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"Do you not want to be with me?"
"Sarah, it's not that." Zunair had rubbed his forehead. He always did that when he was tense or talking about something he didn't particularly like.
It felt like that something was me.
"Then what, Zunair?" I leaned closer. "Please. Help me understand."
I must have looked or sounded really helpless because Zunair sighed and said, "I'm not ready to get married to you right now."
My heart did that thing again. But I found it somewhere in me to dare to say, "Not ready to get married or not ready to get married to me?"
He rubbed his jaw. "It's the same thing, Sarah."
"No, it's not, Zunair, and you know it."
"You need to give me time."
"Why do you keep saying that?" My eyes watered again. "It's been eleven months, Zunair. If you're not sure now, when will you ever be sure?"
"It's not about surety. It's about not wanting to make that commitment right now."
There. The air seemed to whoosh out of my lungs. He didn't want a commitment with me then. What did that mean?
"So these eleven months . . . " I said slowly. "These eleven months meant nothing to you?"
"That's not what I said. Don't put words in my mouth, Sarah."
At that moment, I envied him so much for being able to say those words without a "please" or without feeling guilty. He didn't even sound rude. I didn't understand how he managed to seem clearheaded and strong without seeming overly assertive. I didn't understand how he so casually said something that would have taken me seconds of lip biting and heart palpitations to say and then feel ten times guilty about afterwards.
"That's what I'm understanding." My voice shook. I hated it.
"And what would that be?" There. He had managed to do it again. He had driven his point home so concisely, so clearly, yet there was no hostility, no assertiveness. A pure and simple question.
At that moment, I was dissecting his every word, his every action as he said the words, his body language, and I was surprised to find that he didn't seem as tense as I did.
That's because he knew what he wanted to say. And he wasn't afraid to say it.
How I wished I could have been that way.
"Sarah?" He said, waving his hand in front of my face. "You okay?"
How did he do that? How did he manage to distance himself when he confronted me and the next second show that he cared by asking me if I was okay? How could he switch the flip so easily?
"Sarah?" He repeated, and this time he leaned closer and laid his hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong?"
The feel of his hand on my shoulder relaxed me a little. I shook my head and leaned forward, pressing myself into his chest. I began to cry. "I'm sorry, Zunair. I don't know—I don't know—"
I was sobbing too hard to be able to speak, and Zunair placed his arms around me and pulled us farther into the booth so no one could see us. He rubbed my back soothingly, laid his chin on my head, and sighed really loud. "Damn it, Sarah, why do you do this to me?"
I never understood what he meant back then. But now, every time I think about it, it breaks my heart. Even though I'm not like that anymore, even though my heart doesn't beat in line with other people's words anymore.
It breaks my heart most of all because it meant that somewhere in himself, he really did have feelings for me.
