I stretch until my mouth is a millimeter from his ear. He’s gone rigid, but he makes no effort to move away. “Mati,” I breathe. “Please tell me whatshaahazadimeans.”
A shiver ripples through him. “You are very persuasive, princess.”
It only takes me a second. “Princess! That’s it, right? I totally should’ve guessed.”
“Context clues. They’re the key to decoding a new language. They’re how I work out your American slang.”
“I wish I was as good with words as you are. Do you carry your notebook all the time? Just in case the mood strikes?”
He laughs. “Something like that, yes.”
“Is that what you want to do with your life? Write?”
He’s quiet a moment, his amber eyes shrouded. He says, “Writing is not a career option.”
“Writing is my mom’s career.”
“Things are different in Afghanistan.”
“But there are universities.” Several—I know, because I looked them up late one night, curious. “Mati, you could take writing classes.”
“Things are different forme,” he amends solemnly.
“What if you went to college here, in America?” I say, voicing the idea that’s only recently occurred to me. We could do it; we could work if we were together. He doesn’thaveto live halfway around the world. “There are writing programs at schools all over the US and aren’t there, like, student visas?”
He lets go of a hefty breath. “There are, though that doesn’t change the fact that I need to return to my country.”
“But…why?”
“Because, Elise. I am my baba’s eldest son, which means I will be khan of our tribe one day. It is my job to take care of things at home—it is my duty.”
I’m not exactly sure what he means byduty, but he seems reluctant to elaborate. Rather than push, rather than risk spoiling this fragment of time that feels otherwise perfect, I sit back to watch the twinkling stars. I feel a sense of solidarity with them, so far away. I have an idea of how lonely it must be, glinting forlornly in the ceaseless sky.
Only for now, I’m not alone.
I read about binary stars once: two stars that orbit the samecentral mass. That’s what being with Mati is like. We’re linked by a common gravitational pull, circling round and round while the rest of the universe closes in.
Out the window, a flash of light streaks across the sky.
“Oh my God!” I say, and at the same time, Mati says, “Did you see that?”
“Was it—?”
“A shooting star,” he says. “I’ve never seen one before.”
“I haven’t, either. We have to make a wish.”
“Do we?”
“Mati, yes. Superstition demands it.”
He raises a cunning eyebrow. “Aarzo.”
I sit up straight, tapping my chin. “Hmm, context clues… wish? Or star?”
His smile makes our little turret glow. “Wish. Very good. Star isstórey.” He sits up, too, scooting around to face me. His hands land on my knees and their heat trickles through my jeans. “What will you wish for?”
“World peace.”
