My family is currently looking at me like I’m some unidentified specimen.

  “So.. You’re telling us that you’ve already found someone?” my mum asks.

  “Yep,” I nod.

  “And she’s real?” my older brother, Jubair, asks which earns smack to the head by my oldest sister, Jamila.

  “Yep.”

  “And she’s Bangla?”

  “No, she’s white.”

  “What!?” my mum and dad shouts.

  “Relax,” I laugh. “Yeah, she’s Bengali. Sylheti too.”

  They visibly relax.

  “So, who is she?” Amma asks.

  “Noor,” I answer as coolly as I can.  Are my hands sweating? God, this was so much easier to plan. I wipe my hands on my jeans.

  “Noor?” Amma and Yuva both speak at the same time. Yuva is smiling widely and my mum just looks confused.

  “You know her?” I ask my sister.

  “Yeah,” she nods, “I saw her with Nava at that thing that your school held that one time. Stayed in touch since then.”

  “She was there?”

  “Was she nice?” my mum turns to Yuva.

  “Really nice,” she gushes over Noor. How can one feel this way over _her? _“She was so sweet and she helped some of the little kids and the mums with their babies."

  “Ah,” my mum nods and when she turns back to be, her face immediately turns suspicious.

  _Am I really that obvious?_

_  _“How did you meet her?”

  “Primary school. We sat next to each other throughout year five and six.”

  “Do you like her then?”

  “Did you like her then?”

  I hesitate for a second, “Yes.”

  She catches my hesitation.

  _Dammit._

_  _“And do you mean that in a friendly way or a lover way?” she leans forward as she continues to interrogate me.

  “Uh..” I falter.

  “Answer the question.”

  “Friendly, at first.”

  “Okay..” she leans back in her chair. She’s still suspicious, I can tell. “Is she pretty?”

  “Beautiful,” I answer—this time without hesitation.

  That comment earns a small ‘_awwww_’ from my sisters. I shoot them a small glare.

  “What course is she taking?”

  “Psychology.”

  Abba nods approvingly, “Psychology is a very good path to take, you know? Can get any kind of job with that one.” 

  My mum nods approvingly too.

  “When did you start realising you like her?”

  “Year 8,” I answer smoothly. _Just as planned._

_  _“One last question..”

  “Will it be though?”

  She ignores my comment, “Why did you act like you didn’t want to find someone the other day when I tried to talk to you? Why did you act that way when you knew you liked someone. Someone for that long.”

  A silence falls over the room.

  Yuva glances at me.

  She knows.

  She knows about Noor’s condition and is silently telling me to just get it over with and just tell them.

  I don’t know how my parents will react. They could either be really supportive about it; Jamila has POTs which is a chronic illness and it also causes people to pass out but it can be treated; with FND.. The girl becomes paralysed for hours on end—days, even. She passes out randomly for no reason at all. Granted she wakes up like nothing happens most of the time, it’s still hard to live with. Her parents didn’t let her touch the kettle until she was 16 and she wasn’t allowed to touch the oven until she was 19. Her brain hardly even functions properly half the time,nothing goes through her brain and she forgets things a lot. This could either go okay, or really really bad.

  Now I’m starting to realise why she was so sure about the lie of telling them that people would talk bad about her. Hell, I am right now. Not out loud, sure, but in my mind. My mind is a mind of its own and I feel so guilty for thinking like this.

  Even with her FND she’s still Noor.She’s still the same Noor from primary before the start of it all.She’s still my Noor.She has always been my Noor and that will never change.

  “She has FND,” I finally answer.

  “Oh,” my mum says. Then another smaller _‘oh’_.

  “She’s a really kind girl,” Yuva jumps in. “Really sweet. Good with kids too, like I said. And she’s fine most of the time.”

  Sweet and kind are not what I would describe Noor as but sure, whatever works I guess.

  “FND is manageable,” Jubair jumps in too. He turns to me, “She is managing it, right?” he asks.

  _If you call ignoring it until she flares up managing, then yeah, she’s managing._

_  _“Yeah,” I lie. “She’s managing.”

  “And you’re sure about her?” Abba raises an eyebrow skeptically.

  “Yes dad, I’m sure.”

  “I think we’ll meet her first,” he rubs Amma’s arm.

  Okay, great. Now my dad is on board and trying to convince my mum to like a girlfriend that’s not actually my girlfriend. I definitely do not feel guilty.

  “I invited her over to Araav’s dinner party. Thought that would be a good time for you guys to meet her.”

  My mum stays silent for a beat longer. God, this is unbearable. She finally breaks her silence by exhaling softly, “Okay. She better be as good as you guys are making her out to be,” she jokes but I can sense the underlying seriousness in her tone. She gets up, “I’m going to go get started on dinner.” And with that,she leaves the room. 

  I sink into my seat.

  “She’s only doing it because she’s worried that she’ll affect your future life,” Jamila tries to comfort me. It’s not working.

  “And why would she do that?”

  She sighs softly and looks at me with a knowing look as if that’s supposed to give me any clue. I look at her with a question look and she rolls her eyes slightly, "The girl becomes paralysed.”

  “So?”

  “How does she plan on getting out of bed in the morning?”

  “She manages.”

  “Yeah, for now she does. What about in the future with her future kids? What about—”

  “She’ll manage,” I cut her off.

  She will manage.

  “And if she’s in public and it happens?”

  “I’ll carry her,” I reply confidently.

  She raises an eyebrow, “You’ll carry her?”

  “I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”

  “You what?” Jubair barks out a laugh. “You cannot be serious. When?”

  “Year eleven history.”

  “Damn,” he snorts. “He’s in deep.”

  Yuva slaps his leg lightly, “I think it’s sweet.” She turns to me, “Our little brother is in love.”

  Although our relationship is a complete lie, I cannot help the faint tinge of pink that appears on my cheek.

  “He’s blushing!” Yuva gasps.

  “Am not,” I shoot a tiny glare at her.

  The whole room starts poking fun at me.

  “Abba!” I look at my dad for some backup.

  “Stop making fun of your brother,” he mutters quietly as he scrolls through Facebook.

  After a couple of seconds, I grow tired of it and throw a pillow at Jubair and stalk out of the living room.

  I do not love her.I never have loved her,and I never will love her.