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A cousin
-
‘…she doesn’t like it.’
Kamran doesn’t even know how he and Kamala got onto this topic...
…but she’s easy to talk to. It’s easy to just be himself around her.
(He doesn’t think she understands just how precious that is. Just how rare that is. Just how much it means to him.)
(She’s the first person who sees him and likes him for him. Just Kamran.)
Kamala rather insistently pushes the fries they’re splitting towards him, swallowing her mouthful of milkshake.
‘So what, if it’s not normal-‘ That’s in air-quotes. ‘-for some cool badass dude to love the Great British Bake-Off? There is no normal!’ She puts a hand on his arm, voice going very insistent, with all her heart. ‘You deserve better.’
-
A brother/cousin, take one
-
Over Winter Break, there’s a knock on Kamran’s front door.
(The house doesn’t feel right.)
(And not just because it’d been turned inside out by the FBI and he’d spent a few weeks on the Khans’ couch until they decided that it was, in fact, legal for him to keep said house.)
He ignores the knock, but eventually hauls himself off the couch when he receives a text, managing a wan little smile.
He’d had plans with Kamala, Bruno and Nakia tonight, since Bruno’s leaving for CalTech in a couple days, but…
…Kamran hadn’t felt like going out. Hadn’t felt like company.
He’s having a Bad Day.
(He has a lot of them.)
He opens the door, to find Bruno standing there. In his left hand, he holds out Kamran’s car keys, and in his right, he has a brown Uber Eats bag with a cutesy doodle of a giant cake on it and cheer up, cuz! written in Kamala’s handwriting.
‘Thanks for letting us borrow your car, man.’ A pause, as Bruno holds out the bag, looking at him with concern. Kamran supposes that he did spill some protein shake on himself earlier and couldn’t be bothered to clean it up, and he hasn’t shaved for a couple days. ‘We, uh, also got you shawarma.’ Another pause, and Bruno stares at a point over his left shoulder for a beat, sounding awkward, but somehow, that doesn’t seem to make his words sound less serious, less meaningful. (Maybe…maybe being a little awkward is okay.) ‘Look, uh, if you ever need or want to talk…just text or call.’
‘Thanks.’
Kamran is well-aware that that’s completely inadequate, but…
…he means it desperately.
Kindness and generosity are rare treasures.
-
Kamran, in a fit of sentiment that makes his ammi’s voice in his head scold him enough that he feels himself flinch a little, cuts out and saves the doodle from Cousin Kamala.
He plonks on his couch in his protein-shake-stained tracksuit pants and T-shirt and scarfs down the shawarma, as well as the fries and baklava that’d come with it.
Somehow, he feels a little bit better.
-
A couple weeks later, he takes Bruno up on that offer.
Even if it feels like weakness.
The voice in his head that sounds like his ammi whispers furiously, angrily, at him.
But the other voice in his head, the one that used to whisper to him that what Ammi did was wrong, what she wanted to do was wrong, what his family wanted him to do was wrong…it tells him that it’s not weakness. Not at all.
It’s strength, even.
(That voice sometimes sounds like Kamala. Sometimes sounds like Bruno, or Kareem. Or Nakia. Or even Mr or Mrs Khan. Or Aamir or Tyesha or Sheikh Abdullah or Zoe, even.)
Kindness and generosity – especially like this – are rare treasures.
And Bruno’s a nice guy, a good guy.
And…
Bruno breaks the awkward silence in his study when Kamran winces minutely after accidentally touching the nasty bruise on his arm.
He feels rubbed raw and broken apart and like he’s being ripped even further apart by something inside after…
…after learning the truth.
…after Ammi…
…after his family…
…after two days in the custody of the FBI, being interrogated.
‘It’s…sometimes…things are good. But…that’s a lie. Or…’ Bruno swallows, gestures at the bruises Ammi left. They’re obvious, now. The one on his face has turned ugly after two days. ‘…that wouldn’t happen.’ Kamran stares at him. Bruno stares at some point in the distance over his shoulder, before finally looking back over at Kamran, even if he doesn’t seem quite able to meet his eyes. ‘My parents, uh, they aren’t around anymore.’ Bruno shakes his head at himself, eyes lingering on that bruise on Kamran’s cheek for a beat. ‘Well, they’re not around because they, um…they abandoned me when I was seven…I think I was lucky.’
