by Aisha Saeed
“Naila,” Feiza calls, “feeling any better?” She appears before me, holding the plastic grip of the small rice bag.
I look past her shoulder. He’s still there. So close. But Feiza is walking now. Her footsteps leading home. I force myself to follow her, but it’s difficult. My legs are made of bricks.
This is no hallucination. It’s Saif. Saif is here.
Chapter 45
I sit at the dinner table and stare at my cold plate of food. My hands grip the metal glass of water by my side.
“What’s the matter?”
I look up. Nasim is staring at me.
“We’re almost done eating, and you haven’t even touched your roti.”
What can I say? That Saif is here? That he has light stubble and wears clothing I’ve never seen him in before? But that his eyes still look back at me in the same way they always have? And for this very simple reason, today, right now, I find myself unable to eat?
“Sorry. I’m just not feeling well.” Pushing my chair back, I get up. “I think I’m going to lie down.”
“She wasn’t feeling very good today when we went to the market either,” Feiza says as I walk to the bedroom. “I hope she’s not coming down with something.”
“God forbid the princess should catch a cold!”
“That’s enough, Saba,” Amin chides his sister as he so often, uselessly, does.
* * *
I toss and turn in bed that night. I can’t sleep.
Getting up, I slip on my sandals and walk into the family room. I unlatch the hook to the French doors and step outside, taking a seat on a wicker sofa in the courtyard. The darkness cloaks me, and for a moment, I feel invisible. I take a deep breath and release it slowly.
After all this time, how did he find me? I think of the letter I wrote him months ago. I told him to let me go. I told him I had made my peace. I told him to move on. I kept my letter as simple as possible, hoping that by writing it I was releasing him from the burden of hanging on to me. If I couldn’t be free, I wanted him to be. It was one of the most painful things I had done.
And yet, despite that letter, how many times had I dreamt in my darkened room that somehow Saif would find me? Every day I had looked for his face in every face I saw. But this hope has long since been extinguished. I was the one who told him to move on. And after three long months of silence, I thought he had.
I look up. The moon is absent, but the stars—for a moment, I am breathless. There are so many stars scattered across the sky tonight, they threaten to overtake the darkness.
I imagine Amin in the bedroom inside, an arm covering his eyes as it normally does, small snores escaping his mouth, completely unaware. I never imagined I would ever speak to Amin again, much less feel anything other than dark hatred, but as time has passed, I’ve grown tired of the vitriolic emotion bottled inside. I want to hate him, but hating is an emotion that requires more energy than I can muster these days. This wasn’t a choice either of us made, and while I don’t love him, I thought I had made my peace.
But Saif is here. And now I feel nothing close to peace.
Chapter 46
It’s been three days—the longest three days of my life—but it’s finally time to go to the market again. I pause and take in the person staring back at me in the bathroom mirror. Circles outline my eyes like charcoal etchings. My mouth is sandpaper dry. I’m trying to seem calm and collected, but I can’t eat. I can’t drink. Every time reality seems to settle in, every time I think I can begin to make sense of it, I fall into a tailspin once more.
I need to see him.
I take a deep breath and cradle Zaina on my hip. In my tightly clenched fist I hold the message I’ve written for Saif, hastily scrawled on a scrap sheet of paper.
The road kicks up more dust than usual today. I shield my eyes with one hand to protect against the haze of clay-colored earth. Feiza makes small talk on our way to the market. I try to respond, to appear interested, but I can’t focus. As soon as we enter the store, my eyes dart to the shelves, the corners of the walls.
I set Zaina down on the ground. Before I can grip her wrist, she runs toward the spice aisle.
“Zaina!” I make my way toward her. She’s hunched over the bottles of pickled mangoes on the bottom row. I grasp her hand and stand up. When I do, I gasp. It’s him.
How long has he been standing there? Saif, in a khaki salwar kamiz, at the edge of the aisle, his hand leaning on the shelf, his eyes focused directly on me. Our eyes meet. He is standing so close to me.
He picks up a bottle of crushed chili and examines it.
“Naila.” His voice is soft, barely audible. He turns the bottle in his hand, examining it as though it were gold.
I bite my lip. The world grows hazy. My head throbs. My stomach hurts. Saif stands mere inches from me. In an instant, I feel transported. It’s as though it’s the two of us again. I want to touch him. Just his arm. Just to make sure he’s real. I tremble and take a step toward him.
Just then, a tug. I look down—it’s Zaina, pulling on my kamiz. Feiza is in the distance, coming toward us. I look at Saif and begin panicking. Has she seen us? Does she know? I hesitate. My resolve wavers, and yet if not now, when?
I push out any other thoughts and walk toward him. His eyes widen, but I avert my gaze. With a sharp intake of breath, I press my hand—and the note—into his. For a fraction of a second, his hand curves over mine.
I step into the open air. Beads of sweat dot my forehead. I close my eyes and will my hands to stop trembling. When I look back, he’s gone.
“Who was that?” It’s Feiza.
“Who?”
