Free Written in the Stars by Aisha Saeed

like that.” I lean over and hug her. “I’m just so tired of it. I mean, it’s nice, everyone is so friendly, but it’s annoying to always have to entertain people.”
    “The chai is almost out,” my khala calls out from the drawing room in a singsong voice loud enough for me to hear.
    I step into the drawing room and find a smaller group this time. I set the tray down on the coffee table.
    “Naila, come join us,” my mother says. I look up for Selma, but she has disappeared behind the kitchen door.
    “We were just talking about you,” the female visitor says as I sit down next to my mother on the corner couch. She’s wearing a pink outfit with pearl earrings. I look at the others. Her husband, round in shape with a long graying beard, sits next to my father. “How are you liking it here in Pakistan?” the woman asks.
    “I like it,” I respond.
    “It’s wonderful you speak Urdu so well. Your parents did a good job. Do you know how to sew and stitch as well?”
    I stare at her. I’ve been asked many strange questions, but this is the first time anyone has asked me this.
    “Naila,” my mother finally says, “go check on Selma. See what she’s up to.”
    I’m so sick of these gatherings. I want my own life back. Hot tears threaten to emerge. I walk past the TV room. My girl cousins, even Selma, are watching television. I glance outside.
    The rain has stopped.
    I don’t think. I don’t let myself second-guess. I need to get out of here. Gripping my purse, I unlatch the front door and slip outside, shutting it quietly behind me. A gentle mist envelops me as I make my way down the road, trying my best to stay on the small patches of grass, avoiding the puddles filling potholes in the street.
    A group of children are playing cricket on the grassy field across the street. Cries of cheating and arguments drift through the air toward me. Except for them, the damp roads are empty. I walk past the small stores selling sweets and groceries until I reach the last store on the street. I glance around, but the street remains empty. I slip behind the store and press open my phone, dialing his number. I will tell him everything. I need a comforting voice, someone who will just tell me everything will be okay.
    “This is ridiculous!” His loud voice hurts my ears. “Are you going to let them just tell you what to do?”
    “What do you want me to say to them? I’ve tried everything—they’re not listening!”
    “You have to keep trying! You can’t take no for an answer.”
    “If I could do something, I would. You know I’ve been trying. I just don’t know what else to do. I feel so powerless.” Tears flood my face.
    “Wait, Naila, no, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell at you. I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated. I’m worried.” He pauses. “I love you.”
    * * *
    I make my way back to the house, fighting back tears. I’ve done my best to be positive, to make the best of this situation, but I can’t push away the heavy feeling pressing down on me like I’m suffocating. I unlatch the metal gate to my uncle’s home. I try my best to appear calm and unaffected, but my chest feels as if it might burst from pain.
    I’m so far away from Saif.
    I stare up at this house. It’s my father’s home too. It’s my home, they tell me. But right now, all I can see is a large cinder box that traps me inside.

Chapter 20
    N o one seems to have noticed my absence. My cousins are still watching television. The guests have left, and my mother is in deep conversation with my aunts. I head to the bedroom I share with Selma.
    I need to be alone.
    The curtains are drawn over the windows. The room is pitch-dark. Pressing my purse close to me, I drop to the floor at the foot of the bed. I hug my arms around my knees. My tears soak through the fabric of my clothes.
    “Naila?”
    The door creaks open. A small slice of light cuts through the darkened room.
    “It’s me . . .” Selma’s voice