Leilah Usman awaits an acceptance from a university abroad so she can leave the country she never loved when she stumbles upon an ancient diary. Through the eyes of Mahrosh Irfan, she finds herself in a world so completely different from hers.
One w...
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20th February 1933
Today is a beautiful day. The sky is a gentle blue and the clouds shield us from the harsh sun. The gentle winds are the melodious chooriyan* that can only make you look prettier and all should be well. But it isn't. It isn't even close to being well —
She fiddled with the knife in her hands, her gaze fixed on the fruits her mother had instructed her to cut. Her heart was already unstable and the conversation that flowed in the yard was not helping. Dadi and Ammi were talking animatedly, and Aleena seemed just as cheerful as she replied — and for some completely bizarre reason, the topic simply would not sway from a man Mahrosh clearly did not want to think about.
Him or the fact that she had been publishing her articles under his name in the local newspaper.
Mahrosh stole a glance at Aleena, and despite the chaos within herself, she could not help the turn of her lips at the sheer happiness on her friend's face. It had been a while since she had seen Aleena like this. Flushed cheeks. Twinkling eyes. Her soft laughter bubbled in the room and matched with Ammi and Dadi's.
It would have been such a perfect scene; a happy family awaiting a loved one's return.
She was the only puzzle piece that needed to be removed.
As if on cue, Ammi's gaze fell on her and Mahrosh was no longer invisible. "Mahrosh? You haven't changed yet?"
She blinked. "You told me to cut the fruits..."
"That was half an hour ago!" Ammi took the tray from her, "Ya Allah, Walid will be here any minute now! Go get dressed — no need, Aleena dear, you're our guest today."
Mahrosh dusted her clothes, glancing at Aleena who volunteered to cut the fruits despite Ammi's insistence. She begrudgingly dragged herself to her room to get dressed, wondering why Ammi had to host the dinner the very night Walid was returning. She has argued with her mother, telling her that it was better to give him and Aleena their privacy and rest but Ammi was adamant.
"He deserves to come home to a warm welcome and home cooked meals. We're his family, Mahrosh."
There was never much arguing that happened when Ammi said something, even if it led to restless nights.
Mahrosh glanced briefly at her reflection once she was dressed. Ammi had picked out her purple gharara, and a bunch of jewelry that Mahrosh expertly ignored. She had been instructed to do something about the mess of her hair too, but she raised the white dupatta over her head and made do, trying the whole time to ignore the thought of the newspaper she had hidden in her cupboard.
The setting sun painted a beautiful picture through the window. Despite knowing that she was supposed to be downstairs, Mahrosh stalled.
She remained in her room for as long as she could — hands subconsciously fiddling with the hem of her sleeves, till she heard her mother calling her downstairs and knew that he had arrived.
