Free The Wedding Countdown by Ruth Saberton

heart,’ he says.
    For the first time since I stepped into the office I start to relax. Wish Rahim surfs on my wavelength. Insha’Allah , I’ve made a friend, my first new friend in my new place of work.
    And I can’t tell you how much better this makes me feel!
     

Chapter 9
    Wish is about to say more, only Raj fast-forwards to the photocopier and tells him Nina requires his presence.
    ‘She simply has to know if you got those pictures of Celina Roshan and her mystery man!’ squeals Raj. ‘Did you?’
    Wish pats the camera bag beside him.
    ‘Oh! My! God! You did!’ Raj’s hand flies to his mouth. ‘Is it really Simon Cowell? Or was it Paul McCartney after all?’
    But Wish simply taps the side of his nose. ‘As if I’d tell you! I may as well just ring the news desk at The Sun .’
    ‘I’m hurt.’ Raj places his hand on his heart. ‘How can you say such cruel things? I’m as silent as the grave! Well, if you won’t tell me, maybe you’ll tell Adolf Nina!’ Grabbing Wish’s arm Raj drags him towards the big door that marks the entrance to Nina’s lair. Wish mouths, ‘Laters,’ and with a smile I return to my work.
    While I finish off the photocopying – don’t worry, I’ll take Raj to task about this the very first opportunity that I get – I ponder about Wish and can’t comprehend why his mixed heritage bothers me so much. It’s been great to talk to someone who has a real-life perspective on the Qas situation. But I can’t help admitting I wish he were one-hundred percent Pakistani.
    Not because I’m racist or prejudiced. No way!
    I totally believe in equals, harmony and unity. Nahin and no bloody way to segregation, divisions or war. But it doesn’t matter what I think because at the end of the day this fact means Wish doesn’t quite fit my parents’ ultimate criteria for a prospective son-in-law, and that’s a man of blue-blooded Pakistani stock, no two ways about it. The family has splintered before and Daddy- ji won’t allow that to happen again. I’ve got a difficult enough task ahead trying to convince them that the one-hundred-percent Pakistani I eventually find will be perfect marriage material, and even then my father will make the bechara guy go through the heavy Pakistani Parental Inquisition. He’ll only give my hand away if the suitor in question fits all the preset hubbie-to-be criteria.
    As Roma said last night, the family honour is resting firmly on my shoulders.
    And it weighs a bloody tonne.
    Then I laugh out loud. Talk about getting carried away! Sheesh ! I was only talking to the poor guy for a few minutes and already I’m hearing wedding bells. I need to calm down. It must be because time is tick-tocking away and I haven’t made a start on my search. I need to get on with it. A good Pakistanihusband won’t find himself and I’d better apply myself before I start developing crushes on all the single men in the office. When I start to fancy Raj I’ll know I’m really in trouble!
    ‘Hands off Wish,’ says Raj, materialising with even more photocopying. ‘He’s mine, darling!’
    I can’t help chuckling at this.
    ‘What are you laughing for? It’s only a matter of time before he realises I’m the love of his life,’ says Raj.
    ‘I’m laughing because you’ll be doing all your copying from now on.’
    ‘Wish told you. Spoilsport,’ Raj has the grace to look shamefaced. ‘You can’t blame a boy for trying can you, angel?’
    ‘I blame you for taking advantage of a new girl and I fully intend to lodge a complaint with Ms Singh. Bullying new colleagues is totally unacceptable.’
    ‘Really?’ Raj’s kohled eyes widen.
    ‘No, not really, but it would serve you right if I did.’
    He exhales. ‘You had me going there, you meanie! If I promise to never give you any photocopying again can we be friends?’
    ‘I’ll think about it.’
    ‘Come for lunch,’ wheedles Raj. ‘I know the most divine noodle bar. I’ll buy. We can call it repayment