A Thousand Splendid Suns

"If I ever do get married," Tariq said, "they'll have to make room for
three on the wedding stage. Me, the bride, and the guy holding the gun
to my head."
The man in the front row gave them another admonishing look.
On the screen, Alyona and her new husband locked lips.
Watching the kiss, Laila felt strangely conspicuous all at once. She
became intensely aware of her heart thumping, of the blood thudding in
her ears, of the shape of Tariq beside her, tightening up, becoming still.
The kiss dragged on. It seemed of utmost urgency to Laila, suddenly,
that she not stir or make a noise. She sensed that Tariq was observing
her-one eye on the kiss, the other on her-as she was observing him. Was
he listening to the air whooshing in and out of her nose, she wondered,
waiting for a subtle faltering, a revealing irregularity, that would betray
her thoughts?
And what would it be like to kiss him, to feel the fuzzy hair above his
lip tickling her own lips?
Then Tariq shifted uncomfortably in his seat. In a strained voice, he
said, "Did you know that if you fling snot in Siberia, it's a green icicle
before it hits the ground?"
They both laughed, but briefly, nervously, this time. And when the film
ended and they stepped outside, Laila was relieved to see that the sky
had dimmed, that she wouldn't have to meet Tariq's eyes in the bright
daylight.
23.
April 1992