Ammi made Shazi and Shazeb stay with her older sister Tahira that night. Shazi didn’t ask questions, didn’t protest. Words bubbled up to her lips and threatened to spill out but she bit them back, feeling them wilt on her tongue. Ammi hated it when they questioned her choices, anyway. Shazi often secretly wondered if Ammi was just as insecure as she was.

            Why wouldn’t Ammi just call the police? Surely the officers would help find Abu, and surely anything would be better than sitting at home waiting. Shazi itched to suggest it to Ammi, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything when she saw the fear that swam in Ammi’s eyes. Fear, and something that almost resembled resignation.

            Instead she packed her quilted yellow duffle bag, the one that she and Ammi had bought on an impromptu trip to the mall on the way home from one of Shazeb’s basketball games in a different city. She threw in a couple outfits haphazardly, sure that the visit would only last a day, the whole weekend at most, considering it was Friday evening. By Monday, Shazi told herself, Abu would be back. He had to be.

            Shazi surveyed her bag with a critical eye, checking to make sure she’d packed her toothbrush. She hadn’t been to her aunt’s house on the other side of the city in years, and her cousin Yasmin went to a different school, so the last time she’d seen Yasmin was at a party last year. She bit her lip as she zipped up her toiletry bag and dropped it back into the duffle. Tahira Khala was in many ways an intimidating figure, tall and dark-eyed with long hair dyed deep brown to hide the streaks of gray. Shazi could hardly see the resemblance between the imposing Tahira Khala and fragile Ammi, only caught in glimpses—the same slope to their noses, the same way of jutting out their chins, the same imperious eyebrows. She and Shazeb used to go to their house often when they were little, but a couple of years ago Tahira Khala and Ammi had gotten in a fight—no one knew what it was about—and the visits had stopped. Shazi wondered why they were now going to her home, when she hadn’t seen Ammi and Tahira Khala speak to each other in a long time.

            Ammi patted Shazeb on the arm and gave Shazi a tight hug before sending them on their way. Shazeb swiped his keys off the counter and picked up Shazi’s duffle as well as his own.

            “Bye, Ammi,” Shazi called with feigned cheer. “Love you!”

            She watched Ammi wave back, shutting the door behind them.                                   

--

Shazeb held her hand as they drove to their aunt’s house, left hand on the wheel and right hand squeezing Shazi’s fingers reassuringly. She wanted to pull away when her hand began to ache, but when she glanced over at Shazeb she saw the darkness that swam in his eyes, the fear that he was trying so hard to hide. And so she let him keep her small hand enveloped in his big one, knowing that he was trying so hard to be the good big brother and protect her from the world.

She finally extracted her hand when he pulled into Tahira Khala’s driveway, but he caught her wrist before she could step into the house. “Shazi,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry.” His voice wavered, and Shazi suspected he was trying to assure himself just as much as her. For his sake, she mustered up a smile, and nodded.

            Tahira Khala’s husband Taimoor Uncle was a cardiologist at the same hospital as Abu. Shazi entered to find him sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of chai as he pored over an article in a magazine. Upon noticing her, he stood and smiled, taking her bag from her.

            “Hello, beta. Hungry?” He gestured at the plate of badaam sitting on the table, and Shazi shook her head but took one anyway, suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that he wasn’t wearing the same stern, worried expression that all the adults seemed to have donned. Shazeb closed the door behind himself as he joined her, and Taimoor Uncle led them upstairs.

            “Shahzia beta, I hope you do not mind sharing with my Yasmin for a night,” he said as he pointed at a room on one end of the hallway and placed her bag beside the door. “Unless, of course, you’d rather stay with your brother in the guest room?”

            Shazi shook her head again, numbly. Through the haze that clouded her mind she wondered how such a man could be so very different from his wife as she opened the door to Yasmin’s room.

