Free The World Unseen by Shamim Sarif

had stopped, feeling obliged to keep it on. Amina had caught him in mid-decision, and she had nodded briefly, a nod of empathy, underlaid with permission, and he had stared at her, surprised, and then he had removed the jacket and hung it over the back of his chair.
    He looked better without the ill-fitting coat – his shirt was clean and ironed, and showed broad, well-filled shoulders. He was not bad-looking, Amina decided. A strong chin, and broad forehead. He did not seem to her to be particularly intelligent, however, and when he did manage to speak, he deferred to his parents on all matters. These observations were made to fill up her time, for she was not expected to speak unless spoken to, and she was spoken to very little, for her grandmother soon realised that the less that was said about Amina’s daily life the better. The old lady could not draw attention to Amina’s accomplishments in cookery or cleaning or needlework, as she did not seem to have any. Her “work” – and here the old woman remembered that she was still not sure what her granddaughter did for a living, and made a mental note to ask her son later – was not a subject to be brought up before prospective in-laws. It was unseemly and in any event, irrelevant, since after she was married she would no longer be running around working. She thought it prudent to point this out in her own rambling way to the boy and his family.
     
    “I think young girls are just as happy to stay at home these days as they were when I was married. I don’t know why people say they are too modern. They may go out and want to see things for themselves for a while, but I think our girls always find it better to stay at home in the end.”
     
    Amina coughed, while the visiting parents looked surprised, and the boy’s mother leaned forward to examine Amina as though her interest had suddenly been caught.
     
    “Doesn’t Amina work any more then?” she asked Mrs Harjan.
     
    Amina looked with interest from the visitors to her mother, as though waiting for the next line of dialogue in a bad play. Mrs Harjan stuttered something inaudible, and shrank back in her chair until her mother-in-law took over.
     
    “Of course, she works now and then,” her grandmother said smoothly. “But she is with a very good family.”
     
    Everyone at the table looked confused. “A family?” asked the boy. “What about the caf… ”
     
    “Why isn’t anybody eating?” called Mr Harjan from his end of the table. He had not actually noticed whether anyone was eating or not, but could not face a scene at the table with his mother, before these people, about Amina’s work. He shot a warning glance to his daughter, but for once she seemed in no mood to stand up for herself. Mr Harjan was relieved and yet found himself frowning, hardly recognising his daughter in the young woman who sat low in her seat, with a look of resignation about her face.
     
    “Amina,” he said sharply. “Give your Uncle some more rice.”
     
    Amina sat up at once and carefully held the serving plate for the guests. Mr Harjan continued to talk loudly, dominating the conversation with details of his garage, and asking them about their business (a clothing shop) until at last the subject of his daughter seemed to have been left behind.
     
    In the meantime, Amina’s mind wandered far and wide. She stifled a yawn and suddenly realised that a question had been asked and still hung in the air, unanswered. She looked up to find that everyone was looking at her. She took in all the faces at the table, and then fixed her gaze on the boy.
     
    “Did you ask me something?” she said.
     
    A look of mild panic crossed his face. “No,” he said, hesitantly. “That is..my mother was asking how many children you would like.”
     
    Amina looked at him blankly.
     
    “I mean..do you want a large family?” he asked, blushing but determined to finish his attempt at conversation.
     
    “I don’t know,” she