NEHA
Baba said do not leave this place. He said if I did, there would be pain. Lots and lots of pain. I wouldn’t have to bare it, but the woman that was with him would have to.
So I sit. Quietly. Staring into my palms. A drop of water falls in them. Another. And just like that there are too many.
I am crying. I don’t hear myself cry, but I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. I feel the dull ache grow inside my chest.
I want to go home. I want my Mom. I want to play with Tariq.
I have been sitting in this room for too long. My legs have started to ache from being in the same position; my tears have dried off. The sun has begun to set.
Baba never returns.
“Mummy?” someone calls out—a boy, pushing open the door.
When he sees me, he frowns.
“Hi, who are you?” he questions, study
