Amal Unbound: Chapters 33–46

Pink, green, and yellow lights illuminated the tent Hafsa's parents erected behind their home for the mehndi.

I smiled a little at how subdued she seemed.

Hafsa and her sisters were not the docile sort, but the bride was doing her best to look the part for the occasion.

I watched their animated expressions and listened to the theories of Nasreen Baji's past and the details of the estate.

“It's ever since we replaced that roof. And then we needed a little more to fix our freezer. And then there was the wedding. We're paying as much as we can each month, but when his officer came to collect last time, he said if we don’t increase our payments soon, he’ll take drastic measures. But we can’t pay any more than we already are. We can’t!”

Seema’s arms were crossed, her face ashen.

The marble tiles, immaculate white hallways, and enormous windows devoid of dust or fingerprints—none of this was foreign anymore.

The marble tiles, immaculate white hallways, and enormous windows devoid of dust or fingerprints—none of this was foreign anymore.

Nabila admired my intricate orange henna designs, and Fatima hugged me and didn’t let go until she extracted a promise of a lesson as soon as our work was done.

“Used to go once a week when I first got married. But after a while, Khan Sahib thought it was best his wife not mingle with villagers, and I agreed. But he takes care of them. Makes sure they want for nothing...”

Nasreen Baji lifted a yellow confection from the box and took a bite.

The bright yellow building with the green door was so different from the gray and brick structures I was accustomed to.

“Sorry to mention it,” I said, flustered. “It’s not bad. I like it.”

“So today, we’re doing a diagnostic exam. It tells me what you know and what we can work on. Don’t worry about getting it all right—we use this to plan your lessons."

“So this was a publicity stunt, and you're here in case a journalist shows up and reports on an empty building?”

"Do you think we enjoy these regular intrusions? Khan Sahib will not be amused when he finds out how late at night you came to harass his wife.”

He said it with such conviction, he could have fooled me if I didn’t know better.

“The son of a diplomat disappeared not far from here,” Asif explained.

Asif couldn’t understand how things worked here and the absolute power a family like the Khans held in a place like ours.

“You could have at least sent me a message to let me know you were all right, Jawad. The way they barged in—can you imagine what went through my mind?”

He was the bogeyman our mothers invoked to urge us to finish our dinner.

When I was Safa’s age, I imagined him to be ten feet tall with beady eyes and pointy teeth.

Helping Hamid rush to prepare a last-minute lavish lunch for Khan Sahib had left me tired.

“I know I’m right. My men enforce all my debts, and they're meticulous. They wouldn't harm the hand that lines their pockets."

Her face crumpled. Her body was wracked with sobs.

"You see?” Nasreen Baji admonished him. “You work too hard. One can't be up at all hours and expect not to be affected.”

“The third tree past the sign for Minawala.” My voice wavered. “That’s where the body is buried..."

"I thought I’m supposed to celebrate my life in exile here?"

“Jawad, you’re twenty-four years old. Enough with the sarcasm already.”

“I've met four girls this month alone. It’s not my fault none of them is adequate.”

I stepped into the hallway to compose myself.

The newscaster on the television reported on the changing times and the uprooting of the status quo.

It was as if the contours of her face had changed overnight.

Nabila was right. It did feel surreal. But I glanced at the newspaper in her lap. The black-and-white photos looking back at me were proof it wasn’t a dream.

Whatever spell she was under, whatever sacred moment this was, I didn't want to risk breaking it.