            The girl certainly knew how to decorate, Shazi thought to herself as she took in the fairy lights and small potted plants that filled the room. The last time Shazi had been in her cousin’s bedroom, it had still been painted purple and covered in Taylor Swift posters. Now, the whole room was themed in cream, gold, and green, from the minimalistic white couch by the window to the pastel virescent bedspread embroidered with an aureate mandala pattern. Her yellow duffle stood out sharply amongst the carefully-plotted color scheme, and Shazi sank down onto the bed, digging her toes into the fuzzy rug as her head began to throb with the beginnings of a headache.

            Suddenly the sound of a faucet switching on interrupted her from her thoughts, and moments later Yasmin emerged from the en suite bathroom. Her thick hair was twisted to the top of her head in a casual messy bun that Shazi had often attempted but had never managed to pull off, and she wore a pale pink Brandy Melville sweater and cropped jeans. Shazi hadn’t seen her cousin since the Eid party at Meher’s house last year, but she looked just the same as before.

            “You’re here!” Yasmin squealed, throwing out her arms for a hug, and Shazi obliged despite the dull pounding at her temples. Even back when they were little and best friends just like their mothers had been, Yasmin had always been the peppy one, the outgoing one, the life of the party. And Shazi had been content to be the calm one, the quiet one, the one who followed all the rules. Now, it seemed, was no different.

            Shazi stepped back from Yasmin’s embrace, forcing a smile. “You look cute.”

            Yasmin grinned back, sweeping her gaze over Shazi’s red sweatshirt and super-skinny jeans. “Aw, thanks. So do you, as always. But seriously, we have to hit the mall tomorrow.”

            “I might have to go home tomorrow and help Ammi,” Shazi replied softly, staring out the window as her head ached and her vision shook a little.

            Her cousin’s smile faltered as she seemed to remember the circumstances. “Oh… right. Um, I’m sorry, by the way. About, you know. I bet he’s okay…” Her voice drifted off.

            Shazi shook her head, tears suddenly stinging her eyes. Where was Abu? Where had he gone? Had he left them, or had something happened to him? The worry hit her like a sharp pang, and she blinked, not wanting to cry, but her eyes watered until they threatened to spill over.

Yasmin sat down beside her on the bed and threw her arms around Shazi’s shoulders, resting the side of her head against Shazi’s. “Aw, it’s okay, Shaz. Here, we’ll do something fun tonight, okay? We can make cookies—Ammi got some cookie dough yesterday! Or maybe we can do a spa night? I just got the best face masks from Lush, and we can do each other’s nails just like we used to, and…” Shazi let Yasmin keep rambling, the sound of Yasmin’s voice somewhat soothing as the rest of Shazi’s world collapsed around her.

She didn’t go home the next day. Or the day after that. One week became two, and Ammi’s phone calls decreased in frequency as her voice rose in panic through the phone.  

Tahira Khala often cast Shazi disapproving glances, as if her very presence was setting off the ambience in her home, or something like that. Yasmin assured her that Tahira Khala wasn’t mean, just strict, but her aunt’s coldness almost made Shazi miss Ammi’s constant nagging. And Taimoor Uncle was a calming presence in the family, just like Abu had been. Her uncle’s gentle smiles and kind ways made the hole in Shazi’s heart throb more than ever before as she realized just how much Taimoor Uncle reminded her of Abu.

Shazeb still drove her to school and often cast her reassuring glances across the dinner table but rarely sought her out to talk, and Shazi suspected he didn’t know what to say to her. She didn’t know what to say to him either. What was there to say that she didn’t already know? Surely silence was better than false hope? Putting the situation into words always made it sound so much worse…

            Instead Shazi pretended she was at Tahira Khala’s house for completely normal reasons, to hang out with her extended family and give Ammi a break. It seemed easier, almost, to think that way. To act like she’d be going home in a week or two to Abu and Ammi, and they’d all laugh together about how cold Tahira Khala had been and insist that their house was nicer than hers.

