Fiction
The good guy
Esha shifts uneasily in the passenger's seat as Safwan slams the door shut beside her. She nervously clicks open the lock on her leather purse and pulls out her mother's old Nokia cellphone in one swift motion. Safwan's footsteps on the rain-soaked asphalt echo in her ears like the ticking of a slow moving second hand on a clock.
Her thumbs dance along the number keys as the "New Message" screen flashes before her eyes: a single tap on 3, two gentle presses on 6, a jab on 8. The door to her right unlocks and the wet smell of grass and earth from the garden outside her apartment building fills the car. She doesn't have much time left. Press 0 for space and three clicks on 2. The weight of the vehicle shifts slightly to the right as he seats himself in front of the steering wheel. Her thumb lingers on the 2 and jumps down a notch to 5. The engine revs as the meters on the dashboard spark to life, but only for a moment. An arm reaches over and suddenly grabs hold of her wrist. The car stops shaking as Safwan's unmerciful gaze meets her fearful eyes.
"Who are you SMS-ing?" he asks with an uncharacteristically stern voice, changed from its usual unassuming boyish tone.
"Tanveer Bhaiya," she says, taking care not to move any muscle on her face to suggest that she was lying, "he's a colleague of mine."
"Why is he calling you on a Saturday?" She would have said that they wanted to see if she was free to come in, that she wanted to say no because he had asked her to spend the afternoon with him instead. It would have been another lie, since she did not want to be here. But, it no longer mattered. He had seen the message she was going to send from the corner of his eye. The recipient was a nameless string of numbers. She had made sure not to save this contact in her phone for fear that he would see it. "Whom are you asking not to call you? Your Tanveer Bhaiya?"
She doesn't respond.
"Esha, I can find out who this is, you know."
She remains quiet, her wrist being crushed under his strong grip.
"Let go, Safwan." "Tell me who you're sending this to," he says, his voice beginning to shake. "Is it him?"
"No."
"I told you to break up with him."
"I did," she said. This was true. She hated him for it.
"Then why are you sending him a message?" "I'm not," she said, wincing in pain, "I was asking Nadia apu not to call me!"
"Why?" he asks, his anger unwavering.
"I thought you would get mad," she says, "I didn't want to…" "You're lying!" he growls. Safwan's fingers tighten around her arm, "You think you can protect him?"
"Safwan, you're hurting me." "Give me your phone and see what I do to him," he says as his thin but muscular free arm, hidden beneath the rolled-up sleeves of a striped red shirt, wrestles with her over the phone. Esha's arm twists and her body screams in pain. She grabs hold of his right arm and digs her pink polished fingernails into the meat on his forearm. He holds his ground and overpowers her, giving her a light shove that knocks her back against the armrest on the passenger's side door. Esha sits in her corner defeated and glares at Safwan. He takes a cursory glance at the message, presses the cancel key and tucks it into the right pocket of his black dress pants. "We're going," he says while releasing the handbrake.
Esha sits facing forward. The rain pelts the windshield as pedestrians along the sidewalk scurry into shops and under awnings looking for shelter. Her fingers find the hem of her sky-blue orna and begin fiddling with it, a nervous tick from when she was a child. Spots of rain adorn an aqua colored kameez that Safwan had bought for her two years ago when they were dating. They had been walking in Arcadia Plaza, casting sideways glances and secretive knowing smiles at each other as waves of shoppers obliviously passed them by. She had stopped at a small boutique and asked to look at the blue shalwar kameez at the top which, now that she thought about it, had looked turquoise in that light. Safwan had smiled, pulled out his wallet and insisted on buying it for her. She was like a child at a toy store who was being bought a present for her good behavior or academic accomplishment. But their relationship had ended a long time ago and she had moved on. Someone new had taken the space where Safwan's slight frame, scruffy hair and simple good looks had once occupied. It had been years since he had been in her life. She had been happy until he came looking for her. "I want my phone back," Esha said.
"No."
"I'm not going to call him."