“That man. Did you see him? He’s a bit young. I’ve never seen him here before.”
“I didn’t see anyone new.”
“Probably someone’s relative visiting from America. You can always tell by the way they walk that they’re not from here.”
“Maybe.” I bite my lip and do my best to keep my gait steady. Feiza is talking, but all I can think about is the warm touch of his hand against mine. The softness with which he spoke my name. After all these months, despite everything that has happened and how different he looked, he was still Saif. The boy I fell in love with.
And he came all this way for me.
Each step I take away from him feels painful.
Each step away makes me ache for the life I almost had. For everything that was ever home to me.
Chapter 47
By the well behind the house. Tonight.
By now he’s read the note. Is he there right now? I look out the window. The sun set hours ago, darkness stretching as far as I can see.
“What is the matter with you?”
I turn around. It’s Nasim. She’s sitting in the living room. The television is on at full volume, but she’s watching me, her arms crossed.
“You’ve been staring out that window for the past ten minutes.”
I turn to her. “Sorry, I just got lost in thought.”
Amin is reading a newspaper on the love seat. His eyebrows furrow in concentration. I sit down next to him.
Why won’t anyone go to sleep tonight? I look up at the wall clock. It’s only nine o’clock. Why does it feel like midnight?
“I forgot to tell you”—Nasim’s eyes return to the bright screen—“your mother called for you while you were in the shower. She said she will try again tomorrow afternoon.”
I swallow and nod, but say nothing.
“She called every day this week,” Amin says quietly.
“I can’t talk to any of them.”
“You can’t shut them out forever.”
“I’ll try my best to.”
“I know they’ve betrayed you.” He glances around and lowers his voice more. “But they’re your parents—they love you. I picked up the phone yesterday, and,
Naila, I can hear the pain in her voice when I make excuses for why you can’t answer the phone. They know you’re avoiding them.”
Good, I say to myself.
“My mother asked me today if something happened. She’s going to figure out pretty soon why you’re in the bathroom, or doing something outside, and unavailable, whenever the phone rings.”
“You want me to talk to them and pretend I am okay with everything? I can’t do that, Amin.”
“I’m upset with them too. But at the end of the day, you only get the two parents you’re given. I already lost one, and I can tell you once they are gone, it’s too late for regrets.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“What are you two gossiping about?” I look up. Saba is staring at us from across the room.
“It’s between us,” Amin says calmly. He turns back to me. “By the way, are you sure you don’t want to come along with me on the business trip? I could see if I could book you a seat.”
“Oh, that.” I turn to look at him. I had forgotten all about his trip. “You leave tomorrow?”
“It’s all expenses paid. You’ve never been to Karachi—might be a fun few days.”
“You’ll be busy with meetings.” I force a smile. “I don’t want to wander the city alone.”
“Well, we need a vacation. When I get back, we’ll plan one. Anywhere you want.”
He describes mountainside villas and sunny resorts, but all I can think of is the darkness outside. Saif is there.
“I’ll be right back.” I get up.
Amin looks at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I just need a drink of water.”
Instead of the kitchen, I make my way to the bedroom. I know I need to play it cool, but each passing minute feels like ten. I need to splash water on my face. Take a few deep breaths. Or else they will not just have suspicions, but certainty, that something is up.
I shut the door behind me. Immediately there is a knock.
Feiza. She pokes her head in. “Can we go a little earlier tomorrow?”
“Where?”
“The market. I heard they’re getting a new shipment of produce.”
“Sure.” I look down at my hands. “That’s fine.”
“Are you okay?” Feiza asks. “Your face is flushed.” She walks over and presses her hand against my forehead. “No fever. That’s strange.”
“I know.” I walk over to the sofa and sit down. “No fever. I just don’t feel well.”
A look of worry shadows her face. “You’ve been looking unwell for some time now,” she murmurs. Suddenly her eyes light up. “Oh! I understand!”
My heart skips a beat. “What do you understand?”
“You’ve been in your bed more than I’ve ever seen you. You threw up yesterday, didn’t you? I noticed how you ran out of the kitchen so suddenly. I remember when I began feeling sick for no good reason!”
I frown at her excitement until I realize what she means. “No,” I tell her. “That’s not it. I think it’s the heat. It affects everyone.”
Feiza places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s hard to know when you’ve never felt it before, but I have a good feeling about this. Get some rest. I’ll go to the market myself.” She pats my hand and leaves the bedroom.
I keep my face frozen in a neutral expression until Feiza leaves. As soon as she’s gone, I jump up and lock the door tightly. My face flushes. I’ve pushed it far from my mind and most of the time I can even pretend it’s not real, but Feiza’s words bring my reality back into sharp focus.
My hands tremble as I walk into the bathroom.
I knew within a few weeks after returning to Amin’s house that something was different. I tried denying it, I made excuses for my growing fatigue, my delayed period. But when the first wave of nausea overtook me shortly after, I could deny it no more. I’m pregnant.
