“What? No.” She cut him off. “That would mean involving my sister. She’s already overwhelmed. I don’t want to give whoever did it the satisfaction of knowing they got to me. It’s not a big deal. This wedding will be over soon enough.”
“Hena—”
“It’s fine.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “I appreciate you caring.”
His expression softened. “Of course I care.” He covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry that happened, is all.”
“To be expected, honestly. I’m okay. Promise.”
A new song came on. He looked at the crowd, then her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to hit the dance floor? You said my skills have improved, right?” His eyes crinkled. Helooked so earnest and cute. Before she could respond, a familiar voice cut in.
“There you are.” Auntie Nipa approached. “I need your help.”
Hena bit back a grin. Like clockwork.
“Give me one second,” Haris said.
“This can’t wait,” Auntie Nipa replied. “Now, please.”
“Ammi,” Haris said, clearly exasperated.
He gave her a pointed look. She stepped back, but it was clear she wasn’t leaving.
He turned back to Hena. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her again.”
“She is not my biggest fan.”
“She’s my mother. I love her.” He sighed. “But I don’t think she’s anyone’s fan.”
“Except yours?”
“Except mine.” He laughed. “To be continued?”
He headed off as Hena ordered a drink. After the song ended, the emcee’s voice crackled over the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Khaled and Lulu are ready for their dance-off. Please give them your full attention and cheer for your side. The loudest party determines the winner.”
Bhangra filled the air—louder, more upbeat. The DJ raised the music to complement the live drummers. Holding hands, the couple made their way to the center of the dance floor. They squared off, then launched into a synchronized dance, down to the choreographed head tilt. True to their marching orders, Khaled’s family whooped and hollered as loud as they could. Hena joined in with the bride’s side, clapping and cheering as Lulu’s shimmering gown fanned around her as she twirled. The DJ declared it a tie. Khaled drew Lulu into a hug.
The emcee invited the audience to join. Khala was one of the first to hit the floor, her head bobbing as she twirled. When she spotted Hena, she brightened and waved her over. Hena shook her head, but Khala grabbed her hands and pulled her in.
“Your dance moves haven’t changed since I was five,” Hena shouted over the music.
“Why fix what isn’t broken?” Khala winked. “You know you learned everything from me, right?”
Hena had said she wouldn’t dance. Didn’t want the attention. But with her aunt, the self-consciousness melted away. A new memory surfaced: The two of them in the kitchen, Hena barely in preschool, the bhangra music dialed up to ten. Her aunt twirling her as they cleaned. Even after all this time, these childhood moves came back as if no time had passed.
There was a lull between songs. Hena spotted Reza off to the side in a dark kurta.
“You know how to dance, don’t you?” he asked as she walked over to him.
“Want some tips?”
He feigned offense. “I’ve got moves of my own.”
“Prove it. Dance with me.”
