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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17th February 1933
Today, I ran like I have never run before. Had Ammi seen me she would have definitely given me a scolding—
Her khussa chappal pounded against the pavement as she ran. Her black shawl flapped in the wind and she had to hold onto it so it would not fall off her head. Her cheeks were flushed and her arm held securely onto a file that she held to her chest, dodging the people that walked to and fro.
"Hey!"
Mahrosh nearly fell over the carton of amrood*, and before she could get a scolding from the street vendor she quickly gathered them and put the carton back in its place, her ears deaf to the man who was cursing at her.
She was too excited to even reply to him — and with an apologetic smile, she shouted a loud, "I'm sorry! I hope you have a good day!" and ran off again.
The scowls of the sellers and the rush of the marketplace drowned into the background till Mahrosh was only aware of her heart drumming against the file she held close.
Her destination was a rickety store that looked quite out of place between the two bazaars. It was run-down and had a low ceiling; the unpainted brick wall and the litter around it made it invisible to most eyes, and the fainted board that said Khabarkhwan was only noticeable if someone paid particular attention to it.
Through the cracked window Mahrosh could see an old man bent over some papers. He looked up when she walked in.
"Assalamualaikum," she said, fiddling with her file.
The man scowled, pushing back his spectacles. He grunted an inaudible response as he got to his feet and walked towards the pile of freshly printed newspapers.
Mahrosh felt for a second that her heart would jump out of her chest. It pounded profusely against her ribs, her grip tightening on the file.
"It's on page eleven. I had a mind of leaving it out this week —"
Mahrosh did not listen. Every bit of her attention was on the newspaper as she quickly skimmed through it. Page eleven. Page eleven. Page eleven —
She spotted it instantly.
ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜʟʙᴜʟ ᴄʜɪʀᴘꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴅᴀᴡɴ
It was beautiful. The slightly smudged print on the side, the touch of the paper under her skin. Mahrosh' eyes glazed.
Khushi*. If she could give her feeling any word it would be this.
And then her gaze flickered towards the name under the title and her bubble burst.
by Walid Ibrahim
" — when is this Walid Ibrahim going to come himself?"
Mahrosh zoned back to what the editor was saying, and her face must have reddened for the man's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She cleared her throat, feeling the heat of his gaze through his spectacles.
