by Aisha Saeed
He opens the back door of the car and places the suitcase inside. Nasim follows me as I step outside. Her usual angry expression is gone. She is smiling.
“We’ll see you when you get back, Naila.”
The engine hums to life. I look out the window as brick and concrete homes pass by. Dullness cloaks me. All emotions, all energy, vanished for good.
We swerve to avoid a pothole, and I glimpse a young girl of about eight standing on the side of the road, holding a little boy’s hand. Dark hair pokes out of her red scarf. I once held my brother’s hand. I once led him to kindergarten just as she grips his hand to cross the street. Was that my life once? I wonder. It feels like it was two lifetimes ago.
* * *
Amin parks the car on the side of the road by my uncle’s home. Turning the engine off, he watches me.
“Naila.” He touches my arm.
I wince and pull away. My eyes well with tears.
“Naila.” His voice catches in his throat. “I wish I could explain it to you. I had no choice.” He pauses. “I am sorry.”
Wordlessly, I step out of the car. My uncle locked me in a barred room. My parents drugged me and forced me into this marriage. I didn’t think anything could get worse, but today, for the first time, I know what it is like to feel completely broken.
Chapter 40
She’s here! She’s here!” a voice shouts from a distance. My five-year-old cousin Lubna is running out of the house. She makes her way toward me and hugs me. “I missed you!”
“I missed you too.”
Amin carries my suitcase. Aunts and uncles and cousins now stream out of the house to welcome us. Looking out at the faces smiling at me with expressions of love, I feel nauseous.
“Look at you!” Khala Simki’s eyes light up as she hugs me. She seems not to notice my hands hanging limp at my sides. “Marriage has done you good. Look how beautiful you are!”
My mother approaches me. Her eyes crease with her smile. “Beta.” She reaches out to embrace me, but no—I can’t. I take a step back and look away.
She clears her throat. “It’s so good to see you again, Amin.” She turns to him. “Thank you,” she says, “for letting her stay with me for a little while before we leave.”
“Where’s Imran?” I ask.
“Oh.” My mother adjusts her scarf. “Well, your father and Imran had to leave. Imran had school, and your father had to get back to the store.”
“They’re gone?” Amin says incredulously. “You should have called us. I could have dropped her off sooner so she could say good-bye.”
“It was a last-minute decision,” my mother says, “and we didn’t want to bother you.”
My brother and father are gone.
I try to process this.
They’ve resumed their life, as though I was never a part of it. I want to feel something, but no emotion rises to the surface. I feel outside of myself, observing events in a parallel universe I no longer inhabit. Conversations swirl around me. Hugs. Smiles. Kisses. They all seep through me completely.
Bilal grabs the suitcase from Amin, while my chacha, who has yet to look in my direction, ushers Amin into the living room. I sit down on the sofa. My mother sits next to me. She grips my hand. I hear the chimes of teacups and look up. It’s Selma. She’s holding a wooden tray with chai; her eyes are downcast.
Selma, I want to call out to her, look at me. Are you okay? I swallow. I know now is not the time.
“We went to Lahore, all of us, three different cars. It was pure chaos.” My mother’s voice is higher than usual. “I got you a few more outfits. I think you’ll like them.” She squeezes my limp hand.
Glass plates filled with colorful sweets are placed on the coffee table. I look around the room. There are no remnants of the tears so recently shed in this very home. This is once again a respectable house filled with respectable people. They are now loving relatives welcoming a newly married, dearly missed daughter, back for her brief visit.
I feel sick.
“I have to get to work.” Amin stands up.
“Already?” My mother frowns. “We made so much food. We thought you would stay until dinner.”
“She’s right.” Khala Simki emerges from the kitchen. “This is your first time in our house as a married couple. We are making five different dishes and—”
“I’m sorry.” Amin walks into the foyer and slips on his shoes.
I stay seated. My relatives hover close by.
“I’ll see you later,” Amin mumbles as he steps outside.
I don’t turn around.
* * *
I walk down the hall to the bedroom I inhabited just a few weeks ago. I have just stepped inside when I hear a gentle tap on the door. It’s Selma.
“I’m so happy to see you.” She plays with the edge of her scarf. “I’m not supposed to talk to you, but how can I do that? I can’t not speak to you.”
At this my face flushes and my hands involuntarily begin trembling. Selma rushes up to me.
“Sit.” She places an arm around me and guides me to the bed. “Are you okay?”
Her warmth unleashes all the pain inside of me. I fear I might never stop crying. Selma says nothing, holding me firmly in her embrace. “I know,” she says. “It was never supposed to be this way.”
I take a deep breath and try to steady myself. I look at Selma, and for the first time, I really see her. Where did these new circles, dull and dark, under her eyes come from? Why hadn’t I noticed them earlier?
“What did they do when they found out you helped me?”
“Nothing happened.” She looks at her hands. “I got lucky—nothing happened to me.”
“Selma. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, but you don’t have to be strong with me. What did they do?”
“Nothing.” She smiles at me, though her eyes are moist now.
