Just when one became fatigued, the other would snort, and off they would go on another round.
A man sitting two rows up turned around and shushed them. There was a wedding scene near the end.
The captain had relented and let Alyona marry the first mate. The newlyweds were smiling at each other. Everyone was drinking vodka.
“I’m never getting married,” Tariq whispered. “Me neither,” said Laila, but not before a moment of nervous hesitation.
She worried that her voice had betrayed her disappointment at what he had said.
Her heart galloping, she added, more forcefully this time, “Never.” “Weddings are stupid.” “All the fuss.”
“All the money spent.” “For what?” “For clothes you’ll never wear again.” “Ha!”
“If I ever do get married,” Tariq said, “they’ll have to make room for three on the wedding stage.”
“Me, the bride, and the guy holding the gun to my head.” The man in the front row gave them another admonishing look.
On the screen, Alyona and her new husband locked lips. Watching the kiss, Laila felt strangely conspicuous all at once.
She became intensely aware of her heart thumping, of the blood thudding in her ears,
of the shape of Tariq beside her, tightening up, becoming still.
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