The Bookish Hijabi Writes

  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...

  EPISODE -  2   "Home, sweet home." Adn glanced at me from the car mirror, his lips curled in a coy smile. I sniffed and stared out of the window. Plants of corn and wheat swayed in the fields, farmers and their wives carrying barley on their heads. Walking in single file. Kids with and without underwears laughing, playing in dust. Their limbs a rich shade of bronze and sunshine. It was all too familiar. I sniffed again. "Caught a cold, Ram?" Iman said lightly from the passenger seat, but his eyes betrayed how closely he was watching me. I tried to smile. "Yes." He tossed his handkerchief at me with a flair and let out a dramatic sigh. "Take care. You get hideous when you catch cold." Adn coughed. My gaze turned to his back. "What?" I asked. "Our family is a bit miffed about you, Iman. You may have to.. keep a bit distance from Ramal." Iman stole a look back at me, like a scolded child, his eyebrow rose asking — really ? I ...

 IZZAT: THE NAME OF MY CAGE Born with wings. Buried in silence. A thriller. A tragedy. A family horror. I stopped dead in my tracks. A choked sound escaped my lips. “You shouldn’t be here!” He turned. A smile twisted his features, baring his teeth and making his dragon tattoo seem alive. “Shouldn’t I?” he whispered. “I’ve found you. Finally .” A shudder ran down my spine. Yet I puffed my chest. “You can’t. You were the one who-” “-who had nearly died while chasing you, yes? Well, unlucky for you, I’m not dead.” “Adn!” I hissed.  “Don’t ever say that again.” From my peripheral vision, I spotted a dupatta peeking behind the curtain of our neighbour’s house. My jaw twitched. Khansaa . Always yearning for gossip material. Adn coughed in front of me. “Won’t you invite me for tea? Sister, dear.” From his dark, thick lips, the word sister sounded like a cuss word. “Come.” I tightened my fist, pushed him aside, and fumbled through my purse for the key. Adn loomed behind me. His eyes b...

I strolled onto the rooftop, seeking solace under the open sky.  Above me, the heavens had donned their nightly gown—an endless cloak of darkness adorned with countless shimmering gemstones, each one winking softly as if sharing secrets with the wind. Yet, it wasn’t the stars that held my gaze.  It was the moon—a silver orb of mystery, bathing the world in its cold, indifferent light. Its glow caressed the buildings around me, including the magnificent Shaykh-ul-Hind Library, standing like a sentinel of knowledge and faith. To its left, Masjid e Rasheed stood proud, towering in its spiritual grace, gleaming faintly under the moonlight.  These forts of faith whispered stories of our Akaabir, the heroes who bled for our freedom, who gave their lives so we could breathe in the open air. But my thoughts strayed to another place, another tragedy. My heart tightened as my gaze returned to the moon.  You were there, I thought bitterly. You must have watched it all....

            Mother, I didn’t visit your grave, for I knew you never died. Whoever announced your death spoke a lie. It wasn’t you who faded— it was a color that dulled, a flower that withered, the sun that bled and finally set. Do they still believe it was you? Nonsense! Nothing has changed in you. Every bit of your blood flows through my veins, carrying all your scars and flaws. Your fingers breathe through my hands, wearing your worn and weathered touch. Your scent lingers in my limbs, drawing their attention to you. Whatever I cook, whatever I prepare, I enter the same kitchen you once graced with your presence. When I peel an onion, I feel your tears welling up  in my eyes. When I try a new recipe, I find you leaning against the basin, stirring the gravy. Nothing has altered in the haven you sheltered. When my brother cracks a joke, I find you smiling on my lips. When he fusses, your scowl reflects in me. Your heartbeat thrums within my chest. Your...