by Minal Khan
I paused and just stared at Alia for a brief moment. A memory suddenly flashed in my mind, out of nowhere. I was nine years old and Alia had just turned ten. We were climbing up Alia’s rockery—an outdoor tall rock decoration—outside her house. We didn’t see the rockery as a piece of decoration; it was another child’s playground, like every other place. Alia was in front of me, trying to grab on to the rocks to hoist herself up. “Don’t grab the sharp rocks,” she called out to me, behind her. I sheepishly looked down from where I was mounted. There were rocks everywhere, beneath us, below us. If I fell down I would plunge into those rocks, and roll down them like a small pebble. I turned back and tried to follow Alia, placing my hand on the soft rocks, and hoisting myself up. But my hand had gripped a loose rock; I tried to pull myself up and the rock fell out. I slipped and shrieked, thinking that I was sure to die.
But out of the dizzy blue, I felt a hand grab my own and hold onto me firmly, with a tight grip. Alia pulled me back up, smiling at my white face. “It’s okay,” she grinned, her brown eyes gleaming against the afternoon sun. “You’re not going to fall while I’m around!”
“Alia, take this.” I handed her the painting. “I want you to take this and place it somewhere. And then destroy it. You are not going to be a trapped bride. I can’t watch it. This painting is a lie, okay?”
Alia released the canvas cover and held the painting out in front of her. The portrait of herself, in red dress, as a bride.
“Is this me?” she asked. “This is the secret painting you’ve been working on for months?” I couldn’t let her continue.
“I am going to miss you,” I said.
“Are you leaving already?” Alia said, her brown eyes glassy with hurt. “I won’t see you after today, you know that? You’re leaving next week.”
“Yes, I’m leaving.”
“Why are you saying bye to me now? Like this?”
“I need to say bye now. And I need to say again that I am going to miss you.”
There was a pause. I took a deep breath and continued.
“Because NYU is four hours away from Cornell. And that’s going to be a whole lot of driving to come out and see you.” There were tears in my eyes and they were falling freely now.
Alia looked at me, silent. She saw my sad smile and held my hands in her own. We stood there for what seemed like hours, holding each other’s hands, looking at each other as if to wish away the last year’s happenings and all the dread and fear that had come with it. Alia’s aunts were now making their way to her from the ballroom and calling out to us noisily. “Are you crazy leaving the ceremony like that? Everyone’s waiting, beti—child! The food is already laid out!” The aunts busily took Alia’s hand and led her away.
Alia couldn’t help the smile that came over her face as she turned back to me, her deep eyes glowing mischievously underneath dark lashes.
The happiest bride-to-be ever.
Epilogue
“We’ve been through your luggage and you’re all clear. You are free to go, miss.” The blue-uniformed officer nodded at me primly and handed me a yellow card. “Please make your way over to baggage terminal A.”
“Thank you.” I took the yellow card from him, the document that marked my release, and made my way to the door entrance. The bearded Pakistani man who I had spoken to earlier was now gone. Only a smattering of people were left in the further investigation room, half of them nodding off to sleep.
It had been four hours since I made my way into the investigation room. I checked my phone and saw several Whatsapp messages. Three from Shahaan. Have you arrived yet? What’s the weather like? Take a picture of the statue of liberty—I’m waiting for it. Now.
Outside in the baggage terminal, my bags waited. Two black lumps heaped on top of one another. The terminal was practically empty. Hollow. The only sound in the terminal was that of rotating carousels humming gently. I collected the bags, and turned to the only other figure in the terminal. She was sitting on a chair by the biggest carousel, a book in front of her, trying hard to keep awake.
When she saw me she jumped up. “That took a long time!” Alia exclaimed, hoisting her heavy backpack on her shoulders. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail. It was swinging freely side to side as she made her way to me.
I joined her and we both stared ahead at the sliding doors that led to New York. “Taxis this way,” an arrow pointed.
I let out a big breath and turned to Alia. “It’s time to do our first quintessential American thing,” I said. “Hail a cab.”
We walked in the direction of the sliding doors opening onto the pavement and the city beyond. Unbound. Untethered. Free to be. Waiting to live.