            So she agreed to go to the mall with Yasmin on the second weekend. It would feel good to just be normal for a few hours, away from Tahira Khala’s prying eyes, Shazi decided. And Yasmin was fun to be around. Judging from the many Polaroid pictures strung up with colored paper clips and fairy lights in her room, Yasmin had lots of friends at the little private school she went to—sort of like Aria Haverly, Shazi thought a little bitterly, but she quickly dismissed the thought. Her cousin had been nothing but nice to her.

            Turns out, she and Yasmin liked the same stores. As they sifted through racks at H&M, she pulled out a light-blue sweater, holding it out in front of Yasmin to see how it looked before dropping it onto her cousin’s growing stack of clothes to try on. In turn, Yasmin selected a violet A-line dress and tossed it to Shazi, grinning.

            “You would look so cute in this,” she sighed, somewhat dreamily. Shazi rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she took in the amount of clothes they’d amassed, and she grabbed Yasmin’s wrist, pulling her towards the fitting rooms.

            “We have way too much stuff,” she said with a laugh. “We should go try this all on, or else we won’t have time to go to any other stores.”

            Yasmin groaned, following Shazi to the fitting rooms with a melodramatic sigh. “Fine.”

            Shazi claimed the fitting room to the left of Yasmin’s, sliding her sweater off over her head as she examined her pile of clothes. She snuck a peek at the mirror, nervous as to what she would see. She loved shopping with Ammi but dreaded trying clothes on in front of her because she always—always—had something critical to say. Stand up straighter, your posture is awful. Stop eating so much before bed! You’re gaining weight. Why aren’t you taller than me yet?

            Shazi bit her lip, unconsciously sucking in her stomach at the sight of her reflection. She’d braided her hair earlier, so it fell in tumbled waves a few inches past her shoulders, the same length she’d always worn it. Her frame was small—she was short for her age—and Shazi peered at her stomach, wondering if this time her waistline had grown. She thought back to the slice of chocolate cake that she’d shared with Yasmin a few nights ago, and grimaced at her image in the full-length mirror.

            “Oh my goodness, I love this shirt!” Yasmin squealed from the neighboring fitting room, snapping Shazi out of her thoughts. She forced a laugh and began to try on the outfits, but somehow, all she could see was how the tight shirts made her stomach show a bulge and how the jeans looked a bit too snug.

            She ended up buying a loose-fitting cardigan, a pink sweater, and the violet-colored dress that Yasmin had found for her earlier. She hadn’t wanted to get it, disliking the way the dress fit closely over her stomach, but Yasmin insisted. Shazi didn’t dare to voice her thoughts out loud, fearing that Yasmin would laugh at her—or worse, agree—so she feigned a smile and purchased the dress.

            Both girls sat contentedly in the back seat of Shazeb’s car on the way home, rifling through their various shopping bags. The afternoon had been fun, despite the way her reflection stared at her in the mirrors with all her faults laid out for her to count. Yasmin had kept her constantly laughing, and she felt a pang of sadness as she remembered how they’d once been best friends, when they were little. What had happened between Ammi and Tahira Khala that had pulled even their daughters apart?

--

            The next weekend, Ammi called, asking Shazi to come home and get all her things. Shazi balked, knowing that bringing all her clothes and accessories to Yasmin’s house suddenly made the move feel so much more permanent, rather than just like a short visit. But Ammi’s voice kept splintering and shaking over the phone, so Shazi didn’t protest and did as she was told, hating the guilty lump in her throat that kept making her wonder if it was selfish to want to go home.

            Shazeb came with her, helping her carry her books and kitschy knickknacks into the car. He teased her about the number of dresses she owned (too many) and made fun of the inspirational quotes that she’d tacked onto her bulletin board (so cheesy), yet Shazi still saw the sadness that swam in his eyes, just below the surface. But she smiled and laughed and rolled her eyes at all the right times, so he wouldn’t know that she’d noticed.

            After he’d gone to his own room to pack up, Shazi sat cross-legged on her bed, studying the barren surface of her dresser. Once cluttered with hair accessories, jewelry, and trinkets, only dust mites now covered it. A lump suddenly appeared in Shazi’s throat and she forced it down, watching the dust float and settle in the faint shafts of afternoon light.

