“I never want to leave this place.”
“Neither do I,” I said, wiping my eyes. His mother was likely in the crowd. Would he hate me for revealing the awful secret?
“I don’t want to leave you either,” he continued, his breath warm andsweet on my cheek. “Ana... Hana... whatever and whoever you want to be, can we please start over?”
I breathed in his scent—cedarwood chips and sandalwood cologne—and closed my eyes. “I’ll think about it, Stanley Park.”
When I opened my eyes, I saw Kawkab Khala standing nearby, at the very edge of the festival. From the knowing look on her face, I guessed she had overheard some of our conversation. Afsana Aunty stood behind her, a look of muted terror on her face.
I stood up, and Aydin rose too, following my gaze. I took a deep breath, channelling the courage he had shown in front of the enraged protestors. I couldn’t let anything else happen until he had learned the truth about himself.
“But first,” I said, heart pounding, “you have to talk to my aunt.”
Chapter Fifty
Aydin flashed me a smile before he turned to face Kawkab Khala and Afsana Aunty. I saw my aunt place a gentle hand on his shoulder, then turn towards her friend and motion her forward. I watched him walk away with the women in the direction of Wholistic Grill. Even from a distance I could see the unsteadiness of Afsana’s steps. She walked as if she were in a dream. How long had she waited for that moment? How would Aydin react?
A muffled cry, and then Aydin stumbled backwards, landing heavily on the wooden bench in front of his restaurant. He shook his head from side to side and then buried his head in his hands, shoulders jerking. I stood frozen to the spot, fighting the urge to run to him, unsure what comfort I could provide.
Together, Kawkab Khala and Afsana Aunty helped him up and they all went inside Wholistic Grill.
An hour later, my phone buzzed with a text.
Did everyone know but me?
I didn’t hesitate. No more hiding things from each other.Yes,I typed. My hands did not shake.
I guess we’re finally even, he wrote back.
Chapter Fifty-One
It had been Rashid’s doing all along. Mom told me after the festival that my cousin had bought the restaurant. When I cornered him outside Three Sisters, heaving three bags of trash into the Dumpster, he said, “Family is like the Mafia, Hana Apa. Once you join, you’re in it for life. Besides, my parents were looking for an investment opportunity in Canada.”
“Is your family part of the New Delhi mafia?” I blurted. What if he had bought Three Sisters to launder money, or as a place to meet his underworld contacts?
Rashid started laughing. “Are you plotting the next episode ofSecret Family Historyalready? The restaurant will be safe with me. Don’t worry, Hana; I paid your mother a fair price, only slightly offset by a family discount.”
He hadn’t answered my question, but I decided to leave that worry for another day.
“Zulfa told me she is engaged to someone else,” Rashid continued, his voice mournful. “But who am I to stand in the way of true love?” His face brightened. “And she told me she has a younger sister. Hana Apa, how far is Vancouver from Toronto?”
“Very far, especially for a newly minted restaurateur,” I assured him. But, knowing Rashid, he would find a way.
Given Aydin’s message, I didn’t expect to hear from him anytime soon. His entire life had been upended, and he would need time to process the new information. I kept myself occupied by helping with festival cleanup efforts. Things had wound down around sunset, and most of the protestors and counter-protestors had scattered by then, leaving their litter behind.
Imam Abdul Bari was picking up discarded coffee cups and takeout containers. He paused as I passed him a pair of disposable gloves and a garbage bag. “Congratulations, Hana. The festival has been a resounding success,” he said.
I smiled weakly at the Imam and continued to sweep up trash, stopping only at Brother Musa’s store. Beautiful Yusuf stood outside, waiting for me.
“Hi, Hana. What’s new?” he asked, smiling easily, as if he hadn’t just eloped with my best friend without telling me.
“Go to hell, Yusuf,” I said evenly.
His face fell. I realized I had never before spoken to him like that, in anger rather than with my usual affectionate mockery. I didn’t feel any urge to make him feel better, either. Rashid was right: beautiful Yusuf was anullu, and it was time for all of us to grow up.
“Be kind to Lily,” I added. “Or else.”
WHEN I RETURNED HOMEa few hours later, shoulders and knees aching from bending, stooping, and cleaning, I half expected to see my aunt seated on the couch, dressed in fine silk and calm vindication. Instead she was nowhere to be found. I went upstairs, but my bedroom was empty. Worse, it had been cleared out.
