Caged Nightingale

Part 10-Atif

'Its probably better if we get the marrige certificate first.' I say as I turn to look at her. she is sat in the chair.  The same one she tripped over yesterday. She hasnt looked at the pictures on the side table or the print on the wall. In fact she's made a point of avoiding looking at them altogether, which i find curious. Instead, she sits and looks directly at me for the first time, her hands folded in front of her. "otherwise we may have to add your parents details, which could get messy." I continue.

"OK." she anwsers nodding. 'What else?'

"I've called the imaam for this evening-"

"The imaam?" she asks and looks at me inquisitively, then frowning.

" -For the nikha document." I answer. 'There's no other way to do it, otherwise we have to produce your father's documents." She nods in understanding, so i continue. " You're going to have to change your name- for the time being!'

Again she nods 'Okay.' she says in agreement. I hand her a closed manila folder, which she takes slowly.

'Ayla, age 26- so a year younger than you, born in March, only child. Lived in Karachi before moving to Faislabaad where she was educated. BA Hons Accountancy." She flicks through the file I hand her as I am talking. It contains all the documents but no picture of her. school records, degree certificate, date of birth, even a medical exam she had at 11. 'she wasnt on social media and there are no pictures of her on line. Father was a civil servant who died when she was 6 years old, Mother died 2 months ago, so no living relatives we know of.'

She flicks through the pages and I notice a change in her demeanour, she seems to go pale and bites her lower lip. No longer meeting my eyes. 'Is she dead?' she asks, then looks up and something inside my chest tightens. The look she gives me is one so desolate and desperate that I can't help but respond to it.

'Yes" i say without emotion in my voice. 'she died last month. No death certificate was issued as no one could confirm the identity of the body.'
I hold my breath as I expect her to ask me how she died. But she doesn't. Instead she swallows and looks back at the file, it looks like she is going to cry.
I know she is perturbed by the morality of exploiting someone's death, a tragic one at that. for a second, I think she is going to refuse but then she looks at me with that same desperate expression. Don't make me do it! she seems to plead silently. 'There's no other way." I say matter of fact. She takes a deep breath and places the file on the coffee table between us. "Once we have these,' I continue 'the nikanamah,the ID card, then we can apply for the passport?"

I watch her, then nod, but she says nothing. She fingers the hem of her sleeve, fiddling with it, then turns to look at the door as if to get up and leave. She's uncomfortable.

"Saara, I was followed all week. At my home, work, in the car. Its the same with Ali." I see a flash of surprise in her face. "I dont have to remind you that we are dealing with a very serious situation. These people are not taking any chances. When Ali was at work, some people came to check his phone lines at home- they're all tapped. They're probably watching him right now. I can't tell you the pains I have taken to get here myself." I rake my fingers through my hair and give her a level look. 'If you want to -'I pause looking for the right word '-survive this, we are going to have to do things. . . that take us to uncomfortable places.' She looks at me and I see her expression steel over. Good she's going to need to be tough to get through this.