I watch my cousin study the edge of her kamiz with careful scrutiny. She’s done more for me than I could have ever imagined, and I have no idea what price she paid for it.
I wanted to ask her to help me, but I can’t make her pay any more. I take a deep breath and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Let’s go outside and see everyone. They’ll wonder what we’re up to, cooped up in here by ourselves.”
“But you just were crying. Something is the matter,” Selma begins. “You have to tell me what happened. You know you can still talk to me about anything.”
I shake my head and stand up. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I got a little emotional coming back home after all this time. I’m fine.”
Chapter 41
Are you happy, Naila?” my mother asks the next day. We are in the living room surrounded by people. She takes a sip of tea and watches me.
I stare at her. How can she ask me this? As though nothing has happened? My face flushes. I can’t speak.
“I’m leaving Tuesday, but you’ll be back with us soon enough. I hear they’re granting visas faster these days.”
Khala Simki leans in. “You know Shamim’s son? He got married to an American girl three years ago. Her parents let the bride go back to the US without him!” She raises her eyebrows. “They said he can come when he gets his visa. Three years have gone by, and the girl never even came back! His parents are threatening divorce if she doesn’t come back soon.”
My mother frowns. “She went back to finish school, didn’t she? That’s the one, right?”
“Yes. Now, you tell me, what is more important? Finishing school? Or your marriage? So Naila might miss out on a year or two of college, but priorities are priorities!”
“A year or two?” I look at my mother.
She fidgets and looks into her teacup. “Usually it only takes six months or so, but I think Amin is working on a visa for his mother to come for a little while and to help everyone settle i
n because his sister will be joining them too. I think the extra paperwork might delay things a little bit, but no more than a year.”
I swallow, pushing back the words rising like bile in my throat. Not now, I tell myself. I haven’t found a way out. Until I do, I can’t risk their suspicion.
“In some ways this is a good thing.” My mother looks at me. “This way Naila can spend time with her new family. It’s good now in the early years to develop an attachment, a bond with his mother and family.”
At this, my khala laughs. “So tell me, does a wife ever bond with her husband’s mother?” She stops laughing abruptly and looks at my mother, her face reddening.
My mother looks at her sister and shifts in her seat. “That is a problem in our culture.” She places her teacup on the side table. “That is why we were interested in Amin’s family. His mother is a good woman. She’s educated. Those things show. I also watched how she treated her other daughter-in-law. It comforted me. I wouldn’t have let you marry just anyone without making sure.” My mother searches my face for a response, but despite my greatest effort, I can do nothing but stare at her.
* * *
The conversation continues in the main room, but I take my cup to the kitchen and set it down in the sink. Walking down the hallway, I go into my parents’ bedroom. I open the drawers in the nightstand, the dresser, the armoire. Maybe my father left my phone behind. Maybe if I look hard enough, I’ll find it. I put my hands on my hips and look around the room.
“It’s gone.”
I freeze. Selma is at the door, watching me.
“What’s gone?”
“The phone. Your dad, he destroyed it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she says softly. “I saw the broken pieces in the trash can after you got married.”
I walk to the window and look outside. The sun is full center in the sky, its blinding heat frying the plants just sprouting from the ground. I grip the edge of the windowsill, but my knees buckle under me. I sink to the floor.
Selma sits next to me and squeezes my hand. After a few moments of silence, she speaks. “Is he kind to you? He seems kind.”
“He’s kind.” I let out a harsh laugh. “Very kind.”
“Does he hit you? Does he yell at you?”
“No,” I tell her, “he doesn’t.”
“Good. This world, it’s full of so many bad men. They beat their wives. They scream at them and intimidate them. When I saw him at the wedding, I could tell he looked like a good man. I see the way he looks at you with respect. How many people look at their wives the way he looks at you? I know you didn’t want this, but in some ways you are lucky.”
“Selma, I don’t love him.” I turn to her and grip her hands. “I need you to help me. You’re the only one who can. Please. I can’t go back to that house. I just can’t. Do you know where the calling cards are? Your parents must have them still. I know you have already done so much for me, but if you could just get one calling card for me, just one, I’d be forever grateful to you.”
“I don’t know where they keep them anymore.”
“Selma, I know I’ve gotten you in trouble. I’m so sorry, but please, just tell me where they are. I won’t ask you for anything again.”
“Why do you want to call him?”
I stare at her. “Why do you think I want to call him? I haven’t spoken to him in weeks. He has no idea what happened. I need to tell him. I can only imagine what’s going through his head. He has a right to know. Maybe he could help me—”
“And what good will it do if you call him?” she interrupts. “Is he going to come and take you away from here? He couldn’t do it last time.”
“Fine.” I stand up. “Don’t help me. I’ll leave on my own. I’ll find a way out.”
“You’re going to try to escape again? Do you know how closely they’re watching you? Try stepping into the kitchen for water tonight. Look and see how many people come out to check. Chacha is making Bilal, our servant, sleep on a charpay by the front door the whole time you’re here. They’re all smiling and acting as if everything is fine, but they’re not taking any chances.”
