Amal Unbound(18)

“I can relate. Of course I married into the family, but no matter the circumstances, missing your family feels the same. You’re from Nabay Chak, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m from Banway Chak.”

“Banway? But that’s a ten-minute walk from my house! It’s on the other side of the market.”

“True,” she said. “You know the Marali family?”

I nodded. The Marali family was a huge clan, scattered over many of the nearby villages.

“That’s my family.”

Now that she mentioned it, I could see the family resemblance in her straight dark hair and her high cheekbones.

“Najam and Sana were my classmates,” I told her.

“My sister’s children.” Her eyes brightened. “How are they?”

“They were doing well last time I saw them,” I said. “I’ve known them since I was five.”

“Smart girls. Khan Sahib will pay for college when the time comes. I’ll make sure he does. Tell me. Is Masud Baba still running the produce store at the market? He was my father’s closest friend.”

“Shaukat, his son, runs it now.”

“Shaukat?” Her expression fell. “Well, that’s a shame.”

“He does a good job,” I said. “His prices are fair, and he sells the best produce.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “It’s just I knew him when we were little. He had different dreams back then.”

I tried picturing Shaukat as a child sharing his dreams with the woman in emerald earrings sitting across from me. I couldn’t.

“But . . . how did you end up here?”

Nasreen Baji began laughing.

I stiffened. Why did I say that aloud?

“Blurting things out used to get me in trouble, too, when I was your age,” she said. “Just be careful. My son didn’t inherit my sense of humor.

“Our marriage surprised many people,” she continued. “Khan Sahib’s family is distantly related to the Maralis. He saw me at a family wedding. His parents wanted a bride from a wealthy family, of course, but when you’re the youngest, you get your way.”

Nasreen Baji told me about her family back in her village, and it turned out we had other neighbors in common. She was so easy to talk to, and the more she spoke, the less intimidating she seemed.

It was the strangest thing to find within these walls someone who was more like myself than I could have imagined.

For the first time since I arrived, I felt a little less afraid.





Chapter 19





My first job the next morning was to get Nasreen Baji’s breakfast tray ready to bring up to her. The meal was a simple one: tea, toast with a dollop of jam, and a plate of sliced apples. Mumtaz showed me where the trays and teacups were kept in the kitchen before she left to sweep the terrace. I turned on the chai percolator and arranged the tray. Nabila wiped down the countertop next to the sink. Fatima swept up crumbs from the floor while her father stored chopped vegetables in the refrigerator.

As I waited for the water to heat, I looked out the window. With Jawad Sahib gone, the servants were relaxed and our verandah was busy. Toqir, the elderly servant who dusted and swept the main level of the estate, rested on a charpai. Shagufta sat on a bench and chatted with another cleaning girl. The gardener was still holding a clipper in one hand as he was drinking tea and chatting with a few other men.

When the chai was ready, I poured it into a porcelain cup etched with hummingbirds. Fatima tugged at my kamiz. “You want to try some?”

“Try what?” I asked.

“The chai,” Fatima said. “I can get you a cup from the other cupboard.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed.”

“If they don’t find out, then it’s not wrong. That’s what Nabila always says. She sneaks things all the time!”

“Hush!” Nabila glowered at the girl.

Fatima reddened and hurried to the back of the kitchen.

“She’s just a kid,” I told Nabila. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You don’t get to come here for a day and tell me what she did or didn’t mean.”

I wanted to ask her what her problem was, but I bit my tongue. She could hate me for whatever reason she wanted, I thought. My father was collecting money for me at this very moment, and soon enough, I’d be gone.

Mumtaz hadn’t mentioned how much sugar Nasreen Baji took, so to be safe, I placed five sugar cubes in a crystal bowl and set it on the tray.

“What are you doing?” Nabila frowned at my tray. “Why aren’t you using the proper breakfast tray?”

“Proper breakfast tray? I got this one from the drawer Mumtaz showed me.”

“There’s more than one drawer.” She smirked and pointed to a cabinet under the sink. “She uses the pink one with the gold trim for breakfast. Always has.”

I walked over to the sink and leaned down to open the cupboard and sift through the fancy plates and serving dishes. I craned my neck. There were no trays. Would Nasreen Baji be angry if I served her breakfast on the wrong one?

When I walked back to the counter, the tray I’d prepared was missing.

“She took it.” Fatima sat cross-legged, peeling potatoes. “She took it,” she repeated. “Probably went to Nasreen Baji herself.”