Puranay Rastay ✓

chapter ‣ 17a

Something was amiss. It was noticeable from the very first day, and only increased as the week progressed. Her silence had returned, her spirit had grown dull, her appetite had taken a nosedive. Returning to college was supposed to make her happy, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Did someone say something insensitive?

Worst case scenarios churned in my stomach, increasing my worries. It could be a word, a query, a passing comment, anything. When your entire being was wounded, even a gentle touch could cause piercing pain.

I knew this from my own life.

The offenses held against me were that my father was unalive, and that I was two shades darker than the rest of my family. These two things coupled with my non-confrontational nature, became the factors that determined how I was to be treated; the subject of teasing and jokes at school, last to be chosen in games and project groupings, oftentimes mistaken as the house help and treated as harshly as they were-which itself is a transgression against humanity-and generally considered inferior to others.

Anyone could wield the deadly weapon of words and stab one another, I knew, and it ached me to wonder what Rida was attacked with. Whatever it was, it was enough to drive her to the roof again and again.

I found her there at fajr on Saturday, leaning against the wall, staring into the distance. I found her there the next morning, and the next, and then next. Standing as motionless as a statue, her eyes staring at the world ahead of her. It was very easy to get lost into the happenings of the city, watching vehicles zoom by, the hustle and bustle of the people; unaware, unbothered as they kept on going. I had stood in the same spot numerous times, distracting myself, praying to God, talking to God. I knew what a respite it was, what a momentary distraction it could be.

Seeing her there each time made me want to reach out, offer her a kind word, let her feel like she wasn't alone. I would turn away every time until the morning I couldn't.

"Why are you here?" I asked, stopping a few feet away from her, our eyes staring towards the horizon.

She wasn't surprised. She knew the roof was my domain, and the moments she was burrowing were reserved for me. Every minute she was there, I couldn't be.

"I came looking for the same thing you come here for." Her tone had a hint of humor, as if she was teasing me.

I fought back the grin threatening to curve my lips. Ever since that day I had escaped here in my frustrated and anxious state, I had found a place I could claim as my own, a place where I could talk out loud to God and not fear anyone hearing me through the walls. The words I spoke would blow away with the wind, disappearing as if they had never existed before. This place was where I spoke, where I mattered. These short walls didn't restrain me, didn't judge me. Here I could be Khaled, and nothing else.

I didn't care when others started teasing me for disappearing to the roof, I didn't care when they questioned me about why, or what I sought out to see there. I didn't care about the rolled eyes or side looks, the roof was my escape and I claimed it fiercely; which is why Yasir, the keeper of the pigeons on the roof had shifted their care to me.

"Why are you here?" I asked again, hoping she'll offer more.

"I'm looking for peace, the same one you have." She didn't look my way, almost as if she was talking to herself.

My eyes caught onto a cart carrying salted dry fruits and corn on the cob, passing by the military check post dividing the narrow street in two. Anyone entering the cantonment area was scrutinized for being a possible threat in perhaps the safest area of the sprawling city of gardens.