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Zunair's definition of "time" must have been forever because I waited for days in angst.
Then days turned into weeks.
Finally, three weeks later, I tried reaching out to him again. I had been so unfocused that month because of the scary possibility of him not reaching out to me. I was having frequent panic attacks and cry sessions, red noses and watery eyes. Imama constantly texted to ask me whether I was okay. My parents constantly asked me what was wrong and I chalked it up to being stressed about finals. Besides, even if I wanted to tell them I would never have been able to because of the way I knew they would handle it.
They being my mom.
When I tried contacting Zunair again and came up empty-handed, I didn't know what to do. So, to take my mind off of him, I tried doing something I wasn't very fond of because it required too much of my concentration and I was bad at it.
Cooking.
My mom always freaked out when I was in the kitchen. With good reason, I guess. But I wasn't ready to face her open hostility of my lack of skill and her constant jibes of "nobody will marry you if you can't cook." So I waited for her to leave the house to do the groceries and then went into the kitchen—all red-nosed like Rudolf—and I balanced my phone on the counter. The YouTube video tutorial onbean chicken tacos played on my screen, and with all my concentration I followed it. I did everything the cook was doing. I added just the right amount of oil (measured in a measuring cup so there was no way I could have screwed up), heated the chicken on the pan exactly the way the video displayed.
And yet, ten minutes later, the kitchen was clouding with smoke and I was coughing as a result of it. The fire alarms began to blare loudly, and I opened the windows and doors, grabbed a hand towel, and tried to shoo away as much smoke as I could.
By the time the chaos died down, I stared at the burnt chicken in the pan and out of nowhere, the waterworks began.
I sobbed loudly, breath hitching, body trembling.
I was never able to do anything right, especially when it came to cooking. I couldn't make the chicken right. I had caused smoke to unfurl throughout my entire house. I had made the fire alarms ring insistently.
I couldn't keep my grades up. My friendships were tacky. I couldn't speak to my parents without someone getting upset. I couldn't control anything in my life.
I couldn't make Zunair stay.
I cried an unbelievable amount that day. It made my throat sore and my body ache. When my mom came home, she was angry with the smell in the house and scolded me for it a bit, but after she saw that I was unresponsive and that my nose was oddly puffed, she laid off for a bit.
