Written in the Stars

by Aisha Saeed

  Strangely, these chores are not as bad as I thought they would be. They give me a sense of reprieve from my reality. As I pump water from the outdoor hand pump and polish the tiles, I feel invigorated. My mind, turned off for so long, feels stimulated again.

  Nasim, on the other hand, isn’t happy with my work. My pots are never scrubbed properly; they drip too much water, are dried too quickly. Still, her words have not affected me save once after dinner.

  “You will keep doing these dishes until they are perfect, and you will keep doing them again and again for the rest of your life until you learn how to do it right.” Only then did a tear slide down my face.

  The thought of having to live here the rest of my life cracked open a part of my heart that can’t hide, no matter how hard I try, how desperately I want to leave.

  Chapter 35

  No one is yet awake when I step into the kitchen today. I open the cabinet by the stove and pull out the bag of flour. Pouring some into a large metal bowl, I glance around. I’m alone. I set down the flour and make my way to the living room and to the telephone resting on the side table. I lift the receiver to my ear and dial the country code and his number. The phone rings, but immediately, the tin voice of an Urdu-speaking operator informs me the line does not have long-distance service. I place the phone back into its cradle. I’ve opened every drawer and cabinet searching for calling cards. I knew this last-ditch effort would lead to nowhere, and yet I swallow back my disappointment. By now Saif must know I didn’t make it to the embassy.

  He must know exactly what happened.

  I walk back to the kitchen and sprinkle water into the flour and begin kneading the sticky mixture. Saba has a computer. I managed to sneak into her bedroom yesterday, but her password proved impossible to guess. I know I’ll be at my uncle’s home soon, but it’s not coming quickly enough. Just then, Amin walks into the kitchen.

  “You woke up early today.” He stretches his arms and yawns.

  “I’m just getting the flour ready for parathas,” I tell him.

  He stands straighter. “I’m sorry, Naila. I will talk to her.”

  “It’s okay. It keeps me busy.”

  “It’s not okay. She promised she would back off, but it looks like she hasn’t.” He moves closer and lowers his voice. “It’s not you. She’s in a bad mood lately. My brother Usman just got reassigned to the Northwest Frontier for another two years. It’s been difficult for her. She’ll get better, but I’ll tell her again to take it easy.”

  “Amin.” Nasim rushes into the kitchen. She brushes past me. “I thought I heard your voice. You’re not leaving yet, are you? I haven’t started making breakfast yet.”

  He smiles at his mother and looks at me. “I’m about to get ready, but I can’t stay for breakfast. I’m going to try to get home early so we can go for an outing.”

  “What a wonderful idea, I’ve been wanting to—”

  “Just me and Naila. How about it, Naila?”

  As quickly as Nasim’s eyes sparkled a moment earlier, they extinguish, though her mouth still remains turned up in a smile. “That’s an even better idea,” she says. “This is the newlywed time, after all; it might do her some good.”

  * * *

  I sit in the passenger seat that afternoon and look out the window. Seeing people milling about on the streets, children playing cricket on the grassy fields, hurts. I remember Seema’s children playing barefoot in the field across from my uncle’s home. Selma, my brother, so many memories linked together, pop out from locked compartments in my mind. I don’t want to remember that life continues to move on, that time has not stood still, as it so often feels these days.

  The car jerks as it drives over bumpy roads. I close my eyes. My head throbs.

  “Here we are.” Amin pulls the car onto the side of the road. He points at a stand just ahead. A wiry vendor with a blue hat and faded blue jeans stands next to a white cart. “See the stand over there? It’s small and dingy looking, but they have the best kulfi I’ve ever tasted. I pass it every day when I go to work, and when it’s very hot, I stop and buy one. I’d bring you some, but it would melt before I could get it home to you.”

  He steps out of the car and opens my door.

  I step out and follow him. He hands me a kulfi.