“So there must be some other way.” My voice wavers. “If we just think hard, we can figure it out.”
Selma rubs her temples with her fingers.
“Selma,” I plead. “You’re like my sister. You’ve been on my side from the start. Please don’t turn your back on me now. I need you.”
“I’m not turning my back on you. How could I ever do that? But I’m telling you, there’s nothing more to be done. Where are you going to go? Even if you left this house? I have no more money. How far can you get?”
“I can go through the fields.” My voice rises. “I’ll zigzag through, I’ll keep going. I have jewelry. It must be worth something.”
“They’ll find you. No matter where you go, they’ll find you. He can’t help you anymore.”
“If I could talk to him, he might.” My voice breaks into sobs.
“Naila, just think about it for a second. Really think about it. Is this fair to him?”
“To Amin?” I shriek.
“To Saif. Is this fair to Saif?”
“Selma.” I stare at her. “Saif loves me. He would do anything for me.”
“I know he does, but things have changed. You are not the same person anymore. Honestly ask yourself, is this fair to him? My mother always says when you fight destiny, destiny fights back. Some things, they’re just written in the stars. You can try, but you can never escape what’s meant to be. You’ve tried. You both tried very hard to fight your destiny, but things didn’t improve—they just kept getting worse. If you really love Saif, stop torturing him. Let him be free to move on. To live his life.”
I want to yell at Selma right now, but something about her words settles like ice over my heart. How many sleepless nights have I given Saif? From the start of our relationship, he’s had to hide and sneak and change everything about himself. I’ve given him nothing but paranoia, fear, and now, pain and worry. I’m caught and contained. Am I supposed to drag him along? For how much longer? College classes start next week, but my dreams of college vanished the day I stepped off the plane. Reaching out means asking him to destroy his dreams too. I close my eyes as tears slip down my face.
Selma is right. The harder I struggle, the more painfully destiny pushes down my fate. How long can I push against it? Should love involve pulling the person you claim to love deeper into your own destructive life, to be destroyed along with you? Saif and I tried. We failed.
Only a few months ago, I saw him sitting across from me in the moonlit night in the forest behind my parents’ home. I remember resting my head against his chest. I remember the security I felt. I was safe from the world. I close my eyes, longing to find that feeling again, but instead all I find is emptiness. I can never fill this void. Selma is right. The girl Saif loved is dead. Some things, once lost, are irretrievably gone.
Chapter 42
It takes me most of the night to write it. But finally, the letter is complete. I seal the worn envelope I found tucked in Selma’s drawer. This envelope once held the money with which I tried to escape. Now it seals my fate. I write Saif’s name and the address of our old high school on the letter. Eventually it will make its way to him. Eventually he’ll know what happened and will be able to put this part of his life behind him.
The sky is getting brighter; light shines through the barred window. I look over at Selma, who is rousing from sleep. I get up and walk over to her.
“What is this?” asks Selma, looking at the paper in my hands. She rubs her eyes and sits up.
“It’s the last favor I’ll ask of you.” I wipe away a tear. “You were right. I can’t do this to him. But I have to let him know. I can’t let him wonder. It will only hurt him more. Please send this for me. I won’t
ask you for anything else.”
Selma takes the envelope and looks at me, her eyes watering. “I never wanted this for you.”
“I know.” I look away. “But this is my life now. It’s time I accept it.”
* * *
That afternoon, at a quarter to twelve, there is a knock on the door.
My chachi frowns. Bilal opens the door. It’s Amin.
“Amin.” My mother stands up. “What a surprise! Come in. We are just about to eat lunch.”
“We need to go. I came to take Naila back,” Amin responds from the doorway.
“What do you mean?” My mother walks up to him. “My flight is tomorrow.”
Amin looks at me.
“Is it okay if we leave?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply.
Chachi walks into the foyer. “Is everything okay? Your mother is well?”
“She’s fine.”
“At least stay for lunch, then?” My mother’s voice wavers. “Or chai? I can start boiling the water. It will only delay you a few minutes.”
“I’m sorry.”
My mother stares at him.
A tense silence settles over the room. Bilal brings my small black suitcase and hands it to Amin. I walk past my mother toward the front door.
The brightness of the sun reflects off the metal exterior of his car.
“Wait!” my mother calls out. She walks up to us.
“I’ll call you when I land,” she says. Tears flow down her face now. Her cheeks are flushed. She hugs me tightly. “I love you.”
I open the car door.
“No good-bye?”
I’ve avoided saying anything to her since I came back yesterday. I’ve stayed quiet. But I think of Saif, of everything I lost, and suddenly my anger is a sensation so hot, I can taste it. It burns on my tongue.
“Good-bye?” I repeat. I stare at her. “All my life, I did everything I could to be a good daughter. I followed all the rules. I did everything to make you proud of me, and for what? You sold me off. You threw me away like a dirty towel you didn’t want anymore, and now? Now, you want heartfelt good-byes from me?”
