Amal Unbound(14)

“I know.” I gave her a hug. “It means a lot, but if I don’t go, he’ll go after my family.”

And besides, I thought, how long could we keep it up, anyway? It’s not as if I could simply run away without looking back. This was all I knew. My roots sank too deep into this earth.

When we stepped out of the bedroom, Fozia was sitting with my mother on our sofa. They wore cotton shalwar kamizes, white, the kind some wore when attending a burial.

“I knew he was wicked.” Fozia’s eyes welled. “But who knew he was the devil himself?”

“Did you pack everything you need?” Seema asked me.

“I think so. Don’t know how I managed to squeeze it all in.”

“Room for one more?” She handed me the doll from my childhood, the one our mother made for each of us.

“You found it?” I scooped up the soft, worn doll and pressed its fabric against my nose.

“I decided to think like Safa. I found it wedged between the bundles of old clothes in the closet.”

“Thanks, Seema.” I hugged her. Our damp cheeks pressed together. I didn’t know how I could handle this if Seema wasn’t here. She would help Rabia and Safa through this. She would watch over our family.

“Everyone keeps crying.” Rabia tugged at my leg.

My sisters hadn’t left my side all morning. The little ones clutched my kamiz.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” Parvin said, as she and Omar joined us.

Parvin’s expression was drawn. I wanted to tell her how much I’d miss her, but the words lodged in my throat. Instead, I hugged her.

I longed to hug Omar too, but in such a crowded room I didn’t dare.

“I should have come up with a solution,” he told me. “I was up all night. Nothing. I couldn’t think of anything.”

“Abu promised he’ll get the money,” I said. “I shouldn’t be gone long. A month at the most.” I tried not to focus on the fact that he wasn’t here. He had stood over my bed early this morning watching me while he thought I was asleep. He had kissed my forehead. I realized now, he was saying goodbye.

A car pulled up outside. The engine cut off.

I glanced around my home, taking in one last long look at the worn sofa and handmade rug. My family and friends.

Rabia and Safa were still attached to me. I lifted them up one at a time and pressed my face to their soft cheeks. I kissed them twice, then three times, but would I ever get enough?

There was a knock on the door.

My mother pressed a clump of money into the palm of my hand, along with a gray phone. “It’s Fozia’s old phone. Call as soon as you can. Let me know you’re safe.” She wiped my eyes. “You will be strong. You will hold your head up high. No matter what happens, no matter where you are, you’re my daughter.”

I kissed Lubna. I hugged my mother one last time. I had hardly ever stepped outside my home without someone by my side. Now I was leaving alone.

A gray-haired man in an ill-fitting suit was at the door. He picked up my suitcase, and before I lost my nerve, before I ran away and never stopped, I followed him toward the waiting black vehicle. I opened the door and sat inside.

So many firsts.

My first time in a car.

My first time feeling cool air pressing against my face.

My first time saying goodbye to everything I had ever known.





Chapter 16





The familiar stretches of brown and green patchwork earth I had known all my life swept past me in a blur before transforming into plush manicured green as the car slowed down and the driver turned onto a gravel road lined with shade trees.

When the estate materialized in the distance, only the second-story windows and balconies were visible from behind the huge brick wall surrounding it.

An armed guard with a grim expression let us in at the wrought-iron gate. The steel lock clicked loudly when the gate shut behind us.

The driver walked me into the cavernous house and dumped my things next to a marble staircase in the middle of the foyer before turning to leave.

“Wait, Ghulam. What’s this?” asked a gangly teenager with a mop of curls. He stared at me from across the foyer.

“How should I know?” the man grumbled. “I’m Nasreen’s driver, not his. Why I’m stuck running his errands is beyond me.” He walked away, his footsteps echoing into the distance.

The teenager stood in a sunken living room with oversized sofas. Next to him stood a younger girl, about my age, with a sharp jaw and straight brown hair. Floor-to-ceiling windows behind them overlooked a tiled verandah with wicker sofas and a sprawling garden.

“I think that’s the new girl Mumtaz told us about,” the girl said. “Remember?”

“What do we need a new servant for?”

“How should I know, Bilal?” She turned to me and asked, “Do you know where you’re supposed to go?”

I shook my head.

“Where’s Mumtaz?” the girl asked Bilal. “She’ll know.”

“Probably in the servants’ quarters.”

“Can you take her?”

“Nabila, you know I have to get these shoes to Jawad Sahib. I’m already running late.”

“Well, if she stands there gawking, it’ll be us he yells at for not putting her to work.” She sighed and walked over to me.