I Can't Think Straight by Shamim Sarif

annoyed Leyla intensely. She threw the ball up, watched it descend and sprang up to meet it with the grace of a panther pouncing on its prey. With a satisfyingly loud thwack, her racket smacked it, but it caught the edge of the net and fell back onto her own side. Leyla cursed under her breath. Tala smiled.
    ‘They have a really good coach here. If you want a lesson.’
    Now Leyla smiled grimly and turned away, wondering if there was any end to this woman’s arrogance. She returned to her base line, and took a breath, for she understood now that it was no longer tennis, but war. Eyes narrowed on both sides. Sensing an impend-ing storm, Tala stepped backwards this time, cradling her racket, primed for action. The service was hard and low to the ground, but Tala reached it and got the ball back into play, starting a pounding rally.Forty minutes later, Ali and his opponent stopped to watch. The ball spun back and forth like a thing possessed, as feet pounded and slid, and rackets flailed. Leyla was only dimly aware that her hair was all over the place and her shirt was stuck to her ribs as she reached for a final serve that would give her the match. In a puff of clay, it shot past Tala, untouched.
    ‘You did it,’ Tala said, coming to the net. Her handshake was warm and her arm came up to hug Leyla’s shoulders in congratulations.
    ‘You’re really good,’ Tala said.
    ‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ Leyla panted.
    ‘Come on, let’s get changed.’
    Tala busied herself with looking for her shower things for a few minutes.
    ‘How did you get that last game?’ she asked. ‘I thought I had it.’ ‘I prayed for divine intervention,’ Leyla returned. The reply had a sardonic edge. Tala looked up at her, eyes serious.
    ‘Look. I didn’t say there wasn’t a God. It’s just religion that bothers me. I’m sorry if I offended you the other day,’ she said.
    Leyla looked away from her. ‘No, actually, you made me think.’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘About why we follow certain paths. Is it just expectation? Or conditioning?’
    Abruptly, as if she had revealed too much, Leyla broke off and turned away, catching her hand on a locker as she did so. Tala heard the buried gasp of pain and went to her, taking her hand, which only seemed to fluster Leyla more.
    ‘It’s fine, I’m just clumsy.’
    Tala held onto the bruised fingers and waited till Leyla met her look.
    ‘You know, you should really relax more. Just be at ease with yourself.’
    Tala felt Leyla try to hold her gaze easily, try to relax her shoulders and her stance, but she only succeeded in looking more endear-ingly awkward. She let go of Leyla’s hand, gently, and picked up her things.
    ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
    ‘I’m supposed to have lunch with my family. Sunday and all that.’
    Tala nodded and moved towards the showers, from where they could hear the languid echo of slow, full drips of water.
    ‘Why?’ called Leyla, hesitantly, after her. Tala turned.
    ‘Nothing. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have lunch. Maybe take a walk in the park.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d like to know you better.’
    ‘You just want someone to argue with,’ Leyla smiled.
    ‘What if I promise to behave myself? Will you consider it?’ Tala asked, and this time, she had to look away from something in Leyla’s eyes as she nodded her assent.
    In order to meet Tala for lunch on Sunday, Leyla had to contrive a way to extricate herself from a lunch party to be attended by numerous members of her extended family. This caused considerable consternation to her mother and father, who wanted to know what kind of last minute engagement could be so important that it meant missing lunch with her ailing grandmother and three cousins from Canada. Leyla knew that having lunch with a girl she barely knew but really liked, would not pass muster as a good enough reason, and so, under pressure, had rashly invented a date with Ali. As soon as she had uttered the