Amal Unbound(33)

They didn’t have to be wrenched away from everyone they loved.

They weren’t bad people. They were just lucky enough to have no idea of the reality I faced.





Chapter 35





Ghulam would be here to pick me up any minute. As I packed boxes of my favorite biscuits into my suitcase for Fatima and the others, there was a knock on the door. Seema went to open it, but instead of Ghulam, it was Fozia.

“I brought these for you,” Fozia said. She stepped inside with a box of yellow laddus. She set it on the table.

“Thank you. I’ve missed your sweets,” I said.

“Seema,” my mother said, “can you get a plate for them?”

“No, no, they’re for Amal. I know how much she loves them,” Fozia said. “I came to say goodbye, and I had a question.” She hesitated. “I heard you work for Nasreen. Do you think if you talked to her about something, she might listen?”

“Why?” I asked her. “What happened?”

Fozia shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Tell me, please.” I grabbed her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s ever since we replaced that roof. And then we needed a little more to fix our freezer. And then there was the wedding. We’re paying as much as we can each month, but when his officer came to collect last time, he said if we don’t increase our payments soon, he’ll take drastic measures. But we can’t pay any more than we already are. We can’t!”

“Fozia,” my mother said. “Amal is a servant in their home. What power do you think she has? Look how indebted we are.”

There was the sound of a car pulling up, and the back door creaked open. Seema rushed into the living room as my father stepped inside. “Ghulam is outside, but he said you could take your time.”

Fozia stood. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She looked at my mother and me. “Except if there was a chance, I had to ask.”

“I know.” My mother hugged her.

I blinked back tears after Fozia left. “I wish I could help her.”

“Amal, even if you could help them, imagine who else will come to you for the same,” my mother said. She put her arm around me.

It was then I noticed her arms were bare.

“Where are your gold bangles?” I asked.

My mother glanced at my father.

“She sold them,” he said.

But those bangles were as much a part of my mother as her long wavy hair. I couldn’t remember a moment she didn’t have them on.

“It’s the first thing we did when you left,” Seema said. “We were sure we could work something out, but even with her wedding jewelry, the tractor, the television . . . Even if we sold them all, it wouldn’t be enough. Not even close.”

I looked at my mother, at my sisters. Seema’s arms were crossed, her face ashen. They had tried everything they could think of to get me back and failed. So if they were continuing with their lives, it was because they had no other choice. Just like me.

“I’m not leaving that place, am I?” I whispered to my father.

I waited for him to answer my question. Instead, he hugged me tight.

I hugged the rest of my family goodbye. My mother. My sisters. I kissed the baby. She smiled at me and cooed, but I knew I would soon be a stranger to her again.

I thought coming home would help me feel better, but now all I could see was my mother’s bare wrists, Fozia’s frightened face, and a baby sister who would never know me. How many lives had this man upended?

Why did no one stop him?





Chapter 36





It felt strange to be back at the Khan estate. The marble tiles, immaculate white hallways, and enormous windows devoid of dust or fingerprints—none of this was foreign anymore.

Nasreen had smiled when I brought her tea upon my return. Nabila admired my intricate orange henna designs, and Fatima hugged me and didn’t let go until she extracted a promise of a lesson as soon as our work was done.

It was strange to step into this house and not feel terrified. To see people who welcomed me back. It wasn’t long ago I was completely alone here.

I pressed Nasreen Baji’s clothing that night and hung them in her armoire while she reclined on her bed and listened to me describe the wedding. She asked me about the tent and the decorations, and the type of jewels in Shabnum’s wedding necklace. As I described the velvet wedding dress in full detail, and the satchels of dates and almonds the groom’s family passed out for each guest, it almost felt like I was gossiping with a friend. “The purse she carried was so tiny that it looked like a small fan, but it was big enough to hold all the gift envelopes,” I told her. “My sister Seema joked it had to have invisible layers hidden within to keep it expanding.”

“Was my sister there?” she asked.

“Yes. And I saw your niece Sana. She danced with my friends at the wedding.”

“Last time I saw Sana, she couldn’t crawl—now she’s dancing?”

“Crawl?” I asked. “But she’s Seema’s age. You haven’t seen her in . . .”

“Eleven years,” she said. “Time gets away from you.”