Amal Unbound(25)

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Stepping into the foyer, I felt the welcome blast of cooled air. Then I heard Jawad yelling. His voice echoed down the hallway.

This was the first time I’d ever heard him yell. His quiet penetrating glare was intimidating enough, which is why hearing his voice echo off the marble now made me cringe. Poor Bilal. Working for such a man couldn’t be easy.

Then I heard a high-pitched sound, like an injured kitten. Inching closer, I saw Nabila. She was in the dining room, and Jawad Sahib towered over her.

“You helped her run away.”

Run away?

“I had nothing to do with it. I swear!”

Jawad Sahib lifted his hand.

He was going to hit her. He was going to hit her because of me.

“Wait,” I cried out. “Don’t!”

Jawad Sahib’s eyes widened when he saw me.

“Where were you?” He walked toward me.

“The market,” I managed to say. “I got lost coming back.”

“What market? There is no market. You dare lie to my face?” he shouted.

“I know that now.” I trembled. “I came back as soon as I could. I wasn’t running away.”

“Are you a guest in my home?”

His voice vibrated through my body as the realization dawned on me—Nabila had played me again. She spun me a tale, and I believed every word. I needed to explain to him exactly what happened this time.

But before I could respond, Jawad Sahib did.

Until that moment, I never knew a slap had a taste.

A metallic taste in your mouth, like blood.

Someone gripped my elbow. They pulled me toward them. Nasreen Baji.

“Jawad!”

“I’m not letting this go unaddressed.”

“It’s addressed. You’ve made your point. Don’t lay another hand on her.”

“She was running away!”

“Running away? What is she doing here, then?”

He leaned toward me.

“Changing your mind doesn’t buy you penance. I’ll decide your punishment, but you will never disrespect me again.”

He walked away without another word.

Didn’t he understand?

Wasn’t this—my being here—punishment enough?





Chapter 27





Nasreen Baji insisted I not leave the confines of our rooms the rest of the day. What more did she think Jawad Sahib would do? The numbness of the initial assault now faded, the bruise deepened into my skin, along with an anger so hot, it threatened to burn me alive.

Why did I take Nabila at her word? Why couldn’t I have at least mentioned it to Mumtaz before I dashed off at the first opportunity?

There was no leaving this place.

There never would be.

“You weren’t really running away, were you?” Nasreen Baji asked that evening.

“No, Baji.”

“There are only so many times my son will let things pass. You must remember: You can’t forget your place.”

Forget my place? Every day I woke up without the scent of my mother’s breakfast wafting through the air. Every day I woke to deafening silence instead of my sisters’ laughter and shrieks. Every day I remembered everything I lost. I realized now that as kind as Nasreen Baji could be to me, she could never understand my position.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It will never happen again.”

“Let me take a look at you.” She motioned me toward her. “It will take a few days, but it will fade. I spoke with Jawad. He agrees you’ve been punished enough.”

When she left to watch television in the living room that night, I returned to my room. No sooner did I sit down than the door creaked open. Fatima stepped inside. She carried a wooden tray with a bowl of lentils.

“Baba sent this for you.” She set the tray down on my bed.

“Tell him I said thank you.”

I saw a scrap of paper balled up in her fist.

“What’s that?”

She handed the paper over shyly. I unfolded it. Line after line, an entire page was filled with the letter alif.

“Good work, Fatima! See how fast you learned?” I pulled out a pencil from my satchel and turned the paper over. I drew the next letter. “It’s curved like a cooking pot with a floating dot. You call it bey.”

“Bey,” she repeated.

I’d handed her the pencil to try it herself when the door opened again. Nabila and Mumtaz walked in.

“Nabila wants to say something to you,” Mumtaz said. Nabila stood by the door, her arms limp at her sides.

“I’m sorry.” Nabila glanced at Mumtaz and then back at me.

“It’s done now,” I said.

“It’s just that everything was fine until you came here.” Her lower lip quivered. “I served Baji loyally for years. I never complained. And now? She looks past me as if I don’t exist.”

“And the same will happen to me, too, one day, won’t it?” I snapped. “I can’t control it any more than you could.”

“Amal’s right. Nasreen chose to do what she did. It wasn’t Amal’s doing,” Mumtaz said. “Nabila, jealousy will only hurt you. And, Amal, holding on to anger is useless. You both could be here forever, and the sooner you stop fighting and realize you are in the same situation, the easier your lives will be.”