Getting dropped off to Pizza Hut with my sister, and starting to order. Asking which toppings are halaal and which haraam. The Egyptian guy behind the counter, cautiously flirting, because he can see Dad standing behind me. "Where are you from? Pakistan or India?"
K and me in unison: "Pakistan." "Ohh, no wonder you both are so pretty." Nervous laughter.
"Well, in that case, you can have any topping. Everything is khalaal."
"I'd like to visit Pakistan one day. Islamabad."
Two large pizzas, don't remember the toppings. Salad, soda, bread. Picked up by friends and taken to Manzar Beach. Everything sounds normal,picnic-like.
Except that it is past midnight, and the desert night air is chilly to the bone. There's a surprise blanket in the trunk, which we spread out near the shore. The water is inky black, you can't see anything. But I can feel it. Everyone's already started opening up the boxes, and Mom is calling me to eat. But I can't, really I can't. The wind and the sand and the middle of the night is all too cliche and overrated and just perfect. I wouldn't have minded even if I ended up only with half a slice. Being there, walking along the wet sand with not a single worry. No college duties, no exams, nothing with H. Nothing. Lightheaded.
It's getting colder by the minute, and my cardigan isn't thick enough. So I end up sitting on the blanket and munching on pizza while staring straight ahead at the buoys bouncing on the water.
Across the "pseudobeach" are lights, glowing. Of the city. And the sound of lapping water is the only thing I hear. These moments fill me up. I let them fill me up. Nothing is comparable to this.
Oh, Dubai.
1 comment:
that was beautiful to read.
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