Rishta Diaries - Candidate Two part Three

Step one, step two. I freeze.

In front of me parked at the end of the winding front walk leading to the driveway is an electric blue Porsche.

‘All well with you?’

I hear him, however, I’d rather continue worshiping the car. Sooo beautiful! Hubba hubba!!! I close my eyes, I open them.

Yup still there!

All else is forgotten in the appreciation of a species of vehicle so fine that the reverberation of a hot Brit accent can’t even bring me out of my reverie.

Immediately, I start salivating, wowzers, I’m in love. It’s gotta be a C4S.

Suddenly, I see keys in my vision. He jingles them.

I look over and the smile that spreads across my face could light up all of Karachi during its darkest energy outage!

‘Your smile rivals that of the Chesire kitty.’

I look over at him and this time the smile spreads to show teeth. Finally, a man after my heart. Someone who truly understands the love I hold for European engineering.

*sigh*

‘All right. All right. If you promise not to be too rough, you can drive my girl back after dinner tonight.’

I skip down the stairs excited beyond belief.

As we breeze down 290E towards the city, I watch from the corner of my eye as he effortlessly glides this beauty through the congestion. He’s one with the car and we’re enjoying a companionable silence. I smile as I can finally sit and start to catalogue this individual.

Suddenly, I notice the way he smells. It’s quiet, powerful, encompassing and yet not overwhelming. From what I can tell, the scent fits the man to a ‘T.’
‘Do I meet with your approval?’

I pinken a bit surprised that I’ve not been as circumspect as I had hoped I’d been.

He smirks yet again cognizant of the heat rising up my neck. Somehow, I’m not as bothered as I was back at home at his smirk. I casually turn back my attention to the traffic and the city which we’ve almost reached.

Pulling up to the restaurant, I get out of the car and look over at him. I’m slightly annoyed that he’s waiting at the curb. Suddenly, I feel like a wayward child. Now the annoyance turns inwards at my foolish musings.

‘Ready?’ He extends his hand to allow me to precede him. He reaches around me and opens the colossal wooden door to the entrance. I walk to the maitre’d and Farid gives his last name.

The ease, effable nature which reminds me of my bhai is not lost. He’s been born to a position of comfort. He’s been born to be a leader and yet his nature is one where all are at ease and humbleness emanates from him.

Ok, why am I crushing on a Rishta? For God’s sake…I need to rest control back in this situation. Else, I’ll be at his mercy.

Let the power struggle begin!

The waiter comes over and both our attentions are engaged by the laundry list of specialities. I ordered the fish, he ordered the lamb. I noticed he didn't order beef though we were at a steak house. I wonder if he's a typical Brit in that he hates anything to do with the 'moo n' oink.' I file it away for further reflection,later.

We both seem to be curious by nature. Come from a business and political familial background where we're the eldest in our individual famlies. We've both gone into Banking and have left for different things.

And the important question regarding religious differences. We're both from religious families but are more moderates.

His take:
He's not bothered as he's a moderate and is of the firm belief that Islam is an individual choice, one between a practioner and Allah.

My take:
I'm not sure yet how I feel about that. I agree somewhat with his thinking, however I realize in the aspect of marriage, the differences may indeed result in friction, especially once children come around.

Again, another piece to be filed away, for later.

After the first course is served he asks me about why I accepted interest.

I look up surprised.

So far, we’ve but spoken about architecture, family and Islam.

I sit back and respond, ‘Why not?’ My right eyebrow raises, the gauntlet has now been thrown. My heart begins a staccato and my mind is on full alert. Fight or flight be damned! I’m in my element and ready for the ensuing session to commence.

He leans in and smiles. ‘Nice try. However, this question is perplexing. Your educated, you’ve got the credentials from a successful career, your family history is above reproach, and MashAllah you’re a good looking woman. So, the question begs to be asked..why me?

My head slightly cocks to the right and I wonder…is he suffering from low self-esteem?
No, he’s genuinely curious.

‘You were born in Pakistan, so I hoped there would be a bond to the land of your birth. You’ve been raised in the West, so I hoped you would be able to mesh well in everyday and the not so everyday vagaries of life. You’ve acquired the degree’s and the successful career, so you know sacrifice and also the fruit of said labour. And your tall, business minded and you’ve got a Brit accent.’

He stares, looks away and then he laughs.

‘Brit accent, that’s what got me here?’

Yes, I nod silently.

His smile brightens. I smile back. The coffee arrives. His phone rings, it’s my Nazi mother requesting to speak to me.