-
When Bruno gets back from California, Kamran insists on buying him lunch at the diner near the mosque.
And then it becomes a thing, somehow.
And suddenly, he has a friend. A close friend.
A friend who understands, because he lived it too.
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A brother/cousin, take two
-
At Faheem’s gym, Kamran punches a bag intensely, not caring that he’s probably bruising his knuckles when the other bruises have just healed.
He’s trying to channel that anger that’s eating him up, that rage that keeps threatening to tear out of him.
He knows that lashing out like he wants to will make things worse, make those whispers and rumours and scandal following him even worse, even more unbearable.
Doesn’t mean he doesn’t still want to.
-
‘Would you like to spar? I promise I am a more interesting target than that poor bag.’
Kamran lowers his hands from methodically trying to destroy said punching bag, and stares at the other young man leaning casually against the wall behind him.
Kareem’s just finished sparring in the ring with his uncle, Waleed.
Kamran knows – or knows of, more accurately – both of them, of course.
(Waleed is Mr Khan’s cousin, and he adopted Kareem, so the other boy is also some kind of cousin to Kamala.)
His ammi hated them.
That means something.
After that moment of hesitation, Kamran nods.
-
Kareem wins their spar; he’s more agile and flexible than Kamran thought…
…and Kamran himself is lacking refinement in his rage.
He takes several deep breaths and ignores his ammi’s derisive voice in his head.
The spar felt good. Even right now, being flat on his back, having tapped out, feels good.
He’s feeling something other than rage and pain.
Kareem gave as good as he got, and the two of them are evenly matched.
Kamran takes another deep breath, as the other boy holds out a hand to him to help him up.
He’s breathing hard too, and smiling in a way that is very familiar to Kamran. With the satisfaction of a good workout.
‘Best of three?’
He finds himself smiling too as he takes Kareem’s hand and stands.
‘You’re on, man.’
-
And just like that, he has a sparring partner and a gym buddy.
And then a friend.
And then a brother.
-
An auntie
-
‘…you spend so much time working out at the gym, beta, you must make sure you are eating properly!’
Mrs Khan piles more food onto Kamran’s plate, eyeing him critically as if she thinks he is looking a bit wan and drawn, before turning to pile food onto Kareem’s plate too.
Across the table, next to Mr Khan and Uncle Waleed, Kamala mouths I told you so at him.
(While he was living with the Khans, sleeping on their couch, she’d told him rather imperiously that her parents’ love languages were fretting, fussing and food.)
(Kamran’s realised his cousin is kinda ridiculous…but in this case, she’s also right.)
-
Over the years, Auntie Muneeba never lets him – or Kimo – leave her house without at least one bag of her cooking for later, clucking about how those protein shakes and bars they like so much are not proper food.
It eases off a little when he gets married.
(At least until the kids come.)
Apparently, she trusts Mahnoor’s ability to keep them both well-fed.
(Cousin Kamala gleefully declares that game recognizes game, you know, Ammi Powers recognize Ammi Powers!)
Kareem and Inaya continue to receive big bags of her cooking.
Auntie Muneeba does not, apparently, trust their cooking skills.
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An uncle
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‘…the last Test of the tour, and it is the decider!’ Mr Khan rubs his hands together eagerly as he sits down on the couch next to Kamran in the Khans’ living room. Pakistan’s cricket team is currently touring Australia, and the last Test of the Australian summer is about to be played at the Sydney Cricket Ground. He reaches out to clap Kamran on the shoulder. ‘Thank you for coming to watch it with me, Kamran, and not abandoning Babar and the boys!’ His expression turns wry. ‘Kamala refuses to join me for the Tests…’ She prefers T20 cricket and its shorter, more exciting games. This fact causes Mr Khan to shake his head in mock-disappointment. ‘…Aamir is rather busy…’ Kamran reckons that’s to be expected; he’s a newlywed. ‘…and as we all know, Bruno is 43 hours away…’ Mr Khan’s expression turns even more wry at that (and a little disbelieving); they’ve all been listening to Kamala repeatedly dramatically bemoan the fact that her best friend is a whole 43 hours and several time zones away ever since he left. ‘…so it is just you and me, beta!’ He leans conspiratorially towards Kamran. ‘At least until Muneeba comes home…’ He winks and pulls two Hostess Cherry Pies from his pocket, holding one out to Kamran. ‘…so we had better eat these while we can, right, beta?’