"You better not, or God help you both." The boy who sat in the driver's seat now was someone she did not recognize. Safwan furrowed his eyebrows as the car slowed to a halt behind traffic. He pulled down his window and opened a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Safwan stuck a Benson in his mouth and let it dangle from his lip while he held a black Zippo lighter up to its tip. It burnt bright orange as he removed it from his lips with his index and ring fingers to exhale a puff. One hand remained on the steering wheel with the cigarette while another dangled from the side of the car. He had begun smoking during their relationship and had never been able to quit. Esha resumed looking through her window as translucent beads of water dripped down the glass. She now wished for nothing more than to be washed away with the rain, to flow with the stream freely to where not even Safwan could keep her from finding happiness. Wasn't she entitled to that too? Couldn't she smile and laugh again just like everyone else? "Give me my phone back," she repeated, this time her patience waning.
"I was good to you."
"What?" "I was good to you and you took advantage of me," he said, the anger rising in him from somewhere dark but warm, "you made me suffer so now it's my turn. This is what you deserve! I won't let you go back to him." The car slowly edged forward but Esha did not care. She flung her door open as the cacophony of horns on the street welcomed her back from purgatory. A loud slam signaled the beginning of her march toward freedom. The rain beat down heavily as she climbed onto the sidewalk, ignoring the muted surprise of people in nearby cars and confused pedestrians on the street. Safwan's door had slammed shut behind her. He was now giving chase while she walked down a wet and muddy street in high heels. She held her purse up above her forehead to see through the thick of water pouring from the heavens. Safwan grabbed her free hand and tugged hard enough to nearly trip her. He spun her around, placed his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes with vengeance in his. They stood in the middle of the sidewalk in the rain. "I'm going to scream if you don't let me go!"
"Go ahead and scream!"
"I'll do it"
"No one will come." Esha first brushed his hands off of her. He grabbed hold of her wrist and then she started crying for help. Safwan's cold and unflinching stare stayed fixed on her as she struggled to break free. The men who hurried past them in the rain couldn't care less and no one watching from their cars seemed to want to come out. Safwan brought his face close to hers, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks. "Get back in the car," he said, letting go of her arm. Esha stood there quietly for a minute before he repeated the order. They crossed back to where the traffic had barely moved. Cars behind them honked loudly at the white Allion whose driver had run out into the rain. Safwan did not hold the door open for her this time. Esha sat back in the passenger's seat and began to sob. Safwan slid into his space and moved his car forward as the street demanded. "Any other guy would have knocked you to the ground right there," he barked. Hot tears ran down Esha's cheeks. Safwan sighed and turned to face her, his arm outstretched so that his elbow rested on the back of her seat. The livid glow in his eyes seemed to give way as he said, "Don't cry. It hurts me to see you cry." Esha considered this for a moment and said, "Give me my phone back." Safwan dug into his pocket, pulled it out and tossed it back to her. She could tell he needed another cigarette. Esha now sat with her phone resting on her lap. Her hands are now bound, incapable of reaching out and finding happiness on her own. She resolved that she would break free from him, that she would make the call and ask if the new person in her life would have her back. But, not now.
"Why is he calling you on a Saturday?" She would have said that they wanted to see if she was free to come in, that she wanted to say no because he had asked her to spend the afternoon with him instead. It would have been another lie, since she did not want to be here. But, it no longer mattered. He had seen the message she was going to send from the corner of his eye. The recipient was a nameless string of numbers. She had made sure not to save this contact in her phone for fear that he would see it. "Whom are you asking not to call you? Your Tanveer Bhaiya?"
She doesn't respond.
"Esha, I can find out who this is, you know."
She remains quiet, her wrist being crushed under his strong grip.
"Let go, Safwan." "Tell me who you're sending this to," he says, his voice beginning to shake. "Is it him?"
"No."
"I told you to break up with him."
"I did," she said. This was true. She hated him for it.
"Then why are you sending him a message?" "I'm not," she said, wincing in pain, "I was asking Nadia apu not to call me!"
"Why?" he asks, his anger unwavering.
"I thought you would get mad," she says, "I didn't want to…" "You're lying!" he growls. Safwan's fingers tighten around her arm, "You think you can protect him?"
"Safwan, you're hurting me." "Give me your phone and see what I do to him," he says as his thin but muscular free arm, hidden beneath the rolled-up sleeves of a striped red shirt, wrestles with her over the phone. Esha's arm twists and her body screams in pain. She grabs hold of his right arm and digs her pink polished fingernails into the meat on his forearm. He holds his ground and overpowers her, giving her a light shove that knocks her back against the armrest on the passenger's side door. Esha sits in her corner defeated and glares at Safwan. He takes a cursory glance at the message, presses the cancel key and tucks it into the right pocket of his black dress pants. "We're going," he says while releasing the handbrake.
