Love from a to Z

ADAM
TUESDAY, MARCH 19
MARVEL:
ZAYNEB . . . I MEAN, WATER
That first day in Doha, when you were over at my house, I’d wanted to show you the night sky above
the water.
But I didn’t get to.
Now I can.
There’s a beach right in front of the theater.
• • •
In the lightly breezy night air, I waited outside the amphitheater.
It was just me and a few stragglers lining up for tickets, and I realized
something.
Maybe she’d be reluctant to follow me because she might not be sure that
I knew the protocol. Of us interacting.
Btw, I’ll follow the rules. Like, we won’t be alone. My dad’s taking Hanna to play on the beach
too.
And I’ll never touch you. Of course.
I paused. 
Until you give me permission, I mean. Until your family does. Until everyone does, I
mean.
As I cringed at the awkwardness of the message, someone cleared their
throat nearby. “I know you’d follow the rules, Adam.”
To look up to see her standing there—beaming, beautiful face framed by
a teal scarf, vibrant against the cream color of the amphitheater—felt like a
dream that I could hold on to in vivid detail. “Hi. Salaam. Zayneb.”
“Walaikum musalam.” She smiled again and looked down the wide,
shallow steps to the left of her, leading to the beach part of Katara. “This
enchanting sky and the water?”
“This way.” I began going down the stairs, then paused midway and
turned to her, standing a few steps above me. “Hey, I’m really sorry about

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the way our trip to the museum went. I just wanted to say that first. I didn’t
pause to think about what you could have been going through with your
teacher.”
She stopped too and shrugged. “Maybe I wasn’t seeing straight either,
because I was so caught up with being upset. And I had this weird feeling
about my dad going to Pakistan. I’m sorry too. For yelling at you. So sorry,
Adam. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“That family? At the exhibit next to us? They acted like we were a
museum display too.” I laughed, and her laughter joined easily with mine.
It was an amazing sound.
We continued the descent in perfect silence.
At the bottom of the stairs we emerged onto a paved ramp, and at the end
of that, after we rounded a corner, the beach stretched before us, lit with
lights lining a path cutting through the sand, as well as lights along the
edges behind us, where the sand met the paved walkway fronting
restaurants.
I was right, we wouldn’t be alone. Clusters of families and friends were
grouped here and there, either sitting on the beach or on the benches along
the boardwalk behind it.
The colorful street-food carts on the boardwalk caught my gaze. “Wait
here? There’s something I gotta get you.”
She nodded and turned to look at the dark water, twinkling with the lights
of numerous boats moored in the distance.
• • •
When I returned with two steaming cups of karak and two hot chapatis,
balanced on a flimsy, folded cardboard tray, Zayneb was sitting on one of
the brightly colored beach chairs dotting the beach. But it was right next to
a family.
“Here, this spot is for you.” She took a towel off one of the chairs beside
hers and hung it on the back of it. “There aren’t any empty seats around. I
was looking for a pair for us, and these kind people just told me to take two
of theirs. That they were using their blanket, too.”
“Thanks.” I passed her one of the teas before sitting down. “I remember
you saying you were a tea person. This is something everyone visiting Doha
has got to try. Karak. And chapati.”

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I passed her the flatbread, rolled in white paper.
She took the lid off the tea and let the steam warm her face, eyes closed.
“Mmm, chai. Smells amazing. Thanks.” She opened her eyes and smiled at
me before unrolling her chapati to rip a small piece off. “I’m suddenly
ravenous.”
“Oh man, look at those waves.” I bit into the toasty flatbread as I
watched the water lapping the shore with foam-speckled edges.
The chapati was unbelievably fresh, having been made right in front of
my eyes, the flaky, grilled part on the surface leading the way to the soft,
steamy dough underneath.
So good.
I turned to Zayneb to see what she thought.
She was crying.
• • •
“I don’t get how I’m supposed to move on from my grandmother being
murdered.” Her chapati lay uneaten as Zayneb finished telling me about her
grandmother’s death. How the bread had reminded her of her daadi
preparing this after-school snack for her every single day during the months
she lived with them. “Like, I’m a person who feels things strongly. And I
don’t know how to deal with my feelings. The way society tells me to.
Which is mostly to ignore them.”
I wanted to console her, and it took my all not to reach out to her. I don’t
know for what . . . to wipe those tears? Because I wanted them gone.
“Maybe you’re not supposed to deal with them in that way. The way you’re
told to. Maybe you’re meant to be the person you are.”
“That’s exactly what Auntie Nandy told me. That I’m supposed to feel
things, then shake the world. Smartly.” She picked up her chapati, broke
another piece off, and put it in her mouth. “I just don’t like the alone part of
it.”
“You don’t have to be alone. I . . . can be there too.” I took the lid off my
tea. “I’m not a shouter, but I’m a helper. And I’d love to help you, Zayneb.
Because you care about the right things.”
“You’re making me cry again.” She covered her face, then drew apart her
hands to peek at me, laughing through the tears. “Or maybe it’s the chapati.
Maybe I can’t eat fresh chapati or roti or fresh bread ever again, because I’ll

