ice packs. He placed one carefully behind my back and went to press the other against my hip, then changed his mind and handed it to me instead. He had been fussing over me ever since the attack, first insisting we go to the hospital and then, when I demurred, fetching me water from the concession stand and arguing with someone about getting me a heating pad. Now he handed me some ibuprofen, which I accepted gratefully. He took the empty seat beside me, dark eyes filled with concern.
“I’m fine,” I repeated. I wasn’t.
“You fell because of me,” Aydin said. He blinked and then looked away, a muscle in his jaw tightening.