  I take a bite. “It’s good.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” His shoulders relax. “You know, I’ve wanted to apologize to you.” He takes a bite of his kulfi and glances at me. “I know why you are so quiet, so sad.”

  My heart skips a beat. I look at him.

  “You’re disappointed,” he says. “I know. I wanted to do a proper honeymoon, but I just started this job, and vacation is hard to come by right now. And, well, I know it must get a bit boring day in and day out. We’ll go out more. Maybe get some dinner, just you and me. We also need to get you a computer for the house. Saba won’t let anyone use hers. I have one at work, so I haven’t needed to have one at home, but I know you probably need one.”

  I stare at him. He continues talking, but I can’t seem to focus. The way he looks at me, tries to make me feel comfortable, shows me he has no clue about what I am feeling. He just thinks I’m shy. Homesick. He has no idea what is going on. I hear his voice in the background now, his promise to let me choose our vacation spot, his efforts to come home earlier from now on to spend time with me.

  Should I tell him? I wonder. He would be horrified if he knew the truth. Maybe he’d even help me figure this out. But no, I know I can’t do that. I can’t trust what he will do if he finds out about Saif, not when I’m so close to seeing my parents and Selma.

  We finish our kulfis and walk back to the car. He tries to meet my gaze, but I’m too busy trying to make sense of this new feeling emerging—not anger but, instead, pity.

  He’s not a bad man, I think to myself, but his being not bad doesn’t mean I want to know him further.

  Chapter 36

  My hair clings to my neck. Sweat drips down my face as I sweep the verandah under the morning sun. Another blackout has come without warning.

  Feiza and Nasim are sitting under a shaded tree in the garden a short distance away. Zaina tosses a green plastic ball to Nasim. I watch Nasim laugh and walk over to Zaina, scooping her up into an embrace, smothering her in kisses. Zaina’s squeals of delight peal through the morning air.

  I pause to take them all in. Feiza, Nasim, Zaina—they’re all . . . happy. Watching them, I remember yet again what an outsider I am here. Maybe this could have been a perfectly nice life for someone.

  Just not me.

  Right then, Nasim looks at me. Our eyes lock. Her relaxed demeanor evaporates. Standing up, she walks over to me.

  “My son is a good man.” Her voice shakes. “He has been nothing but the best son any child could ever be. He didn’t deserve this.” Her cheeks redden. “I don’t want to treat you this way, but until you learn to be respectful, until you learn to be a proper wife—and you know what I’m talking about.” She stares at me. “Things will remain exactly as they are when you return.”

  I watch her stalk back into the house. Any goodwill I felt toward her fades. I’m not coming back, I want to shout. This is the only thought that keeps me going. In two days, I’ll be back at my uncle’s home. When I go back, I’ll find a way out. Selma will get me a calling card. She’ll find a way to get me money, to find a different bus. She’ll help me think of something. Anything. I don’t know how, but I know I’ll find a way out. I have to.

  I wipe my forehead. I couldn’t care less how angry Nasim gets. I am thankful. I’ve still been spared.

  I step into the house; the lights are back on. I take a deep breath of the cool air-conditioned air.

  “Can you believe how much time has already passed?” I look up. Feiza is standing by the fridge, watching me tentatively. “We spend our entire lives waiting to get married, and
then it just comes and goes in an instant.”

  I look at my hands, still deep orange with wedding henna.

  “Usman, you met him the first time we came to see you at your chacha’s home, remember? He had to leave the morning after our wedding. You’re lucky that Amin bhai is not going anywhere. I’ve seen my husband perhaps three full months in our three years of marriage.”

  “You don’t go with him?” I ask her.

  “Ah, so you can speak!” She laughs but quickly stops. “I’m only teasing.” She glances down the hallway and then lowers her voice. “I wanted to go with him. Usman wanted me to join him as well, but I got pregnant.” She blushes. “And they didn’t think it was a good idea for me to travel in my condition. I always meant to join him, but somehow I’m still here.” She shrugs. “I don’t mind so much. It’s nice to have help.” She pauses. “It’s good to accept what is. I try not to dwell on what I don’t have. When you get married, things change. I’ve learned over time to accept this.”