-
Uncle Yusuf continues to slip him – and Bruno, and Kareem, and Aamir – Hostess Cherry Pies with a wink and a conspiratorial grin over the years.
He also throws in some very paternal advice.
Kamran appreciates their quiet conversation at the Masjid before his nikah more than he could ever express.
But somehow, even though he can’t say enough thanks for it, he thinks that Uncle Yusuf gets the message.
-
A true friend, take one
-
As a couple of gossiping aunties walk past them on the mosque steps, glancing at Kamran and not even bothering to keep their voices down, Kamala glares at their retreating backs, Kareem puts a fortifying hand on his shoulder for a beat, and Nakia’s expression turns exasperated, infuriated.
She shakes her head, and turns to him.
‘You shouldn’t have to put up with that. You shouldn’t put up with it.’ Part of Kamran wants to say that he deserves it. A voice in his head that at the moment, sounds an awful lot like Nakia Bahadir, disagrees very strongly. ‘I’ll talk to the rest of the board at the next meeting; this is supposed to be a welcoming environment for all of us brothers and sisters!’
-
Nakia Bahadir is intense. And kinda intimidating.
She’s also incredibly determined, compassionate and passionate about Justice.
And an excellent friend.
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A true friend, take two
-
After school resumes post-Winter Break, in the school carpark, Zoe waves off her girlfriends and asks Josh to wait a minute or two for her – her boyfriend doesn’t seem happy about that, but he does as bade – and comes over to Kamran.
He’s honestly surprised.
With all the rumours and whispers about the scandals going around Coles…
…well, he’d thought the only people who’d talk to him would be Cousin Kamala, Nakia and Kareem, now that Bruno’s gone to CalTech.
He certainly hadn’t expected Zoe to still talk to him.
To maybe, just maybe, still be his friend.
‘Hey, Kamran.’ She seems a little awkward, like she’s not quite sure what to say or how to act, but goes on anyway. ‘I’m having a bit of a party this weekend; my parents are away again. Wanna come? Bring Kamala and Nakia and Kareem too, of course!’
Kamran doesn’t think he’s got it in him to go to a party.
But there’s a bit of a lump in his throat anyway, for some reason.
He honestly didn’t think anyone from his past life – and it sounds ridiculous, he knows, because that was only weeks ago – would still even talk to him.
Let alone invite him to a party.
Still try to be his friend.
He manages to get out some kind of thanks, and Zoe smiles at him – it’s not quite Insta-perfect, but it’s just as winning – before waving and heading back to Josh.
-
Zoe is the sort of friend his ammi encouraged him towards.
(Wealthy, well-connected, influential, popular, beautiful.)
At the same time, she’s also very much not.
(If she’d known…)
(If he’d told her…)
(Things would have been different, Kamran thinks. At least a little.)
(Things…things might have happened sooner.)
(He might have been free sooner.)
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A beloved
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‘…I knew tempered chocolate and pastry was gonna spell carnage, but I was not expecting that!’
Mahnoor nods at him over their once-again customary Sunday morning chai and pastries at Uncle Rashid’s café, 4Cs.
‘I was so sad when Natalie’s chocolate seized! Especially as her pastry was so good…’
‘It was a bit harsh to send her home, but…’
‘I know she was my favourite baker, Kamran, but you do not have to try and be extra-nice! I think the judges were fair; she missed an entire element of the bake.’
Mahnoor smiles at him, sweet and bright and warm (like home), not trying to hide it in her dupatta or by ducking her head.
Kamran smiles back, and reaches across the table to take her hand.
She grins brilliantly at him, tangling her fingers with his.
-
Kamran marvels at the birthday ‘cake’ Mahnoor’s made for his party.
It’s a croquembouche.
It’s beautiful; decorated with spun toffee and chopped nuts and curls of candied citrus peel.
And based on the little sample she made for him to try – you are my official taste-tester, and it is your birthday! – both the choux pastry and the saffron- and cardamon-infused pastry cream are delicious.
