Wanting Mor (Large Print 16pt) by Rukhsana Khan

Author:Rukhsana Khan [Khan, Rukhsana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, JUV030110, Family, Stepfamilies
ISBN: 9781459665064
Google: mLrHnQEACAAJ
Publisher: Readhowyouwant
Published: 2013-05-01T10:28:09.066000+00:00

11

I’MO N a busy street, the same street with Agha Akram’s shop. I see him standing at the front in a clean apron, his arms crossed. I wave but he doesn’t recognize me.

Men and women flow past me. I can barely see their faces. They don’t look at me but their elbows and shoulders jostle me. They are all traveling the wrong way and somehow I must get through. There’s something ahead I must see, and yet I’m not sure what it is.

Through the crowd, I catch a glimpse of the back of Baba’s head. I’m trying to get close to see if it’s really him but he’s walking quickly. It’s hard to get through.

Then Baba turns to say something to someone beside him.

It’s her!

Such a rage boils up inside me. I push my way out to the edge of the crowd, see a good clod of cow dung lying on the ground and pick it up.

It’s easier to make my way along the edges of the crowd. I’m right alongside them. I want them to see me. To know it’s me. So I call them.

They turn in slow motion and with all my might, I hurl it at her. But he steps in the way.

It shatters all over Baba’s face. Dung clings to his hair, his nose, his clothes. And she’s standing beside him as clean as ever.

It was supposed to hit her.

I can’t stand. I fall in a heap, stepped over and stepped on by the crowd. Don’t they feel me beneath their feet? Don’t they know I’m here?

I wipe my eyes and they really are wet. I’m all curled up but it’s not the street, it’s my bed.

Even in my dream he chose her.

Mor was wrong. Being good isn’t enough. You have to be beautiful or at least rich.

And despite the Prophet’s advice (peace be upon him), I am angry. So angry I’m trembling.

The tears flow, and for once I can’t stop them. They’re so hot they could burn me. They make my pillow damp. Some even trickle into my ear.

I try to muffle my sobs. I don’t want to wake Soraya. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to forget.

And when my eyes are all puffy and swollen and I just can’t cry any more, what has changed? What have I solved? Nothing. Anger is for people who can do something about it.

When I stop sobbing, my heart is calm. And when I open my puffy eyes I can see that the light has changed. Dawn is on its way.

Fajr time. I’m ready to pray.

The water is cold and refreshing on my hot face. During prayer I turn all my problems over to Allah. He has all the power. It’s up to Him to take care of me.

Afterwards I go back and lie on my bed. I turn my pillow over so the damp side is away from me. I don’t think I’ll sleep, but before I know it, Soraya’s calling me for breakfast.

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