Salman.
Which means .?.?. we’re tied.
I turn towards him at the same time he looks at me.
‘Guess neither of us win,’ he whispers. As his words sink in, I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.
14
‘So, who did you pick for Omar then?’ I ask, unable to keep in the question any longer.
‘It’s not like it matters, does it?’ Salman says as he pulls out another file from the storage box labelledR–S, 2014. We’re in the archive room pulling out previous client files on Sadia’s request. While most of the files are digitised, there are many that still aren’t, and these need to be catalogued on our server.
‘I guess not,’ I say, even though itdoesmatter to me who he chose. I spent the weekend wondering who would have won the bet if Omar hadn’t withdrawn his application, running through the various matches, trying to calculate which was the right one now that we knew who Sadia had paired the other candidates with. Although the possibilities aren’t exactly endless, not knowing is making my psoriasis flare up, and I’d rather not shed outside the confines of my bedroom.
I pull another box from the shelf, flicking through files in the hope that I can get out of here as soon as possible. Not just because I want to get back to working on date proposals for our new pairings, but also because this room istiny. It’s giving typical storage-room vibes, with lighting so dark our eyes may as well be closed and the walls overflowing with shelves containing more storage boxes than any one room should. There’s barely room for the two of us as it is, and we have to squeeze past one another as we tackle different sides of the room.
‘Fine,’ Salman says, returning to the conversation I thoughtwe’d finished. He puts his storage box back on the shelf and turns to face me. ‘I paired Omar with Jesmin.’
I raise a brow and lean against the shelving unit. ‘Really? Come on, that’s ridiculous and you know it.’
He gestures for me to elaborate.
‘You seriously don’t see it? Omar is fiercely independent and Jesmin has co-dependency written all over her profile, and I’m not sure that’s the type of person Omar is after. Having been the eldest child and with emotionally absent parents, he’s certainly capable, but it might be refreshing for him to be with someone who doesn’tneedhim but whowantshim.’
He considers my point before finally nodding, as though he’s starting to see my point of view. ‘So who would you have paired him with, then?’
‘I would have paired him with Munazah. They would’ve respected each other’s independence but also built a life together where they could co-exist. They would have balanced each other out and could grow together in a way they wouldn’t with anybody else. It would take time and patience but they would get there – and once they’re there? They’d never leave. It would be a forever thing.’
‘I don’t know .?.?. I’m sceptical about this match.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Of course you are.’
‘Buuuuuut,’ he draws out the word, ‘Iguessit makes more sense than mine .?.?.’
‘So you’re saying, if Omar was still on the table, you think I would have won?’
Salman shrugs. ‘Who knows? We wouldn’t know for sure without Sadia’s confirmation but,hypothetically, between Jesmin and Munazah, I guess Munazah would take the win.’
‘Yes, I knew I could beat you!’ I throw my arms up in victory, but when I do, I accidentally hit a box above me. I brace myself for the impact of a million papers – and the box – hitting myscalp as they come tumbling down.
But nothing happens.
I open my eyes a fraction and peek out, to see Salman shielding me from where the box would have fallen, his arms outstretched, eyes trained on mine. He is covered in fallen papers. With him hovering above me, it feels like we’re suspended in time. Our faces are inches apart, and it takes everything I have not to push my lips against his. It would be so easy to raise myself on my toes, closing the gap between us like I used to.
‘You OK?’ he asks, his breath tickling my cheeks.
‘Think I should be asking you that.’
He smirks. ‘I’ve hit my head enough times to know that some papers won’t do any lasting damage.’
‘You sure? Because I’m pretty sure that’s blood trailing down your neck.’
‘What?’ He stands so abruptly that the papers that were resting on his neck slide down his body. He swats at his neck furiously, looking more confused each time his hand comes back dry, and I don’t even try to stop the laugh that escapes me.
‘Not funny, Poppy!’
‘Actually, it wasveryfunny,’ I tease as I get on my knees and begin to gather up the fallen papers. ‘You should have seen the look of terror on your face.’