Save the one night I try my best to forget, Amin has not touched me. He understands that while I may go along with this marriage, I will do nothing more. To his credit, he has never mentioned the possibility of doing otherwise. But now, though he doesn’t know it, whether I want it or not, he has linked my fate to his for life.
I turn the faucet on and cup my hands under the cold water before splashing it on my face. I’ve been so careful. I force myself to get out of bed. I pretend to enjoy the food Nasim makes each morning. I even made sure to turn on the shower and faucets when I had to throw up, hoping no one would hear. All so no one would question, no one would suspect.
I press a hand against my stomach—still flat, not revealing a hint of what now lies inside. If I’ve accepted my place here, there’s no reason to keep it a secret—but each time I’ve tried to say something, the words won’t come. Maybe I’m hoping if I can just keep pretending it’s not happening, if I just don’t say it out loud, somehow it won’t be real.
I pace the room. I have found ways to make life bearable the past few months. Like sitting on the balcony on cool afternoons when the clouds hide the sun, watching the horizon expand before me, or at night, trying to decipher the stars that fill up the sky. Amin brings American movies home for us to watch, or we watch Indian ones that are slowly growing on me with their fantasies of singing in gardens and bathing in waterfalls.
I thought I had accepted it all.
I look outside at the oppressive darkness. My chest hurts. I need to see Saif. I need to hear his voice. Talk to him. Just for a little while. I swallow. And then, I have to tell him how different things now are. How they can never be the same again.
* * *
It is eleven o’clock. Saba lets out a yawn.
“Are you coming to bed?” Amin asks. He stands up and rubs his eyes.
“I’ll be there soon,” I tell him. I watch him go to the bedroom.
An hour later, I am alone. I listen for a moment—silence.
I walk to the door leading to the verandah. I take a deep breath and turn off the lights. I press gently until the door parts, then close it soundlessly behind me. The cloudy night obscures all the stars tonight. Aside from the rustle of leaves in the breeze, I hear nothing but silence.
Reaching out my hands, I walk, feeling for the well until my fingers finally press against the cool touch of brick. I brush my hand against its rough exterior and look back at the house. It’s disappeared into the darkness on this moonless night.
Just then, I hear a movement and step back. There’s someone on the other side of the well, standing just across from me.
I can’t breathe.
“Is it you?” His voice is soft and hesitant. “Naila.” He walks toward me.
In the silent darkness, without the hustle-bustle of the market, the crying toddler in my arms, with nothing to distract me, the full reality of the situation hits me. This nonhallucination, this real, concrete human being is Saif.
I place a hand on the well. He is so close to me now I can make out the contour of his jaw, the bridge of his nose.
“Saif, what are you doing here?” The English words feel foreign to my tongue.
He touches my hand. I flinch, pulling my hands away. No. I can’t let him touch me. If hearing him say my name hurts this much, I won’t survive the aftermath of his touch. I might never be able to let go.
“I can’t believe this.” His voice sounds hoarse. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He moves closer. “Naila, what’s the matter? Why won’t you look at me?”
All day I thought of what I’d say to him when I finally saw him. I rehearsed every point I would bring up. I promised myself to be strong, to speak gently but firmly, to thank him for coming, and to let him know that he needed to go home because it was now too late. But standing in front of him, I realize the prepared speech is impossible. No matter what has happened in the past few months, this is still Saif. I never could lie to him. It’s useless now t
o try.
“I don’t know what to say,” I finally tell him. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t put into words what it means to me that you came . . .” Struggling, I continue, “The short version is, I tried to escape, but they found me. It was awful, but it’s better now. I mean, I’m trying to accept it. I’m trying to make my peace with it.” My voice breaks. “Saif, you shouldn’t be here. If anyone finds out why you’re here, you won’t be safe.”
“What are you talking about, Naila? This isn’t your life. It’s over now. You don’t have to make your peace with anything.”
“No. I have accepted this. I didn’t at first. I hated it here. I prayed every day . . . every day I prayed that you would find me.” I brush away hot tears welling in my eyes.
“Naila, please listen to me. I tried so hard to find you. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t for one minute ever forget you.”
I shake my head and press a hand on the rough exterior of the well to steady myself.
“I tried to do everything I could think of,” he says. “I called the embassy every day. I begged them to look for you. But for the longest time, I didn’t know where you were. I knew you were close to Lahore, but I had no idea which town. I had no idea there were so many towns! I drove to your parents’ house every day. I waited for them to come back. I went to them, Naila, your parents. I knocked on your door.” He laughs bitterly. “Remember how you used to say it would be so intimidating to meet them? Remember I said I’d win them over with a smile?
“I begged them. I begged them to tell me where you were. I sat on your front porch step and I told them I wouldn’t leave until they told me. They stopped opening the door. Forgive me, Naila, but I yelled at your parents. I banged on their door in the middle of the night. I yelled at them for what they did to you.” His voice broke. “I did everything I could—they wouldn’t help me.”
“Good. I’m glad you yelled at them,” I say quietly. “Maybe it reminded them they had a daughter.”