The Bookish Hijabi Writes

"Where is Adn?" I slumped onto the dastarkhwan, my knee brushing Amma's. "You’ve been asking for someone every time, Ramal Jaan." Amma smiled behind her teacup. Not a trace of last night’s vulnerability lingered on her face. "He’s burning with fever." Her shrug was too light. "Pata nahi kya ho gaya bachhe ko." My fingers froze around the cup. Could it be... because of what I told him? Iman’s brow arched. I shook my head quickly and reached for a cup to make Iman's coffee—less milk, extra caramel—but my hands trembled. The caramel swirled like the guilt in my gut. "Where’s Adn's room, Amma Jaan?" Iman’s voice broke my reverie. "Pari will guide you." Amma waved to a maid hovering nearby. --- The room reeked of tiger balm and sweat. Even the curtain couldn’t block the noon sun’s glare. As I entered behind Pari, my gaze fell on the wreck wrapped in sheets on a charpoy. His face burned a rich scarlet, his dark lips chap...

• EPISODE 5 • ~ INOSENT ~ RECAP: The first aid box sat atop another—this one wrapped in glittery gift paper. What could it be? Could I open it? Would Amma allow me? Every bit of the box screamed : I am mysterious. Curiosity always brought the worst out of me. I stole a glance at Iman—busy on his phone, maybe checking emails— and opened the box with a soft click. The world around me stilled. And my lungs locked mid-breath. Folded in it with great care were my stupid childhood drawings—ones I had left behind in my room’s dustbin the night I’d fled. Now they blinked back at me, narrating a silent story of how Amma had picked them out of the trash and placed them here with sheer love and care. But that wasn’t the only inhabitant of this mysterious box. There was a paper and a pencil too. Which was the greatest joke of the century. Because Amma didn’t know how to write. Time and again, I had tried to teach her. But she would always pinch her nose and say, “Mujh buddhi ko likhna seekh kar ky...

Recap: "Wait." I gasped. "Is this a real fight?" "Yes." His chest heaved. Hair clung to his sweat-soaked brow. Fury coiled in his eyes like serpents.  There was no trace of the boy who used to bandage my knees after our lathi duels. He hissed, "I want to kill you, Ramal." For a second, I couldn't breathe.  | Episode 4 | • C/W : Slight mention of abuse in Ramal's past •   "Why?" I whispered. "Why do you hate me so much, Adn? The loathing in his face crushed my heart into pulp. "You ran away. Left us. You tainted our izzat. Our ghairat." His fists clenched—then he threw the lathi aside. Advanced with bare hands. "You betrayed me." I raised a trembling hand as I pushed myself up. "I didn’t." "You did!" he yelled. "I used to be proud of you. Of your intelligence. Your modesty. Your haya. I used to boast: my sister is the most pakdaman in the village. And you... you became a wh—"...

  Episode 3 Of Wolves and Lathis “Where’s Iman Sahab?” That was my first question as I sat at the dining table. “He ate earlier,” Adn said. “Meaning?” I folded my arms. “Meaning, I made him eat earlier so he wouldn’t have to sit with us.” “Sahi kiya. We are not going to admit be-sharmi,” Abba said, looking up from his plate of biryani for the first time. My vision blurred at the sound of his voice. Donning a turban and pathani suit, yet never as intimidating as Taya, my Abba had once been an engineer — until Taya dragged him into this rotting feudal world. “If he’s my husband,” I said softly, “how is this be-sharmi, Abba?” “Stay in your limits, Ramal,” he ground his teeth, his mustache twitching from the force. “You’ve already troubled us enough. Our reputation. Our honor. Sab mitti mein mila diya tu ne.” “Then why invite me? Just to lecture me?” “Enough!” Taya entered. The air in the dining room thinned as he thundered in. “You’ll see why we invited you soon.” My legs turned to je...