Written in the Stars (15 page)

B
y the well behind the house. Tonight.

By now he’s read the note. Is he there right now? I look out the window. The sun set hours ago, darkness stretching as far as I can see.

“What is the matter with you?”

I turn around. It’s Nasim. She’s sitting in the living room. The television is on at full volume, but she’s watching me, her arms crossed.

“You’ve been staring out that window for the past ten minutes.”

I turn to her. “Sorry, I just got lost in thought.”

Amin is reading a newspaper on the love seat. His eyebrows furrow in concentration. I sit down next to him.

Why won’t anyone go to sleep tonight? I look up at the wall clock. It’s only nine o’clock. Why does it feel like midnight?

“I forgot to tell you”—Nasim’s eyes return to the bright screen—“your mother called for you while you were in the shower. She said she will try again tomorrow afternoon.”

I swallow and nod, but say nothing.

“She called every day this week,” Amin says quietly.

“I can’t talk to any of them.”

“You can’t shut them out forever.”

“I’ll try my best to.”

“I know they’ve betrayed you.” He glances around and lowers his voice more. “But they’re your parents—they love you. I picked up the phone yesterday, and, Naila, I can hear the pain in her voice when I make excuses for why you can’t answer the phone. They know you’re avoiding them.”

Good,
I say to myself.

“My mother asked me today if something happened. She’s going to figure out pretty soon why you’re in the bathroom, or doing something outside, and unavailable, whenever the phone rings.”

“You want me to talk to them and pretend I am okay with everything? I can’t do that, Amin.”

“I’m upset with them too. But at the end of the day, you only get the two parents you’re given. I already lost one, and I can tell you once they are gone, it’s too late for regrets.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“What are you two gossiping about?” I look up. Saba is staring at us from across the room.

“It’s between us,” Amin says calmly. He turns back to me. “By the way, are you sure you don’t want to come along with me on the business trip? I could see if I could book you a seat.”

“Oh, that.” I turn to look at him. I had forgotten all about his trip. “You leave tomorrow?”

“It’s all expenses paid. You’ve never been to Karachi—might be a fun few days.”

“You’ll be busy with meetings.” I force a smile. “I don’t want to wander the city alone.”

“Well, we need a vacation. When I get back, we’ll plan one. Anywhere you want.”

He describes mountainside villas and sunny resorts, but all I can think of is the darkness outside. Saif is there.

“I’ll be right back.” I get up.

Amin looks at me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just need a drink of water.”

Instead of the kitchen, I make my way to the bedroom. I know I need to play it cool, but each passing minute feels like ten. I need to splash water on my face. Take a few deep breaths. Or else they will not just have suspicions, but certainty, that something is up.

I shut the door behind me. Immediately there is a knock.

Feiza. She pokes her head in. “Can we go a little earlier tomorrow?”

“Where?”

“The market. I heard they’re getting a new shipment of produce.”

“Sure.” I look down at my hands. “That’s fine.”

“Are you okay?” Feiza asks. “Your face is flushed.” She walks over and presses her hand against my forehead. “No fever. That’s strange.”

“I know.” I walk over to the sofa and sit down. “No fever. I just don’t feel well.”

A look of worry shadows her face. “You’ve been looking unwell for some time now,” she murmurs. Suddenly her eyes light up. “Oh! I understand!”

My heart skips a beat. “What do you understand?”

“You’ve been in your bed more than I’ve ever seen you. You threw up yesterday, didn’t you? I noticed how you ran out of the kitchen so suddenly. I remember when I began feeling sick for no good reason!”

I frown at her excitement until I realize what she means. “No,” I tell her. “That’s not it. I think it’s the heat. It affects everyone.”

Feiza places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s hard to know when you’ve never felt it before, but I have a good feeling about this. Get some rest. I’ll go to the market myself.” She pats my hand and leaves the bedroom.

I keep my face frozen in a neutral expression until Feiza leaves. As soon as she’s gone, I jump up and lock the door tightly. My face flushes. I’ve pushed it far from my mind and most of the time I can even pretend it’s not real, but Feiza’s words bring my reality back into sharp focus.