            Wasn’t this just a temporary arrangement? Surely she’d be coming home soon, and then she would have to unpack all over again. Maybe she shouldn’t take so much… Shazi stared out the window at Shazeb’s car and the bags that were thrown haphazardly in the open trunk. It wasn’t too late to put somethings back. Yes, she ought to fix her room. She wouldn’t want Ammi, who was out for lunch with Khala, to see her room and think that Shazi wanted to leave for good.

            “Shahzia Arif!” Shazeb’s mock-whiny voice traveled faintly up the stairs and broke through her thoughts. “Are you done yet?”

            Biting her lip, Shazi swept over the room one last time with her gaze before running downstairs.

            The next day it was announced that the coming Monday, Shazi and Shazeb would be switching to Yasmin’s school.

            Shazi hadn’t protested much.

            All private schools were the same anyway, she told herself, burying the questions about going back home to Ammi. The school would be just like before. Full of girls either trying too hard or being judged by the rest of the grade. Shazi thought of Fern Peterson—the fat girl whose face turned completely red when she sweated—and Bri Haverly, blonde and beautiful. Surely every school was just like hers, complete with the pretty girls and the losers, the gossipers and the victims. Shazi glanced at herself halfheartedly in the mirror as she ran a brush through her dark hair, wondering how she would fall within the dynamics of Yasmin’s Westbrook Academy.

            Yasmin was in the shower, so Shazi took the chance to carefully study the photos that her cousin had hung up around her room. She’d already seen the ones clipped on fairy lights strung over the desk, so Shazi picked up a framed picture off Yasmin’s nightstand, peeking up to check if the door was shut. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, not technically, but a guilty knot twisted in her stomach anyway. It would just be another thing for Tahira Khala to be mad at her for, if she found out that Shazi was snooping.

            The photo wasn’t of Yasmin and her friends from school, Shazi realized belatedly. Before she could set it down, she found herself peering at the image, wiping the thin layer of dust off the glass. A younger Tahira Khala held baby Yasmin in her arms, beside Ammi, who held Shazi. Both wore grins that shone brighter than the matching necklaces that glinted from their collarbones. Shazi inhaled sharply, surprised that Yasmin still had this picture. She’d seen it before, many years ago, back when their families had still spent Eid together. Ammi and Tahira Khala used to always assemble a slideshow with photos from years past, and this picture had been a favorite. Shazi smiled with a touch of bitterness, running her finger over Ammi’s face and tracing her smile. How long had it been since she’d seen Ammi smile that way, full and bright and carefree? So many worry lines had creased Ammi’s once-creamy skin in the past fourteen years of Shazi’s life, she realized with a pang, her heart suddenly aching as she held the framed photo in her hands gently, the way her younger self had held her kite Peela when she’d broken its wing.

            All of a sudden she heard the shower water switch off, and Shazi abruptly set the frame back down on Yasmin’s nightstand, banishing her thoughts.

--

            Yasmin insisted on helping Shazi choose what to wear the next day, rifling around in her walk-in closet and throwing Shazi’s clothes onto hangers as she searched for what she claimed would be “the perfect outfit”. Shazi humored her, helping her dig through her yellow duffle bag and hanging up her clothes onto the left side of Yasmin’s messy closet. Shazi had color-coordinated her closet back at home, but she considered the fact that she must be going home soon despite changing schools, so she wordlessly kept her clothes separate from Yasmin’s.

            Finally, her cousin—who had switched from Shazi’s side of the closet to her own—held up a pale pink cropped turtleneck in one hand and Shazi’s gray button-down corduroy skirt in the other.

            “Found it!” Yasmin squealed, and Shazi had to admit that her cousin was right. Rolling her eyes with an exasperated smile, she replied,

            “Finally! But it’s cute,” she added, taking the sweater from Yasmin. “If we combine our wardrobes just imagine the outfits we’ll come up with.”

