The silver watch on the wooden table didn't tick. It hissed. A low, metallic sound like a dropped drop of water on a hot iron box. The second hand didn't move forward; it jumped backward, skipping over the letters of my name etched into the silver face. E-S-T-H-E-R. Every time the hand passed the letter R, a sharp, blinding pain shot through my temples, as if a needle was being driven into my brain from the inside out.
"Esther, eat the rice. Before it gets cold," my mother’s voice came from the small kitchen space.
She walked into the sitting room carrying a plastic bowl filled with steaming rice, the scent of cloves and burnt onions heavy in the air. She looked so small, her traditional wrap cloth tied tightly around her waist, her face lined with the deep tracks of years spent under th