My hands tremble as I walk into the bathroom.

I knew within a few weeks after returning to Amin’s house that something was different. I tried denying it, I made excuses for my growing fatigue, my delayed period. But when the first wave of nausea overtook me shortly after, I could deny it no more. I’m pregnant.

Save the one night I try my best to forget, Amin has not touched me. He understands that while I may go along with this marriage, I will do nothing more. To his credit, he has never mentioned the possibility of doing otherwise. But now, though he doesn’t know it, whether I want it or not, he has linked my fate to his for life.

I turn the faucet on and cup my hands under the cold water before splashing it on my face. I’ve been so careful. I force myself to get out of bed. I pretend to enjoy the food Nasim makes each morning. I even made sure to turn on the shower and faucets when I had to throw up, hoping no one would hear. All so no one would question, no one would suspect.

I press a hand against my stomach—still flat, not revealing a hint of what now lies inside. If I’ve accepted my place here, there’s no reason to keep it a secret—but each time I’ve tried to say something, the words won’t come. Maybe I’m hoping if I can just keep pretending it’s not happening, if I just don’t say it out loud, somehow it won’t be real.

I pace the room. I have found ways to make life bearable the past few months. Like sitting on the balcony on cool afternoons when the clouds hide the sun, watching the horizon expand before me, or at night, trying to decipher the stars that fill up the sky. Amin brings American movies home for us to watch, or we watch Indian ones that are slowly growing on me with their fantasies of singing in gardens and bathing in waterfalls.

I thought I had accepted it all.

I look outside at the oppressive darkness. My chest hurts. I need to see Saif. I need to hear his voice. Talk to him. Just for a little while. I swallow. And then, I have to tell him how different things now are. How they can never be the same again.

* * *

It is eleven o’clock. Saba lets out a yawn.

“Are you coming to bed?” Amin asks. He stands up and rubs his eyes.

“I’ll be there soon,” I tell him. I watch him go to the bedroom.

An hour later, I am alone. I listen for a moment—silence.

I walk to the door leading to the verandah. I take a deep breath and turn off the lights. I press gently until the door parts, then close it soundlessly behind me. The cloudy night obscures all the stars tonight. Aside from the rustle of leaves in the breeze, I hear nothing but silence.

Reaching out my hands, I walk, feeling for the well until my fingers finally press against the cool touch of brick. I brush my hand against its rough exterior and look back at the house. It’s disappeared into the darkness on this moonless night.

Just then, I hear a movement and step back. There’s someone on the other side of the well, standing just across from me.

I can’t breathe.

“Is it you?” His voice is soft and hesitant. “Naila.” He walks toward me.

In the silent darkness, without the hustle-bustle of the market, the crying toddler in my arms, with nothing to distract me, the full reality of the situation hits me. This nonhallucination, this real, concrete human being is Saif.

I place a hand on the well. He is so close to me now I can make out the contour of his jaw, the bridge of his nose.

“Saif, what are you doing here?” The English words feel foreign to my tongue.

He touches my hand. I flinch, pulling my hands away. No. I can’t let him touch me. If hearing him say my name hurts this much, I won’t survive the aftermath of his touch. I might never be able to let go.

“I can’t believe this.” His voice sounds hoarse. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He moves closer. “Naila, what’s the matter? Why won’t you look at me?”

All day I thought of what I’d say to him when I finally saw him. I rehearsed every point I would bring up. I promised myself to be strong, to speak gently but firmly, to thank him for coming, and to let him know that he needed to go home because it was now too late. But standing in front of him, I realize the prepared speech is impossible. No matter what has happened in the past few months, this is still Saif. I never could lie to him. It’s useless now to try.

“I don’t know what to say,” I finally tell him. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t put into words what it means to me that you came . . .” Struggling, I continue, “The short version is, I tried to escape, but they found me. It was awful, but it’s better now. I mean, I’m trying to accept it. I’m trying to make my peace with it.” My voice breaks. “Saif, you shouldn’t be here. If anyone finds out why you’re here, you won’t be safe.”