            Yasmin grinned. “Obviously. Ugh, go put this on!” She bit his bottom lip, studying the rest of the clothes before selecting a twist-front shirt. “Shaz, I’m wearing your white straight jeans,” she called out from inside the closet, holding up the pants in question.

            “Sure,” Shazi replied without looking, tugging her fleecy pajama top off over her head.  The cropped sweater fit snugly, and Shazi studied her reflection as she pulled the skirt on top of a pair of thin leggings. On an impulse she twisted around to check the tag of the turtleneck, and her stomach knotted when she saw the label. Size M, it read. Medium? Shazi squeezed her eyes shut. Since when had she become a medium? And it was tight, too… Just a few days ago at the mall she’d gotten size-small shirts. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right.

            Yasmin emerged from the closet, and Shazi shook her thoughts away, instead bending down and pretending she had been zipping up her backpack to hide her shaking hands.

--

            Shazeb drove them to school that morning. A pang hit Shazi’s heart when they had gone downstairs for breakfast, the sight of Taimoor Uncle sitting at the kitchen table so reminiscent of Abu that she ached all over with longing for her father. Surely he would want her and Shazeb to stay at home with Ammi? He would tell them to take care of her, make sure that she was still eating right and getting enough sleep.

            She swallowed the lump in her throat and followed Yasmin into the car instead, her backpack slung over one shoulder the way she always carried it. Abu would be back soon. Everything would be normal. And if he found out that it was because she was missing him that she didn’t focus in school, he would be sad. Shazi took a deep breath and blinked the watery veneer from her eyes.

            Westbrook Academy didn’t look all too different from Greene Hill, where Shazi had gone before, and Yasmin’s friends weren’t unkind, exclaiming and complimenting and chattering around her. Although Shazi appreciated the fact that they hadn’t excluded her altogether, she suddenly felt overwhelmed. Like she was underwater, unable to see the sun. Mustering up a smile, she slid her things into her locker and followed Yasmin and a girl named Kallie to their first class.

            The teacher was a middle-aged brunette. Shazi immediately disliked her beady eyes and glowering expression. In a way, she thought wryly, Ms. Simmon reminded her of Tahira Khala. Except for the fact that even with her intimidating, stern demeanor, Tahira Khala was much prettier.

            Ms. Simmon started out the English class by singling her out. “Shahzia Arif?” she called out, focusing her gaze on Shazi with what was probably supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace.

            “Just ‘Shazi’, please,” she replied awkwardly as she sat down in the desk beside Yasmin, adjusting her sweater self-consciously under the teacher’s scrutiny.

            Ms. Simmon didn’t seem to approve of the correction, picking up her clipboard and scribbling something down, scowling. Shazi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was only temporary, she reminded herself. She’d be going home soon, back to Greene Hill and Abu and Ammi.

            Kallie cast Shazi a sympathetic glance. As Ms. Simmon began writing the class’s agenda on the big whiteboard, Kallie whispered, “My real name’s Kallista. It took Simmon a whole quarter to start calling me Kallie instead of that.”

            Shazi smirked, gesturing for Kallie to be quiet as Ms. Simmon turned around. As the class dragged on, she wondered how Shazeb was doing without someone like Yasmin to show him the ropes of Westbrook Academy.

--

            It didn’t take long for her to find out.

            Shazeb was quiet in the car ride home, letting Yasmin and Shazi do most of the talking as Shazi feigned for her cousin’s sake to have enjoyed the day. After Yasmin took off to take a shower, Shazi crept into the guest room as Shazeb dropped his backpack onto the carpet with an exhausted sigh.

            “So?” she asked, infusing her voice with as much brightness as she could muster.

            Shazeb ran a hand through his dark hair, giving her an exasperated look. “So what?”

            Shazi rolled her eyes at him, slumping onto the bed beside him. “So how was Westbrook?”

            “Great,” he replied, and she hesitated, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not.

