Amal Unbound(3)

“Of course you’ll see him around the house—some conversations can’t be avoided—but walking to school together, talking freely the way you both do . . . people will start gossiping if they aren’t already.”

Omar and I were born three days apart. He lived with his mother, our servant Parvin, in the shed behind our house. They moved there after his father died, and I’d never known life without him. He was part of the fabric of who I was. I couldn’t follow this rule. Neither could Omar. So now we met in secret to talk, to listen to each other, to laugh.

“I told Miss Sadia I wouldn’t be able to stay after school,” I said. “I’m hoping it’s just until the baby comes, but my father said we’ll have to see how it goes.”

“Once things settle down, he’ll change his mind.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

“Your father probably got fed up because Safa unlatched a neighbor’s chicken coop again. You know you’re the only one who can keep up with her.”

“Omar, she did not!” I tried to stay serious, but a smile escaped. My youngest sister was a constant source of drama in our house.

“See? You know I’m right. Your poor father probably spent the morning chasing chickens and apologizing to neighbors.”

“You need to stop with the Safa conspiracies all the time.” I told him.

“Ha!” He grinned. “I’m going to have to become a lawyer. Safa will need a team of them with the trouble she gets into.”

“She’s only three!” I swatted him, but just like that, some of the heaviness lifted. He was right. Besides, my father usually gave in to us if we pleaded enough.

“Speaking of school, the headmaster from Ghalib Academy called. I got in!”

“Omar!” I exclaimed. “I knew it! Didn’t I say so?”

“And they’re going to cover everything! Room and board, all of it! This could change everything for me, Amal. If I do well enough, I could get one of their college scholarships. Can you believe it? Maybe I’ll even get my mother her own house one day.”

I hugged him. Omar had been attending the school across from mine, but Ghalib was one of the best schools around, a boys’ boarding school a few towns over. Attending it was a lucky break for a servant’s son like Omar. He was right—it could truly change everything for him.

“I wonder what the library there is like,” I said.

“That was fast.” He laughed. “Can I settle in to the school first before you have me hunting down books for you?”

“No way!” I said. “But I bet they’ll have more books than both our classrooms combined. And Hafsa told me some boarding schools have cafeterias with all the food you can eat and televisions in all the bedrooms.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “But they do have an after-school chess club and a debate team. And the dorm has a computer lab we can use in our spare time. The only thing is I’ll have to share a room with another student. Maybe even two students.”

“Do you know who they’ll be?”

“No. I’ll meet them when I go there for orientation weekend, but it’ll be strange living with people I don’t know.”

“Hafsa’s already staked her claim on me to be her roommate when we go to college someday.”

“Well, at least with Hafsa as a roommate, you’ll be up to date on all the inside information about everyone and everything on campus.”

“That’s definitely a plus.” I laughed.

The clink of glass bracelets shattered our solitude.

It was Seema. She ran toward us, her feet bare.

“Come quick,” she said between gasps of breath. “The baby is coming.”





Chapter 4





The five minutes it took to run to my home on the other side of the field felt like a lifetime. We zigzagged through the sugarcane, taking shortcuts through the maze we knew so well. Our feet crunched over twigs and fallen leaves until we tumbled into the clearing that led to my house.

Flinging open the front door, I raced through our living room and straight into my parents’ bedroom. My mother lay in bed. A thin sheet was draped over her. Raheela Bibi, the midwife, pressed a damp towel to her forehead. My mother’s eyes were shut. Her jaw clenched.

“But this wasn’t supposed to happen for another few weeks!” I said.

“Well, it’s happening now!” Raheela Bibi rummaged through her bag.

My mother exhaled and opened her eyes. She looked at me. Her cheeks were flushed and her forehead was pale.

“Amal,” she said. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

It was true; unmarried girls, especially my age, weren’t allowed in the birthing area. But how could I stay outside when something was obviously wrong?

“I’m worried,” I told her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Babies come early all the time.” She smiled at me, but her eyes didn’t crinkle with the upturn of her lips. She patted my arm and moved to say more, but suddenly she gasped and clenched her jaw again.

“I’m here.” I squeezed her hand.

A hand touched my elbow. Omar’s mother, Parvin, had arrived. Wisps of black hair framed her face from beneath her chador.