  Maybe you learned to accept this, I want to tell her. But I won’t ever accept this as my life. Of course, I say nothing. I bite my tongue and walk away. Soon enough, everyone will know exactly how I feel.

  Chapter 37

  You don’t like the sweets I brought, do you? They’re usually a lot better,” Amin says to me that evening.

  “I do like them.” I take another bite of the round yellow ladu. “I’m just stuffed now.”

  “There’s another store, a little farther away. I’ll come home early, and we can go there together.” He leans in. “And, don’t tell anyone yet, but next week? When you get back from your uncle’s, we’re going somewhere special. It’s a surprise, though.”

  “Amin, I need to talk to you.” It’s Nasim. She walks up to us with crossed arms.

  In an instant, his playful expression is gone. “I’m not in the mood today.”

  “Amin. It wasn’t a question.”

  I watch him exhale. He turns to me with an apologetic expression before following Nasim to her bedroom. Saba glares at me and pushes her chair back. I watch her stomp away.

  These arguments between Nasim and Amin are new. Every night, for the past few days, they stay in her bedroom, exchanging angry words. Each argument ends the same, a loud slam of the door and Amin walking into the bedroom breathing heavily.

  Today is no different. I hang my clothes in the armoire. Angry voices vibrate through the wall, but I can’t make out the words. I part my hair and braid it, tying the ends with dark rubber bands. Just then, a door slams. The windows rattle; the watercolor paintings tremble.

  The bedroom door swings open. Amin’s cheeks are flushed. I try to meet his gaze, but he looks away and marches toward the bathroom. I stand frozen until I hear the shower running.

  He emerges from the shower several minutes later, a towel around his waist, his hair slick. I take a step back. He seems to hardly notice I’m there. I watch him open the closet by the sofa. He grabs his pajamas and walks back to the bathroom.

  I sit down at the edge of the bed. I’m starting to feel unsettled. He’s the one who normally tries to make conversation, trying to lighten the mood. I’ve never seen him this somber before. He steps out of the bathroom now and walks over to the closet. His expression remains grim.

  I’m tempted to just turn off the light and go to sleep, but I stand up, making my way toward him.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him.

  No response. He stands up and pulls a sheet from the closet and tosses it onto the sofa.

  Nasim is skilled at twisting words until they cut deep enough to bleed. I can’t believe she’s doing this to her own son. He’s been nothing but kind to me, and now he suffers because of it.

  I step closer to him. His back is turned. One hand rests on the top shelf of the closet.

  “You can talk to me, you know.” I tap his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  At this, he turns around. I take a step back, not realizing how close I was until just now. Amin moves even closer, filling the empty space between us.

  “Naila?” He reaches out and grabs my hand. I flinch. His callused hands feel like needles pricking me, drawing blood. “We’re married. We’re husband and wife. I want us to be happy, I really do.”

  I pull my hand from his and draw back.

  “I don’t understand.” He lets out a loud breath. “I’ve tried really hard to help you feel comfortable, but you just can’t stand the sight of me.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “What is it, then? Please tell me. What can I do to help you be more comfortable here? When will you look at me like a wife is supposed to look at her husband?”

  There’s nothing you can do. I stare at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

  Sleep eludes me tonight. The way he looked at me, his hand against mine—

  Stop it, I tell myself. He’s a good person. I shift again, pressing the pillow to my body. He’s my friend. I just need him to be my friend for two nights. Just two more before I can leave.

  Chapter 38

  My last night. I step into the bedroom and unzip my suitcase, placing my things inside. I glance inside the top drawer of the dresser, filled with jewelry. I pull out the gold and ruby necklace and emerald earrings my mother gave me. I zip up the suitcase and rest it against the wall.