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cry. Maybe I’ll be a breadless woman for the rest of my life. But . . .”
Smiling, she let out a sad sob. “I just love bread so very very much.”
“Wait. Maybe you can try chewing the chapati with the hot karak. Maybe
it will change the sensation, the feeling that you’re eating the bread your
grandma made.”
She took a sip and chewed, the lights on the beach reflecting the dried
tears still glistening on her moving cheeks. “Now I’m making a roti slushie
in my mouth. To erase a sacred memory. Kinda ewww. And sad.”
“Look at the water, too. To make a new visual connection. Or . . .” I
shrugged and smiled. “You can continue looking at me.”
“Astaghfirullah. I thought we were following the rules. You should be
telling me to lower my gaze, brother,” she said, shaking her finger at me, a
smile on her face. “And where’s your dad? If my sister, Sadia, were here,
she’d say we weren’t following the rules.”
I looked behind us and, not seeing Dad, texted him.
“Okay, let’s both look at the water then.” I laughed and watched the
waves some more. “Did I ever tell you the minute I saw the water, I was
interested in it? In London? At the airport?”
“What color was the water?”
“It was deep blue. Azurite colored, like the rock I’d bought for Hanna.”
“Was that why you’d noticed the water? Because of its blue hijab?”
“Yeah. That’s exactly why. But also because the water was so busy. Like
nonstop busy. So busy all her luggage fell over.”
“The water was dealing with online hate. The water was being mobbed
by ruthless sharks.”
“I want to know all about the water. Every thing about it. ’Cause I . . .
like the water. A lot.” I didn’t turn to her.
“Because you’re thirsty? Because you’ve never drunk water? Ever?” Her
words were rippled with the hint of a giggle.
I cringed and shook my head, laughing. “Astaghfirullah. I thought we
were following the rules. That’s crossing the line, sister.”
“Sorry. Maybe it’s because I’m thirsty too.” She didn’t say this in a
joking way, just matter-of-factly.
We both looked straight ahead. Then Dad waved at us as he walked by
our chairs, Hanna running to the water ahead of him.
Perfect timing.

---

“But what about if the water you’re looking at is . . .” I paused, trying to
think of a good way to capture my insecurities about my MS future without
soliciting sympathy. “Slightly contained. Not really free like the water
ahead of us.”
“You mean what if the water I like is a tall, cool glass of the sweetest
water?” She giggled hard now. “Sorry, this metaphor thing is driving me to
break ALL THE RULES.”
“No, seriously, Zayneb.” I became quiet. “Are you okay with that? The
MS part of me.”
“Adam, I finished falling for you the day I saw you with your IV. The
day you opened up to me. I’m into openness in people. That’s what I’m
drawn to. Well, one of the things.”
I nodded, so crazy-happy inside but, also, tainted with worry. “And what
about your family. Would they freak out?”
“You’re lucky you’re looking at a girl—I mean at a water—that’s got
super-chill parents in that department. Like, they’ve always told me they’re
okay with me meeting someone. The vast ocean this water comes from is
cool, okay?”
“No, I mean would they be okay with the MS part.”
“I think so? They’re not cruel.”
“But it’s not smooth sailing.”
“Life isn’t?”
I sighed. I didn’t know if I was getting across what I was trying to say.
“I’ve been sort of paralyzed when I think of the future. It’s, like, dark.” I
looked at the sand below my sneakers and then moved my right shoe
through it, making grooves. “It closes in on me. It feels like I can’t move.
And I’m on my own.”
“But why do you have to be?” She said it gently, kindly. “You don’t have
to be alone, Adam.”
“The funny thing is, I’m not. My dad, and of course Hanna, is there for
me. I’ve also got the coolest friends in that way,” I acknowledged. “But it
constantly feels like I can’t tell all. Like they won’t get everything, so I
don’t even try.”
“There are forums, online and in real life, where you can meet others
with MS, you know.” Her voice quickened, like she couldn’t wait to share
her thoughts. “I’ve found some! I was researching MS treatments and

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therapy methods, and I found those forums. I’ll send you links. Then we
can see if there’s some sort of support group right here in Doha.”
“You researched MS?” I turned to her. Completely to her.
“Yeah? There’s so much information! Hopeful information, Adam.” She
peered at me to make sure I saw how serious she was, enthusiasm taking
over her face as she leaned forward in her eagerness to communicate her
excitement. “You don’t have to be alone.”
Hope—she was trying to give me hope.
She was trying to light the way forward with hope.
Amazing. To think I’d not been alone.
That she’d been thinking ahead for me too.
“Okay, I need to look at the water.” I gazed back at the waves. “Because I
suddenly understand why there are rules in the first place.”
“Me researching MS made you more thirsty?”
“Yeah. That, and you being you. Really thirsty.”
She laughed softly. “What does this mean? ’Cause we can’t drink the
water, you know.”
“Hello, people!”
I turned behind me to see Ms. Raymond with other teachers from DIS
making their way toward us.
Ms. Raymond’s face lit up at seeing our snacks. “Oh, yes! I’m so happy
you got to try chapati and karak, Zayneb!”
Zayneb nodded and held up her chapati. “I approve, Doha.”
We got up, and, before joining the others, I thanked the family nearby,
the ones who’d lent us their chairs.
• • •
When we got home that night, we didn’t text each other.
We didn’t need to.
We just knew what we would both say.

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