Sisters torn apart by the fragility of the heart, how can love possibly hurt so much?
Hana Junaid decided two years ago, distance would make her younger sister Hanaan more independent but Hanaan's love and yearning for Hana during this time has drow...
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Forgiving is not easy and forgetting even harder. Placing a boulder stone upon my protesting ruptured splintered heart I ring the doorbell at eight next morning. Thank Allah for my white bearded driver, Chacha Ali Gul. What would I do without him?
Nashwa's Haala Mami blinks through the eyehole and then opens the apartment door for me. "Hana." My name is a statement on her tongue. Does she know I slapped her adopted daughter yesterday? If she does, she does not seek vengeance, yet. With a hand on her swollen belly, eight months expecting, she clears the way for me. "Here so early?"
I have no integrity left so why not?
"I wanted to take Nashwa somewhere with me, if that's fine."
Still standing by the door, she says, "We just sent the boys off to school and Nashwa's Mamu to his job. The kitchen's a mess and I was restless the whole night. The maid won't be coming till nine-thirty."
She doesn't get to the point and I do not happen to have all the time in the world.
"We could wait till then, but afterwards?"
She shrugs. "Once Nashwa completes all her chores, sure."
She turns then towards her bedroom. Haala Mami is a stout woman who like Nashwa takes no crap. She is strict and stern the way you expect a mother of three boys to be who also happens to teach economics to an all-boys college. She took off from this new academic year because of her upcoming child.
Before locking the door, she adds, "If Nashwa wishes to go with you, that is."
So she does know something's off. Uncomfortably, I stand out of place in the middle of the small apartment consisting of a lounge, a kitchen with a round dining table, two bedrooms and a smaller room that functions more like their laundry room. Its door opens and Nashwa walks out, eyes still puffy, curly red hair exploding around her face and mouth wide open in a yawn. She does not cover it with her hand as she narrows her eyes at me. "Am I dreaming?"
"Must be a nightmare then."
She smirks, rolling her hair into a bun in a way I would never handle my own in the fear of pulling it all out. "I have larger wars to fight, darling."
She does not question my presence, just walks over to the kitchen and begins to pile up the dirty plates that need to be washed. I notice the small room she appeared out of is now furnished with a single bed, a bed side table, a mirror on the wall. The stand for ironing clothes is still there and a large shelf with glass doors still holds all of Haala Mami's precious dishware in it. Nashwa must recently have moved in this room, away from the boys now that they are getting older and she couldn't possibly share a room with them and study and have her privacy.
But where is the wave of gratitude in me? For my grand house, and my well decorated room? Nowhere. Because I would rather share a room with three wild brothers always pulling my hair instead of living with my body exposed to all eyes and my entire family's honour on a fish hook.