‘It’s…incredible, and beautiful.’ He looks right at her, still shaking his head a little, and takes her hand, raises it to press a kiss to her knuckles. ‘You’re incredible and beautiful!’
Mahnoor seems to flush a little, even if it isn’t visible, and a little half-squeak escapes her. But she looks up at him and smiles brilliantly.
(Part of Kamran wants to compliment his girlfriend enough so that she’s never surprised or startled or flustered by it ever again.)
(Part of him would really miss those adorable little squeaking noises.)
-
He doesn’t deserve her and her love.
But, as she says, as everyone else says…
…love is a gift.
Hers certainly is.
Mashallah.
-
A child
-
On the roof of the Circle-Q, Kamran paces, barely managing to not panic.
He’d shown up at Kamala and Bruno’s apartment in this state. His cousins had exchanged a single glance, and Bruno had herded him upstairs onto the roof.
Kamran takes a couple of deep breaths, counting in and out, then turns to the other man.
‘Mahnoor’s pregnant.’ A pause. Saying it out-loud makes it seem even more real. ‘It wasn’t, uh, exactly planned…’
(No form of birth control is 100% effective.)
He trails off, that panic rising again.
If anyone will understand how excited and happy yet completely terrified, sick to the stomach, fearful, lost in his own head that he is…
…it’ll be Bruno.
He’ll understand, because he’d have those feelings too.
Kamran continues, desperate with that panic and just needing to get it out.
‘Mahnoor already loves the baby.’ They’d only found out a few hours ago, but he knows his wife does, because of course she does. He swallows. ‘I…I think I do too, but…what if…’
Bruno stares at him in silence for a beat.
He understands.
Understands how terrified, how scared, how fearful, Kamran is.
Scared that he’ll repeat terrible behaviours.
Scared that he’ll hurt this kid that he already loves.
Scared that he’ll turn out to be too much like them.
Bruno knows that fear very, very well.
He’d feel it too.
He does feel it too, Kamran would bet.
(He and Kamala don’t have kids yet either.)
Kamran thinks, privately, that his fear is stronger than Bruno’s, though. And…and more realistic. Justified. Likely to come true.
He sees the patterns, sometimes, in his own behaviour.
(He lashed out terribly at Mahnoor not that many years ago, nearly destroyed their relationship beyond repair when they were still just friends.)
In contrast, Bruno’s so far removed from his parents, he’s like the opposite of them. Aggressively wholesome and kind and good.
And he grew up with his nonna and Auntie Muneeba and Uncle Yusuf as his parents; he’ll parent like them.
Kamran’s never really known good parenting, at least not until Uncle and Auntie sorta-adopted him when he was seventeen.
He knows that each and every one of his family members would reassure him that he’d never be like his mother.
And they’d mean that, with every fibre of their being.
Mahnoor’s gentle insistence and the faith of her love is the only thing keeping him from self-sabotaging and running away from her and their baby, or lashing out, Kamran thinks.
But he knows that whatever Bruno’s about to say…
…whatever reassurance he has to offer…
…it’ll carry that weight, that understanding, that only those who’ve lived it can have.
‘A, you won’t be.’ Bruno says that like it’s a simple truth. He reaches up and puts a hand on Kamran’s shoulder, the touch grounding. ‘And B, we wouldn’t let you.’ Kamran lets out a breath he wasn’t quite aware he was holding. Bruno gives a slight smile. ‘You’re not alone, man.’ He pauses, swallows, looks over Kamran’s shoulder for a beat, before turning back to him, that smile widening. ‘C…you already love them, and you haven’t even met them.’ Another pause, as his expression sobers again. ‘That’s…look, that’s more than we got. More than you got.’
It'll take time for those fears to settle and fade, Kamran knows.
He’s definitely calling his therapist for a few sessions.
And he knows he’ll need lots of support and reassurance from his family over the next months. Years, probably.
But it helps.
Kamran pulls the other man into a hug.
‘Thanks.’
He means it desperately.
Kindness and generosity aren’t rare treasures in his life anymore.
But he still treasures them.
Bruno pats him on the back.
‘Congratulations, man.’
-
We don’t get to choose who we’re born to.
But we do get to choose who we’ll call our family.
I think…I think I chose well.