Fatima Farheen Mirza - A Place for Us

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2018 by Fatima Farheen Mirza

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by SJP for Hogarth, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

crownpublishing.com

HOGARTH is a trademark of the Random House Group Limited, and the H and SJP colophons are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN9781524763558

Ebook ISBN9781524763572

International ISBN9780525575825

Cover design by Christopher Brand and Elena Giavaldi

Cover illustration (moon) by THE PALMER/DigitalVision Vectors/Getty Images

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In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful

For my parents, Shereen & Mohammed,

who taught me that love is an ever-expanding force

And for my brothers, Mohsin, Ali-Moosa, Mahdi,

who call me home

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,

I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

WALT WHITMAN, TO A STRANGER

A S AMAR WATCHED THE HALL FILL WITH GUESTS ARRIVING for his sisters wedding, he promised himself he would stay. It was his duty tonight to greet them. A simple task, one he told himself he could do well, and he took pride in stepping forward to shake the hands of the men or hold his hand over his heart to pay the women respect. He hadnt expected his smile to mirror those who seemed happy to see him. Nor had he anticipated the startling comfort in the familiarity of their faces. It had really been three years. Had it not been for his sisters call, he might have allowed even more years to pass before summoning the courage to return.

He touched his tie to make sure it was centered. He smoothed down his hair, as if a stray strand would be enough to call attention, give him away. An old family friend called out his name and hugged him. What would he tell them if they asked where he had been, and how he was doing? The sounds of the shenai started up to signal the commencement of Hadias wedding and suddenly the hall was brought to life. There, beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers and surrounded by the bright colors of the womens dresses, Amar thought maybe he had been right to come. He could convince them allthe familiar faces, his mother who he sensed checking on him as she moved about, his father who maintained his distancehe could even convince himself, that he belonged here, that he could wear the suit and play the part, be who he had been before, and assume his role tonight as brother of the bride.

IT HAD BEEN Hadias decision to invite him. She watched her sister Huda get ready and hoped it had not been a mistake. That morning Hadia had woken with her brother on her mind and all day she willed herself to think as other brides mustthat she would be using the word husband when speaking of Tariq now, that after years of wondering if they would make it to this moment, they had arrived. What she had not even dared to believe possible for her was coming true: marrying a man she had chosen for herself.

Amar had come as she had hoped. But when she was shocked at the sight of him she realized she never actually believed he would. Three years had passed with no news from him. On the day she told her parents she would invite him she had not allowed herself to pray, Please God, have him come, but only, Please God, let my father not deny me this. She had practiced her words until her delivery was so steady and confident any onlooker would think she was a woman who effortlessly declared her wishes.

Huda finished applying her lipstick and was fastening the pin of her silver hijab. She looked beautiful, dressed in a navy sari stitched with silver beadwork, the same sari that a handful of Hadias closest friends would be wearing. There was an excitement about her sister that Hadia could not muster for herself.

Will you keep an eye on him tonight? Hadia asked.

Huda held her arm up to slip rows of silver bangles over her wrist, each one falling with a click. She turned from the mirror to face Hadia.

Why did you call him if you didnt want him to come?

Hadia studied her hands, covered in dark henna. She pressed her fingernails into her arm.

Its my wedding day.

An obvious statement, but it was true. It did not matter if she had not heard from her brother in years, she could not imagine this day without him. But relief at the sight of Amar brought with it that old shadow of worry for him.

Will you call him here? Hadia said. And when he comes, will you give us a moment alone?

She returned Hudas gaze then. And though Huda looked briefly hurt, she didnt ask Hadia to share what she was, and always had been, excluded from.

AS SHE GLIDED between guests and stopped to hug women she had not yet greeted, it occurred to Layla that this was what she might have pictured her life to look like once, when her children were young and she knew who her family would contain but not what life would be like for them. She walked with a straight back and careful smile and felt this event was hers as much as it was her daughters. And Amar was nearby. She looked to him between conversations, tracked his movement across the hall, checked his face for any displeasure.

The wedding was coming together wonderfully. People were arriving on time. There was a table for mango juice and pineapple juice and another for appetizers, replenished as soon as the items were lifted from the platter. White orchids spilled from tall glass vases on every table. Little golden pouches of gifts waited on each seat for guests to claim. Huda had helped Layla make them and they had stayed awake late into the night, singing a little as they filled each one with almonds and various chocolates. The hall was grandshe had chosen it with Hadia months agoand as she walked beneath its arches into the main hall she was pleased with her decision. It had been dimmer when they first saw it, but now it looked like the set of a movie, high ceilings and every chandelier twinkling so bright they seemed to compete with one another to illuminate the room. Men looked sharp in their dark suits and sherwanis, women dressed so that every shade of color was represented, light reflecting off of their beadwork and threadwork. Layla wished her parents had been alive to see it. How proud they would be, how happy to attend the wedding of their first grandchild. But tonight even their absence could not dull all she had to be grateful for, and beneath her breath she continued to repeat,