Amal Unbound(40)

I said it with such conviction, I almost believed myself. The truth was I had no idea if a lawyer could help us or if Asif would agree in the first place. But I knew I had to try.

If everyone decided nothing could change, nothing ever would.





Chapter 43





Nasreen Baji and Jawad Sahib sat at the dining table eating breakfast. Mumtaz brought out fresh parathas and a plate of softened butter. Everything was normal. It was an ordinary morning. I reminded myself of this.

Nabila placed a glass of orange juice next to Nasreen Baji’s plate and a glass next to Jawad Sahib. He talked with his mother. He needed new suits. The gray one looked worn.

After they finished their meals, Jawad Sahib yawned.

“No chai for me today.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m taking a quick nap.”

“You see?” Nasreen Baji admonished him. “You work too hard. One can’t be up at all hours and expect not to be affected.”

I gathered the dishes to take to the kitchen. I washed up the pots and pans and dried my hands. I picked up my satchel and headed to Ghulam’s waiting car.



* * *



? ? ?

I hurried down the narrow corridor toward Asif’s classroom. He was at his desk sorting through papers when I stepped inside.

“I need your help,” I said. I tried to stay steady, but everything was catching up to me. The room spun.

Asif took my arm and helped me to a chair. “Take a deep breath. Okay, good. Now tell me. What’s wrong?”

I hadn’t planned to blurt out everything. But the words wouldn’t stop flowing. About the officers. The body. The threats to my neighbors.

When I finished, I caught my breath. Asif’s face had gone pale.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t burden you with this,” I said.

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you told me.”

“The third tree past the sign for Minawala.” My voice wavered. “That’s where the body is buried. At least I hope it’s still there. I thought maybe you or your father could share that information wherever it needs to go. He’s a lawyer, you said?”

Asif stared at me, and then he rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples. “Sharing this with my father doesn’t mean anything will actually happen, but if word gets out that they are on to a body, Jawad might hear. There’s a chance he could tie it to me, which could lead to you.”

“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“You live in that house, Amal. If he finds out, it could be bad for you.”

I thought of Hazarabad and the burned fields. The charred orange groves. I thought of Fozia.

“It’s worth the risk,” I said.

“I’ll call my father,” he said. “I’ll see what he says.”

“Thank you, Asif. I’m forever indebted to you.”

“There’s no debt, Amal.” He studied me for a moment. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone as brave as you,” he finally said.

“I’m not brave. I’m terrified. I just don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice. Making choices even when they scare you because you know it’s the right thing to do—that’s bravery.”





Chapter 44





Nasreen Baji spoke with her son about marriage prospects over breakfast.

“She comes from a good family,” Nasreen Baji told him. “Pretty, too. What harm is there in meeting her? And her father is in politics also. Who knows where it could lead?”

“I thought I’m supposed to celebrate my life in exile here?” He snorted. “No politics for me. I’m doing the most important job there is.”

“Jawad, you’re twenty-four years old. Enough with the sarcasm already.”

“I’ve met four girls this month alone. It’s not my fault none of them is adequate.”

“Listen, we both know what this is about.” She lowered her voice. “It’s past time to move on. You’ll find someone else you like just as much, but only if you give them a chance.”

Jawad Sahib looked down at the table.

“Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll meet her.”

I took in the scene before me. Mother and son chatting. Servants picking up empty bowls and dishes, while others brought in white creamy kheer with crushed pistachios. The scent of brewing chai enveloped the room each time the kitchen doors parted.

It had been almost a week since I last saw Asif. Every day I waited for a knock on the door, a phone call, a look of fear across Jawad Sahib’s face.

But nothing happened.

Everything continued just as it always had.

My hands shook. I stepped into the hallway to compose myself.

Fatima approached me. “I’m making up my own story tonight,” she said. “Baba got me some paper and a freshly sharpened pencil. I’m naming one of the girls after you! It was supposed to be a surprise, but I couldn’t wait! But I need your help writing it. I’ll do all the pictures. Will you help me when we’re done here?”

“Sure.” I nodded at the right moments as she explained her story.

Maybe the Khan family really was untouchable.