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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Two things make me forget all the worries in the world. One is baking; the other is solving a question paper. Once I am done with them, there is a surge of power in my fingertips, a flurry of feathers in my chest, an air of dominance that raises my chin high and a lightness that pulls my shoulders back.
When I was headed to my MCAT exam this morning, I was pale and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. How could I not be when I had woken up to find all my books missing and Baba shamelessly admitting to his crime saying, raising his sugar syrup chai at me, "Mena, calm nerves always do the trick." He sipped on his cup, making me cringe. "Take that from your father, you can thank me later."
Mama and Baba dropped me at the exam centre and I felt more confident; they were there with me and not with Hanaan. I return now with Chacha Ali Gul, watching the beautiful colours outside the car window. The sky is bright azure blue with cotton candy clouds. The leaves look greener to me and already I can see tents outside houses and in some gardens; the festivities of Eid have begun. There are thirteen days left in it only and soon Baba will bring over our goats for sacrifice too, tie them in our garage because Dadi will not allow them in her garden and it will be all about tending to them.
I have never been fond of animals, be that parrots, goats or even Hanaan's Anna Sofia. Nashwa and Hanaan have always been animal crazy and it makes sense, they're wild themselves.
Nashwa.
Her name doesn't echo in my mind because of the risk I have put her at, it collides against the walls of my skull because I see a battered old red Alto parked at an awkward angle at the end of my street. This wasn't the end we were supposed to enter through but Chacha Ali Gul took a different route because he had to buy some groceries first and as I crane my neck to look again, it is undeniably Nashwa's Laal, its front severely bruised and back dented in, paint chipping off.
What is she up to now?
I jump out of the car as soon as Chacha Ali Gul parks it in front of our gate. Had these been normal circumstances, I would have been in a hurry to call up Ainee and Faria and cross check my answers with them, then wallow over the ones we got incorrect. Had this been slightly crazy circumstances only whereby Nashwa had parked right in front of my gate, I would expect her to be sitting in the lounge, one leg over the other, back stick straight, sipping on her cup of chai, waiting to confront me. But she parked at the end of the street.
Nashwa-style.
I rush into my room first and don't find her there. I don't want her listening to the voice notes Hanaan left me, they're too personal, they're for me and they would most definitely make Nashwa melt over Hanaan. I don't want Nashwa standing by her side and not by mine.
I don't find Nashwa in my room so throwing my chadar and bag on my mattress, I turn to the kitchen instead where Baano is washing a pile of dirty dishes with her phone perched on the counter top by the wash basin, a drama streaming on it, an ear phone bud in her ear. I turn around and look about our lounge and not finding Nashwa, I accept the worst suspicion and head up the stairs.