Ah, no matter one’s age, mummi’s always know how to make you feel like a naughty 12 yr old. I listen sullenly, mortified at potentially being counseled within hearing distance from him.

Instead, I hear her advising that Imran and my family have opted to go to a Afghani play at University of Chicago. So, Farid and I are welcome to join them or meet them back home at midnight.

I offer the decision to Farid. He opts to meet everyone back at the house. I smile and let mum know. She hangs up.

So, we’re done with dinner and drinks..now what? It’s turned unseasonably cold while we’ve been indoors. Its dark and the lamps and lights illuminate the outside. I can feel the cold emanating from the large windows that our table looks out onto. And yet, I feel unseasonably warm.

‘Pardon me, I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

I slide out of my chair and notice that he doesn’t get up. I make note of it but continue onto the bathroom facilities.

My face is slightly flushed but my neck is not. I stare back at myself and yet I don’t recognize myself. I look down at my right hand. I realize my unconscious is reminding me to be careful by bringing my attention back to the physical scar that is a reminder of the pain of the past.

The flush is gone. I’m calm. I’m back in control, mentally as well as physically. I finish washing my hands. I walk out and back to the table.

‘Welcome back.’

I look up, I meet his eyes and quietly respond, ‘Thank you.’
‘Is all well with you?’

I nod yes without verbally responding.

‘Good. Are you ready to go?’

Again, I nod yes and add in a calm steady voice, ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

He looks at me in silence, patient, waiting, for what I don’t know. I meet his gaze, steady, assured. I have nothing to say. No desire at this point to share.

He pushes his chair back and stands up. Walks over and pulls my chair out.

As we wait at the curbside for the valet to bring the car around, I can see him from the side of my vision. He’s standing with an erect posture, steadily looking at my profile, critiquing, cataloguing or is he attempting to read my mind?

I look down the street and see the car and valet approaching. His attention is drawn to the same.

As the car pulls up, I look straight ahead and ask, ‘Do I meet with your approval?’

The smirk is back, I look over with my eyebrow raised once again. He raises both of his up and down in answer. He steps away and then looks back, ‘Absolutely.’

I smirk in response and allow the valet to help me into the vehicle.

I wait for the car to be taken out of neutral. Nothing. I look over. He looks at me with an intense gaze. I meet him eye to eye wondering what’s flitting through his mind.

‘I’m a man of my word. However, please treat her gently.’

I look at his face realization finally dawning. I’m ecstatic. I’m about to drive a C4S! Miracles do indeed occur!

I jump out of the car and run over to the driver’s side. I grab the keys out of his hand before he changes his mind. I hurriedly get in the car and anxiously await him to do the same.

The engine purrs and I’m in heaven. The clutch is smoth, cold and yet powerfully alive. I jiggle it just trying to get a proper feel. Suddenly, his warm large hand envelops the back of my hand. My attention is riveted to him and my hand tightens around the clutch.

‘Treat her with the utmost respect, she’s my heart.’

I blink, nod and pull away from the curb.

OMG OMG OMG!!!The power, the feel and the handling … nothing can compare. This is great, real and powerful, this must be what exquisite rapture feelings like. I wish I was on a racetrack rather than just going home. I let her out, give her full control. I’ve completely forgotten anything but the car and my joy at being behind the wheel.

We get home much too quickly. I turn off the car with a feeling of utter desolation. It is so unfair how all things must come to an end.

I turn over to hand him the keys. My gaze is riveted to his hand and mine as I drop the keys into his palm.

I look up to him, he’s much too tall for his own good, ‘Thank you.’

A chuckle followed by,’You look despondent, as if you kitty died.’

I look straight ahead and say, ‘I don’t have a kitty. However, if I did and she died, I probably would look like this.’

He laughs louder as we turn to walk up the path towards the house. ‘Cheer up, you can drive her on our next outing. At least I know, you’ll not chastise me for my racing vehicles.’

I look over and flash a short-lived smile. ‘Never.’

‘Well then, I suppose we’ll just fight instead about who drives what.’

‘Perhaps, we will. However, as I’m the woman, I’ll get first dibbs.’

‘Ah you Americans, so full of yourselves!’

‘Better than being a stuffed shirt of a Brit.’

‘Well, we do have that lovely accent which you are so enamoured of.’

I look back as we approach the front door. I wink. He laughs.

As the key fits into the front door lock, I realize he and I are alone at home.

Now what?