Page 212 - Till the Last Breath . . .

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Zarah Mirza

It was a gloomy morning, like many before. Muted light from the tinted

windows of her bedroom made patterns on the mosaic floor. Her parents
were back again and finally, she had figured out the reason behind the

uncalled-for surprise drop-ins. Last night, her mother had dropped in five
names, all doctors, who were really fond of the picture they had been sent.

It was a picture of her from a wedding she had been dragged to by her
mom. She was in a red embellished saree and carried a Chanel handbag—a
gift from her mother—which her mom had bought for herself during her

trip to Europe the year before. The photo had all three of them, but it had
been cropped.

The recent visits had been bothersome. Her dad had tried to initiate
conversation with her every time they were alone and she would feel
queasy and nauseated.

Groggily, she stepped out of her room and called out to her mom. She
was nowhere to be seen. After checking the kitchen, the balcony and the

washrooms, she finally asked her dad.
‘Where is Mom?’ she asked.

‘She has gone to the nearby masjid to pray for you. I think she will be
back in half an hour,’ he said and put the newspaper by his side.

‘Okay,’ she acknowledged and turned on her heel.
‘Zarah?’ her dad called out.
‘Yes?’

‘Can we talk? Will you sit with me for a while?’ he asked. Zarah looked
at him with revulsion. Every inch of her body wanted to run away from the