Esha sits facing forward. The rain pelts the windshield as pedestrians along the sidewalk scurry into shops and under awnings looking for shelter. Her fingers find the hem of her sky-blue orna and begin fiddling with it, a nervous tick from when she was a child. Spots of rain adorn an aqua colored kameez that Safwan had bought for her two years ago when they were dating. They had been walking in Arcadia Plaza, casting sideways glances and secretive knowing smiles at each other as waves of shoppers obliviously passed them by. She had stopped at a small boutique and asked to look at the blue shalwar kameez at the top which, now that she thought about it, had looked turquoise in that light. Safwan had smiled, pulled out his wallet and insisted on buying it for her. She was like a child at a toy store who was being bought a present for her good behavior or academic accomplishment. But their relationship had ended a long time ago and she had moved on. Someone new had taken the space where Safwan's slight frame, scruffy hair and simple good looks had once occupied. It had been years since he had been in her life. She had been happy until he came looking for her. "I want my phone back," Esha said.
"No."
"I'm not going to call him."
"You better not, or God help you both." The boy who sat in the driver's seat now was someone she did not recognize. Safwan furrowed his eyebrows as the car slowed to a halt behind traffic. He pulled down his window and opened a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Safwan stuck a Benson in his mouth and let it dangle from his lip while he held a black Zippo lighter up to its tip. It burnt bright orange as he removed it from his lips with his index and ring fingers to exhale a puff. One hand remained on the steering wheel with the cigarette while another dangled from the side of the car. He had begun smoking during their relationship and had never been able to quit. Esha resumed looking through her window as translucent beads of water dripped down the glass. She now wished for nothing more than to be washed away with the rain, to flow with the stream freely to where not even Safwan could keep her from finding happiness. Wasn't she entitled to that too? Couldn't she smile and laugh again just like everyone else? "Give me my phone back," she repeated, this time her patience waning.
"I was good to you."
"What?" "I was good to you and you took advantage of me," he said, the anger rising in him from somewhere dark but warm, "you made me suffer so now it's my turn. This is what you deserve! I won't let you go back to him." The car slowly edged forward but Esha did not care. She flung her door open as the cacophony of horns on the street welcomed her back from purgatory. A loud slam signaled the beginning of her march toward freedom. The rain beat down heavily as she climbed onto the sidewalk, ignoring the muted surprise of people in nearby cars and confused pedestrians on the street. Safwan's door had slammed shut behind her. He was now giving chase while she walked down a wet and muddy street in high heels. She held her purse up above her forehead to see through the thick of water pouring from the heavens. Safwan grabbed her free hand and tugged hard enough to nearly trip her. He spun her around, placed his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes with vengeance in his. They stood in the middle of the sidewalk in the rain. "I'm going to scream if you don't let me go!"
"Go ahead and scream!"
"I'll do it"
"No one will come." Esha first brushed his hands off of her. He grabbed hold of her wrist and then she started crying for help. Safwan's cold and unflinching stare stayed fixed on her as she struggled to break free. The men who hurried past them in the rain couldn't care less and no one watching from their cars seemed to want to come out. Safwan brought his face close to hers, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks. "Get back in the car," he said, letting go of her arm. Esha stood there quietly for a minute before he repeated the order. They crossed back to where the traffic had barely moved. Cars behind them honked loudly at the white Allion whose driver had run out into the rain. Safwan did not hold the door open for her this time. Esha sat back in the passenger's seat and began to sob. Safwan slid into his space and moved his car forward as the street demanded. "Any other guy would have knocked you to the ground right there," he barked. Hot tears ran down Esha's cheeks. Safwan sighed and turned to face her, his arm outstretched so that his elbow rested on the back of her seat. The livid glow in his eyes seemed to give way as he said, "Don't cry. It hurts me to see you cry." Esha considered this for a moment and said, "Give me my phone back." Safwan dug into his pocket, pulled it out and tossed it back to her. She could tell he needed another cigarette. Esha now sat with her phone resting on her lap. Her hands are now bound, incapable of reaching out and finding happiness on her own. She resolved that she would break free from him, that she would make the call and ask if the new person in her life would have her back. But, not now.
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