            “Really?” she shot back, deciding that he had to either be sarcastic or just trying to make her go away. Tugging on the sleeve of his Supreme sweatshirt, Shazi pouted.

            Shazeb sighed again. “Look, it was fine, okay? We might as well get used to it.” As soon as the words left his mouth Shazi could tell that he regretted them. “Don’t be mad. You know what I meant.”

            Shazi’s heart ached at the sentiment. We might as well get used to it. Did her brother really think that they wouldn’t be going home soon? But what about Ammi? Could they really just leave her? Shazi felt a rock settle in her stomach as she realized that she couldn’t remember the last time Ammi had called them.

            “Zizi, I’m sorry,” Shazeb said quietly, begging her with his eyes. “You know what I meant,” he repeated.

            Shazeb was the only person whom she still let call her Zizi. When she was little everyone had called her by the nickname, but when she turned ten she decided that it was too childish and declared that she wanted to be Shazi instead. People sometimes joked that their names—Shazi and Shazeb—were so similar, but she didn’t care.

            But the endearment still unleashed a tide of suppressed feelings, tugging at her heart. It stirred up memories of when she was young and naïve, of when the world had been a cozy, sheltered place. Of lullabies and nursery rhymes and fairy tales. Of how Abu used to tell stories to her and Shazeb when he drove them to school, about how he’d grown up in Pakistan. They used to beg every day for a new story, and it had seemed like Abu never ran out of them. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember when Abu had stopped telling them.

            “Shazeb?” she whispered.

            He met her gaze.

            Shazi’s heart wrenched as memories flooded her gut.

            Shazeb grabbed her hand as she stood up abruptly, suddenly overwhelmed by a torrent of bitterness. “Zizi,” he said quietly, “are you okay?”

            She swallowed, bit her lip to contain the words that threatened to flood out of her mouth. No. No. No.

“I’m fine,” she replied curtly, pulling away from him and closing the door behind her as she left.

            The police came the next week, just when Shazi had thought her life had begun to settle a sort of off-beat rhythm. Just when she’d convinced herself that nothing more would go wrong, that everything was fine. That Abu would be home soon.

Ammi overdosed on her sleeping pills exactly one month, two weeks, and four days after Abu disappeared—Shazi had counted the tallies in her notebook one by one by one, black marks on the stark white paper. The police officers who drove up to Tahira Khala’s house didn’t say much, just handed over the authorized report. Shazi didn’t read the whole thing, just caught sight of an official-looking seal and words, floating all over the paper.

Overdose

            Suicide

                        Dead.

            Tahira Khala didn’t cry. Instead she stood in frozen, paralyzed shock, stormy eyes pinning down the paper in her hands. Her knees buckled forward and suddenly she was kneeling on the ground, the edges of the paper wrinkling in her iron grip. Taimoor Uncle recovered his senses first, extracting the sheet from his wife’s hands, and at last the spell was broken. Yasmin, standing beside Shazi, broke into loud, shuddering sobs, and Shazeb closed his eyes, hands curling into fists, his knuckles cracking. Only Shazi didn’t move.

            She wasn’t sure why the tears wouldn’t come. Wasn’t sure why she just felt numb all over, or why the dull ache that had never left her head seemed stronger than ever. Wasn’t sure why all her limbs suddenly felt so, so heavy.

            And then her denial instinct kicked in, and she ran, screaming, for the paper in Taimoor Uncle’s hands. Ammi isn’t gone, she shrieked. Liars. Why is everyone lying to me? Ammi is okay. She’s at home, waiting for me… I have to go home. I have to go home.

            She lunged forward to snatch the sheet out of his hands, but instead her legs collapsed under her and she fell in a heap onto the Oriental rug, tears finally streaking her cheeks and tangling with her hair. She fought to stand again, huge sobs wreaking her body, but her feet felt like blocks of ice and at last Shazeb wrapped his strong arms around her frail frame, letting her kick and slap him as she cried. Only when her tears had finally dried up did she go limp, burying her face in his chest.

