Take a Hint, Dani Brown - Talia Hibbert Page 0,106

at the girl with Zafir’s—no, with Zain’s eyes—and murmured, “Fatima. Could I have a word, please?”

The girl nodded, clearly nonplussed.

When the rest of the students had filed out, Dani stood. “I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, and please feel free to say no.” She knew she was being wildly inappropriate. All things considered, Dani had expected Fatima to be yanked from her class long ago. But apparently, none of the Powers That Be realized Dani was teaching her fake—ex . . . oh, whatever—boyfriend’s niece. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I was hoping to . . . arrange something for your uncle. And I wondered if you might have any idea how I could contact his friend Jamal.”

Fatima, thankfully, didn’t seem alarmed by the request. “Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I have his number, if you want it.”

“Oh, thank you! Although—would he mind you giving it to me?”

Fatima huffed out a laugh. “Everyone has Jamal’s number. He might as well stick it on lampposts at this point. He likes to know people will call him if they’re in trouble, you know?”

Now, that certainly boded well. Surely such a lovely man wouldn’t give Dani too hard a time for brutally rejecting his best friend’s heart, would he? No. Definitely not.

And he didn’t—but when she rang him later that day, he was certainly cautious.

“This is Danika Brown,” she said, and there was a heavy pause.

“Hi, Danika,” Jamal replied, his voice gentle but steady, moss over immovable earth. “May I ask why you’re calling?”

“It’s, erm, about Zafir. You see, I know him from work, and—”

“I know who you are.”

Well, yes, she supposed that made sense, what with their fake relationship and Jamal being Zaf’s best friend and so on and so forth. Dani cleared her throat and pulled herself together. “I suppose I’d better get to the point, then. I need to apologize to Zaf. I want to do it in a very particular way, and I could really use your help.”

There was an unnerving moment of silence. Then came Jamal’s voice, several degrees warmer. “All right, Danika Brown. Let’s talk.”

Spending time without Danika did wonders for Zaf’s clarity.

For example, he was now even clearer on the fact that he loved her, and that said love was most likely doomed. Which was a shame, because the feeling seemed to have worked its way into his DNA, and he didn’t know how to stop. Hence calling in sick to work all week: he did have some pride. Enough that he’d rather Dani didn’t see his face until he got better at hiding the slapped-arse, brokenhearted expression he’d been wearing since she’d stormed out of his flat.

Falling out of love with her might take a fucking lifetime, but he’d at least seem calm and collected while he did it.

“Here, my boy,” Mum said, cutting through his thoughts. She plonked a bowl of sweet phirni in front of him and kissed his head. “Eat up. You are wasting away.”

“Er . . .” Zaf looked dubiously down at his belly. He didn’t know who’d snitched to his mum about this Dani situation, but whoever it was, he’d hunt them down and deliver payback very soon. After he’d had enough of all these home-cooked meals, obviously.

Across the table, Fatima groused, “When are you going to come back to uni? It’s weird not seeing you around.”

Zaf dredged up a smile, because he always had one for his Fluffball. “It’s only been four days. You miss me? Hmm?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You do.” His smile widened. “You know, when you were a baby, I used to sneak you spoonfuls of my phirni and you’d smile at me so big. Except you didn’t have any teeth, so it was kind of scary.”

“Ya Allah, not the baby stories.”

“Fatima,” Kiran sighed. “Watch your mouth.”

“Don’t mind your uncle,” Jamal piped up through a mouth of rice pudding. “He’s just feeling emotional.”

Mum poked her head out of the kitchen to pout in Zaf’s direction. “Oh, my poor, sweet boy. Look at you. Depressed, overeating—”

“Hang on,” he said with a scowl, “what happened to ‘wasting away’?”

“—and soon to be unemployed. I knew that teacher was trouble from the moment I saw her. Didn’t I say, Kiran? Didn’t I say, She looks like trouble?”

“No.” Kiran frowned. “You said she was beautiful and that her haircut was very French.”

Mum huffed and disappeared into the kitchen again. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“Lay off Danika,” Zaf called after her. “I . . .” He stopped, suddenly aware that