The kiss dragged on. It seemed of utmost urgency to Laila, suddenly, that she not stir or make a noise.
She sensed that Tariq was observing her—one eye on the kiss, the other on her—as she was observing him.
Was he listening to the air whooshing in and out of her nose, she wondered,
waiting for a subtle faltering, a revealing irregularity, that would betray her thoughts?
And what would it be like to kiss him, to feel the fuzzy hair above his lip tickling her own lips?
Then Tariq shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
In a strained voice, he said, “Did you know that if you fling snot in Siberia, it’s a green icicle before it hits the ground?”
They both laughed, but briefly, nervously, this time. And when the film ended and they stepped outside,
Laila was relieved to see that the sky had dimmed, that she wouldn’t have to meet Tariq’s eyes in the bright daylight.
23. APRIL 1992
Three years passed. In that time, Tariq’s father had a series of strokes. They left him with a clumsy left hand and a slight slur to his speech.
When he was agitated, which happened frequently, the slurring got worse.
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