Amal Unbound(30)

The sun was beginning to set when we got into the car. Nabila was right about the heavy bags—my arms strained from the weight of them.

The sky flushed pink, then deepened into purple as we drove. It was fully set when we passed our villages. I looked at my school under the glow of the moon. Hafsa’s house.

My own.

“You didn’t tell me Shabnum is getting married,” Nasreen Baji said.

“Shabnum?” I repeated. That was Hafsa’s oldest sister.

“Shaukat’s daughter. This weekend. Borrowed some money for her dowry, even though it’ll still be a modest one, given their financial circumstances. Your family never mentioned it?”

“I don’t have a phone,” I told her.

“Everyone has a phone. Why didn’t you bring one?”

“Jawad Sahib took mine when I first arrived.”

“You mean to tell me you haven’t spoken to your family since you came?”

I shook my head.

“Your poor mother, she must be so worried!” Her eyes widened. “That settles it. She deserves to see for herself that you’re all right. You can have three days. Attend the festivities and spend some time with your family.”

“Would Jawad Sahib let me?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” she asked. “You have time off. It’s entitled to you.”

I’d lived at their estate long enough, but there was still so much I didn’t understand. But those thoughts were quickly replaced by thoughts of home. How badly did I miss the familiar curve of my bed? My mother’s food? Seema and my little sisters? My friends?

I knew I should thank Nasreen Baji. Tell her how much this meant to me. But how could I possibly express my gratitude? Words failed.

I could go home. However briefly, I could go home.





Chapter 32





Can’t you drive faster?” I asked Ghulam.

“I’m driving no slower and no faster than I ever do,” he replied.

“But a little faster wouldn’t hurt anyone! Please?”

“You’re going to pay the cost to fix this car if something happens to it?” He laughed.

“Ghulam Baba,” I pleaded. “Just this once?”

He shook his head, but he glanced at me in the rearview mirror and winked. The engine hummed louder, and the scenery passed faster now. Soon, my neighborhood sprang into view. Water buffalo roamed the distant fields. A group of boys kicked a faded soccer ball in the street. The car jerked to a stop. Children pointed at it and blocked its path.

I pushed the door open.

Ghulam rolled down his window.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “It’s just one block over!”

“I can’t wait!” I shouted. “Thanks for the ride!” I broke into a run down the road. There it was. The rosebushes. The worn front door creaked when I opened it, like always.

As I stepped inside, it felt like the past few months had been a terrible nightmare. And now it was over.

I was home.

Safa and Rabia stood by the couch; they were so engrossed in their argument, they didn’t see me at first. I took in their flushed cheeks and hands on their hips as their complaints echoed off the concrete walls.

Seema peeled a cucumber by the stove. She turned to hush them. That’s when she saw me. She gasped. Her knife clattered to the ground.

“Amal!” she shouted. She rushed toward me and wrapped me in a hug. I had forgotten what it was like to feel someone’s embrace.

“Baji’s here!” Rabia and Safa shrieked in unison. Their eyes lit up like a string of lights on Eid. They dashed toward me. I picked them both up and hugged them. I didn’t know how I would ever let go.

“Amal?”

My mother. She carried my little sister Lubna in her arms. Her hair was loose and damp, grayer than it had been three months earlier. She walked toward me and stroked my hair as if checking to make sure I was real. Then, her expression crumbled. She folded me into her arms.

“They said I could come for a few days.” I hugged her. “For the wedding. I can’t believe I’m home right now!”

“I called you. Every day. The phone rang without answer, and then one day it stopped ringing altogether. Had to wait the longest time before I could get word you were all right.” She wiped tears from her eyes.

“He took my phone. The first day. I’ve been desperate to talk to you. To all of you.”

“Seema, get your father,” my mother said. “Amal, sit here. Let me get a good look at you.”

Despite the exhaustion lining her face, she looked like my mother again.

“Our dolls missed you,” Rabia said, holding out her patchwork doll to me. Safa hurried over with hers as well. They talked over each other, sharing all the adventures I missed. I marveled at Safa’s words, the first time I’d heard her speak so clearly. Lubna was a plump baby now, with soft curls like Safa’s and Rabia’s. I held out my hands to pick her up, but she pulled back, studying me shyly from my mother’s arms. She had no memories of gripping my hand and looking into my eyes all those hours when she was a newborn. I was not an older sister to her. I was a stranger.

“How are you doing there? In that house?” my mother asked.

I fidgeted in my seat. I waited so long to come here. To let go of everything weighing on my heart. But the thing was, she looked so happy to see me. After everything I put her through, how could I add more burdens on her back?