Ayesha At Last(18)

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. I miss you. Also, can you do me a favour? Same as before, Western Union plz. You’re the best!

P.S. Boiling-hot showers and that crazy snowstorm every April, just when you think winter is over.

Khalid sent Zareena money every month, but lately her requests had become more frequent. He didn’t mind—he enjoyed taking care of her. It made her seem less far away. He missed having her in his life, even though it had been hard to keep her secrets.

The first time he had caught Zareena sneaking out, he was thirteen, his sister seventeen. It was nearly midnight, and he had been getting some orange juice from the fridge when he heard her light footfall on the stairs. She was just about to turn the door handle, shoes in hand, when Khalid spoke.

“Going somewhere, Zareena?” he had asked.

She froze, then turned around with a mischievous smile on her face. She was wearing eyeliner, which made her eyes look huge and smoky, and her lips were a shiny red. Khalid didn’t know Zareena owned lipstick, let alone knew how to put it on. His mother hated makeup on women and forbade it in the house. She was wearing a gauzy black hijab that barely covered her hair and a pair of jeans so tight they made her legs look like pipe cleaners.

The look on his face must have said everything, because she walked over to him, smiling as she swiped his orange juice.

“I’m meeting some friends,” she said, taking a sip. “It’s no big deal, but you know Mom freaks out every time I leave the house. I’m not asking you to lie for me. Just pretend you never saw me.”

“Where are you going at this hour? Will there be boys?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “No, only girls. I’m going to a sleepover. I’ll be back by Fajr. It’s no big deal, honestly.” Fajr, the dawn prayer. She would be out all night.

“Maybe I should come with you,” he said.

“To a house full of girls? What will people think?” she said, smirking playfully. “Then again, why not. My friends think you’re cute.”

Zareena’s friends were all popular and pretty, always smiling and joking. They made him nervous.

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “If you’re just going to a girl’s sleepover, there’s no harm. I won’t tell anyone. Just make sure you’re back by Fajr.”

“I’ll be back before Fajr,” Zareena said, grinning with happiness. On impulse, she gave Khalid a big hug. “Thanks, K,” she said. “I won’t forget this.” She smelled like soap and flowers. Was she wearing perfume too? She grabbed her shoes and ran out the door.

Khalid followed just in time to see her open the passenger door of a waiting car. It was dark, and he couldn’t make out who was driving. Thumping music spilled into the quiet street, abruptly cut off by the car door slamming shut. He returned to bed but stayed awake until just before dawn, when he could faintly make out the sound of a key in the door and soft footsteps climbing the stairs.

In the morning, Zareena beat him to breakfast, dressed in a shapeless black abaya with a black hijab and no makeup. She was chatting with their mother and didn’t give Khalid more than a cursory smile.

Lying for his sister made him uneasy, and that night wasn’t the only time. Later, after she was sent away forever, he felt awful about all those times he had kept silent.

His mother didn’t know he sent money to Zareena. She didn’t know they communicated. Khalid was certain Ammi and Zareena hadn’t spoken in almost twelve years, not since Farzana had flown her only daughter to India and returned two weeks later without her.

Khalid hated thinking about this, hated thinking about his sister. He should have told his parents what was going on. Maybe then Zareena would still be here, instead of on another continent, miserable.





Chapter Nine

Khalid returned to the mosque after dinner for the conference meeting. He was early, and headed to the prayer hall. He sat cross-legged on the carpet and leaned against the beige-panelled wall. The mosque was quiet and warm, and he felt cocooned in the peaceful stillness. His breathing slowed as he enjoyed this momentary respite from the world.

When he opened his eyes, a soft, golden glow engulfed the empty prayer hall. He checked his watch and stood up. It was time for the meeting to start.

A bundled shape on the other side of the room caught his eye. The bundle moved, and without thinking, he stepped closer. It was a young woman, fast asleep. Her face looked peaceful, and her even breathing matched his own.

The Toronto Muslim Assembly employed a casual segregation policy. Unlike most other mosques, where men and women prayed in separate rooms and sometimes even on separate floors, the mosque had no physical divider. Khalid cautiously moved toward the women’s section.

The young woman was clutching a book in her hands, but he couldn’t make out the title. He looked away to avoid staring, but his feeling of peace was broken. His eyes were drawn to her for a second look, and he recognized her now: the girl with the red mug; the girl from the bar.

He wondered if she was following him.

Today she was wearing a blue hijab, dark blue cardigan and long black skirt. If she hadn’t shifted position when Khalid glanced over, she would have resembled nothing more than a pile of prayer sheets. Prayer sheets that softly hugged the sharp curve of her hips, outlining elegant legs hidden by dark fabric.

Khalid felt strange. His heart was beating fast and his mouth had gone dry. He didn’t intend to approach her, but his feet moved him even closer and he stood staring down at her. Sleeping Beauty, he thought.