“What are you talking about, Naila? This isn’t your life. It’s over now. You don’t have to make your peace with anything.”

“No. I have accepted this. I didn’t at first. I hated it here. I prayed every day . . . every day I prayed that you would find me.” I brush away hot tears welling in my eyes.

“Naila, please listen to me. I tried so hard to find you. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t for one minute ever forget you.”

I shake my head and press a hand on the rough exterior of the well to steady myself.

“I tried to do everything I could think of,” he says. “I called the embassy every day. I begged them to look for you. But for the longest time, I didn’t know where you were. I knew you were close to Lahore, but I had no idea which town. I had no idea there were so many towns! I drove to your parents’ house every day. I waited for them to come back. I went to them, Naila, your parents. I knocked on your door.” He laughs bitterly. “Remember how you used to say it would be so intimidating to meet them? Remember I said I’d win them over with a smile?

“I begged them. I begged them to tell me where you were. I sat on your front porch step and I told them I wouldn’t leave until they told me. They stopped opening the door. Forgive me, Naila, but I yelled at your parents. I banged on their door in the middle of the night. I yelled at them for what they did to you.” His voice broke. “I did everything I could—they wouldn’t help me.”

“Good. I’m glad you yelled at them,” I say quietly. “Maybe it reminded them they had a daughter.”

This time I don’t object as he slips his hand into mine. “When I got your letter, I thought, What is this? That’s not you. This isn’t Naila. These aren’t her words. She doesn’t talk like this! I didn’t care what that letter said. You had to know me enough to know I wouldn’t listen to what you said in it.

“Your brother finally helped me. He slipped out a window and told me to meet him in the woods one evening. He told me everything. You know he still feels guilty? As if all of this is his fault. He promised to help me. He finally found your address hidden in a notebook in a drawer in their bedroom. As soon I had that, I came.”

“How?” I ask him. “How could you get here all by yourself?”

“My father is here too. He booked our flight as soon as I had an address. We met with the numberdaar of the village next to this town. We’ve been paying him to stay at his place. It took a month. But I finally found you.”

I press my back against the wall and close my eyes. I want the pain to stop. The dark, empty well behind me suddenly feels inviting, enticing. I wish to simply stand at its precipice, to close my eyes, dive in, and escape the pain of the moment I fear will never subside.

He tried. Even when I gave up, he never stopped trying. And yet, he failed. I want to rest my head on his shoulders. I want him to wrap his chador around me. Every atom of my being wills me to meld into him and never let go.

“Naila”—his voice wavers—“what is it? You don’t want to stay here, do you?”

“It’s not that.” I shake my head. “It’s just not that simple.”

“Why not? I’m here. We can leave now. Why does it have to be any more complicated than that?”

“There are risks.”

“I knew there were going to be risks when I came. Those are just risks we’ll have to take.”

“There’s more.” I don’t know how to tell him, but I do know I want to remember how he looks at me right now so I can have it to remember later, when he might not be able to look at me in the same way.

“Listen.” He fidgets and clears his throat. “If things have changed for you—if your feelings about me aren’t the same, that’s still not a reason to stay.”

“My feelings?” I stare at him. “How could you even think that? I love you. I always have. It’s just—”

Suddenly, he leans down; his lips press against mine.

Pull away.

But no part of me knows how. After all these months, he’s still Saif. I run my fingers through his hair, trace the outline of his face—

And then I kiss him back.

For the first time since I arrived in this house, since I accepted I had no choice but to accept, I finally let myself cry. He wraps his arms around me. I lean my head against his chest. Something shifts inside me.

I can’t do this anymore.

Even if Saif can’t bear the burden of what I must tell him. Even if it changes everything between us. Even if it’s dangerous to leave, I have to. For me. For this child.

And yet, I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t want to tell him.

“Saif, I’m pregnant.”

He pulls away for a moment. My heart drops. I knew this would be too much to handle. He never signed up for any of this. But just then his arms encircle me, and he pulls me close to him.