  Our conversation from last night rings in my head. “We’re husband and wife,” he said. His words leave me cold. How can this be a marriage? I am here against my will. He is not my husband. He’s someone I must endure. Nasim is not my mother-in-law; she’s just a warden. This is not a home. It is a cage.

  I realize it is not fair to Amin that he married me, but what about any of this is fair?

  I secure the bathroom door before changing. When I step outside, the bedroom is still empty. I turn off the lights and get into bed.

  The voices next door are louder tonight. I tense. I can hear Nasim say in a muffled voice, “Going home . . . not welcome . . . set her straight . . . What kind of marriage . . . drop her back . . . tell her parents . . . keep her . . .”

  “You know what would happen if we did that!” he bellows, unequivocally clear.

  “I know . . . you two never . . . decide . . . she won’t return . . .”

  Did I hear her right?

  Nasim wants me gone. Nasim wants Amin to drop me off at my uncle’s for good. I hadn’t imagined this, not even in my wildest fantasies. If Nasim wants me gone, it’s as good as done.

  I squeeze my hands together. My parents will be angry when I return home like rejected merchandise, but what choice will they have but to take me back? I imagine my mother’s lips pressed tightly together. Her eyes wet with tears. My father may never speak to me again, but right now none of this matters. What matters is I can go home!

  I settle back into bed when another thought overtakes me. Set her straight. What did that mean? I do everything she asks of me. What more can she demand? Suddenly, I freeze. No. I shake my head. His mother is a strong force, but his character is ultimately his own. He would never do that.

  When Amin finally comes in, I watch him through half-closed eyes as he goes into the bathroom. He shuffles in the darkened room. I hear him fumble with his sheets and then silence overtakes the room.

  Slowly, I allow my body to relax. I lie on my side, one hand under my pillow, sleep finally overtaking me. I think of Saif. I’ll see him again soon. I’ll wrap my arms around his neck. I’ll kiss his lips. Soon I will be safe.

  Suddenly, I stir. I feel a strange sensation on my neck, hot and humid. I stiffen.

  “Naila?” His voice is low. My pulse quickens. I close my eyes and try to remain still. His warm breath burns my neck. The bed shifts. He’s moving closer.

  “Naila.” He runs a hand through my hair. His fingers trace my jaw, my cheek, my lips.

  I gasp as his lips press against my neck
. “What are you doing?” My voice is unrecognizable to my ears. Instead of moving away, he edges closer. I try to sit up, to reach for the light on the nightstand, but his hands press against my shoulders, pushing me down. I twist my body, trying to wrench free, but I can’t move. I press my hands against his chest, but he seems not to notice. “Please don’t,” I weep as I beat my hands against him. I can’t move. His weight overpowers me. In the dark I can’t make out his face, his eyes. He can’t see my tears. Who is this person? Where is the man I knew these past few weeks?

  I try turning my face from him. I try to stop him from touching me.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. My arms are pinned behind me. My body is racked with sobs as he pulls at my clothing. Screams are useless; they mean nothing in a home of conspirators. “Naila”—his breathing grows more labored—“forgive me.”

  Suddenly, I scream. Pain envelops me. The world is white, illuminated with pain.

  I lie still after, staring up at the ceiling, silent tears falling down my cheek.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice breaks. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  I press the sheets tightly around myself. I feel numb.

  My mind empty but for one thought, one irrational yet clear thought that continues to echo through my mind so forcefully, I fear I might go mad: Saif. You didn’t come in time.

  Chapter 39

  My suitcase leans against the wall of the tiled foyer.

  Feiza’s daughter, Zaina, totters over with careful but clumsy steps. She gazes at my suitcase and then curiously at me before tugging at my kamiz. I look into her wide brown eyes. She giggles and turns around, waddling away with a squeal. I try smiling, but I can’t. I am empty.

  Footsteps approach. Nasim protests, “Amin, there is no need—you will be late for work. I’ll call and get Nuzzhat’s driver to take her.”

  Amin says nothing. He grabs the handle of the suitcase and steps outside.