“Forgive me, don’t forgive me. I’m definitely not apologizing to Ishita Dey.” She waits for a moment, like she’s expecting me to say something—to take back what I’ve said. Then, she turns on her heel and begins her ascent up the steps and out the main gates. Dee glances between me and her for a moment, like she’s trying to make up her mind about who to choose. Like she hasn’t already done that. Then she’s gone too.
And it’s just me.
chapter forty-eight
ishu
I KNOW I SHOULD PROBABLY FEEL BAD FOR eavesdropping on Hani’s conversation with her friends, but as Aisling and Deirdre rush away from Hani like she’s worth nothing, I couldn’t be more glad about my decision.
I watch as other people push past Hani, casting curious glances. I have no doubt that within hours Aisling will have filled their heads with propaganda about Hani—even if they’re friends. Though I’m not sure if they’re friends anymore. Not after this.
As I watch Hani stand there on her own, looking after her awful friends, it’s as if all my confusion, all my questions wash away to nothing. Because Nik was right. I’m ready to forgive Hani, but maybe I haven’t been ready to know if Hani and I could really work.
I slip out of the side of the secluded corner of the school building and walk toward Hani.
“Wow,” I say. Hani turns to me with unshed tears in her wide eyes. She tries to blink them away as soon as she spots me.
“Hey … what are you …” She gulps, like it’s taking some effort to quell her tears. Aisling and Deirdre are definitely not worth her tears. I guess Hani still has to learn that.
“I was just going home when I saw this all blow up, so … I stayed behind to see how it all turned out.” I shrug. “You held your own pretty well.”
Hani lets out a little sniffle, tears rolling down her cheeks slowly. She wipes one away almost aggressively. Maybe they’re angry tears rather than sad ones, but somehow I don’t think so.
“I … f-feel … silly.”
I chuckle. Step forward. Brush away another tear from her cheek. Softer than she had done it. The touch of her skin again mine is hot. I want nothing more than to touch her again, but I don’t.
I say, “They don’t deserve you. They never did.”
“I-I’ve been f-friends with … th-them m-my who-whole l-life.”
I wipe another tear away from her cheek, tucking a strand of hair away from her face. Then, I cup her cheeks in mine, holding her face up so we are eye-to-eye. She blinks. Hiccups. Then, sniffs.
“There will be other friends,” I say. “Other people. Who … will appreciate you. Who will mean it when they say sorry. Who will be able to say the word ‘bisexual’ without cringing.”
Hani lets out a soft chuckle, and the hint of a smile on her face makes me smile as well.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a whisper. “I shouldn’t have—”
But I’m already kissing her, so the words are trapped between us. The apology dances between our lips and our tongues, and in her hands in my hair, in my hands on her back. We only pull apart to the sound of the rain against the pavement, and I’m not sure how long it’s been raining for. From the look on Hani’s face, neither is she. Both of us are smiling—grinning, actually—and clutching each other’s hands like they’re lifelines and if we let go we will drown. We’re both already soaked, but we lean forward again, pressing our foreheads together, and Hani trails a line down the nape of my neck with her fingertips.
“So … you forgive me?” she asks, her eyes bright with hope. Instead of responding, I lean in and kiss her once more.
“Come on.” I take her hand in mine and tug her away from the school gates. The rain is cold against our skin but there’s something almost cleansing and wonderful about it.
“Where are we going?” Hani asks, letting me pull her along.
“Anywhere we can be together,” I say.
chapter forty-nine
hani
IT’S THE HOTTEST DAY OF THE SUMMER, AND I’M GLAD that schools closed last week. There’s no way any of us would have been happy being stuck inside a classroom in the scorching heat.
I’m sure that most Irish people are out at the beaches or parks sunbathing. But Ishu and I are outside our tiny local mosque—having a barbeque.
“I feel weird,” Ishu whispers in my ear, tugging at her salwar kameez. It’s a cotton kameez that is soft yellow in color. Nobody should look good in yellow—but Ishu does.