            Normal was gone. Forever gone. That night Shazi curled up on the left side of Yasmin’s queen bed, shaking with unshed tears, mumbling prayers under her breath as she stared out the window facing eastward. She knew Yasmin wasn’t asleep either, from the way she writhed and tossed, but her cousin did not speak and neither did Shazi. Instead, they both lay awake on opposite sides of the bed, each grappling their own demons, until at last the tendrils of moonlight creeping through the window drew their eyes shut and their hearts still.

--

            Shazi didn’t want to go to Ammi’s funeral. She hated mourners, hated the tears—genuine or not— that dotted everyone’s cheeks by the time the eulogies were over. Hated the way she knew people would judge Ammi for ending her life. Hated the fact that aunties who’d seemed to be Ammi’s friends would quietly gossip about Shazi’s family. About where Ammi’s husband was. About what would happen to the kids.

            But Tahira Khala made her go, shooting her a withering glance through dry eyes. Tahira hadn’t cried, Shazi thought rebelliously as she glared back at her aunt, too broken to care about offending her.

            Yasmin picked her way down the stairs, dressed in a short black dress and black leggings. Shazi glanced down at her own dress—long, black, and lacy—and felt the prick of tears at her eyes as she remembered that she’d picked out the dress with Ammi for Abu-ji’s funeral, after a long day at the mall. Ammi had gotten them both frozen yogurt, she recalled. They’d gone into nearly every one of the trendy shops looking for the perfect dress, carrying their melting frozen yogurts as they rifled through the racks of clothes. Shazeb hadn’t been allowed to come on this shopping trip to get a new suit, Shazi thought to herself, heart stinging. Ammi had said that this was a girls only excursion, and when Shazeb retorted that that was sexist, Ammi had replied that Abu could always take him shopping too. A tiny, bittersweet smile crept up Shazi’s face at the memory, like honeyed thorns. She dug her nails into her palm as a familiar tide of grief washed over her from head to toes. It seemed like now, she appreciated everything that Ammi had done so much more than before… She’d never thanked her mother for so many things, Shazi realized suddenly, sinking into a chair as she felt her legs tremble. Never thanked her for always checking Shazi’s math homework. Never thanked her for dinner every night. Never thanked her for doing the laundry, or for cleaning up Shazi’s room every week when Shazi couldn’t be bothered to do it herself. Never thanked her for kissing her hands when she cut them on glass, or for worrying day and night when Shazi went on overnight field trips. Never thanked her for sending Shazi to the best school in the region.

            With that, Shazi began to cry again, smudging her makeup into a dark mess. She scrubbed it all off with a makeup remover wipe before Tahira Khala could see, and decided to forego the heavy eyeliner and mascara that she was sure the other girls at the funeral would be wearing. She would only ruin it again, anyway.

            Shazi kept her eyes closed throughout the whole funeral, her right hand locked in Yasmin’s and her left clutching Shazeb’s. Shazeb squeezed her fingers so tightly she thought they would break, but she didn’t pull away, feeling the pressure on her hand as a constant reminder that she was still alive, still okay. Still breathing.

            The aunties offered their vague platitudes and condolences but Shazi had no heart to hear their lies and fake words. Instead she retreated to Taimoor Uncle’s Mercedes as soon as the procession finished, not even staying to hear Shazeb’s speech. He’d agreed to speak. Shazi had refused. What was the point? It wasn’t like Ammi could hear her. It wasn’t like anyone in the audience actually cared about her mother. It wasn’t like it mattered, anyway.

            Why had Ammi done this? Shazi had asked herself that question countless times within the past two weeks. Ammi had always been the most devout one in their family. Always had been scared of pain, too. Shazi remembered Ammi crying over minor scrapes and bruises. Hadn’t she been afraid, when counting out those tiny sleeping pills one by one into her frail palm? Hadn’t she feared, when placing them onto her tongue and swallowing?

            Shazi stared at her hands, picking at the remaining splinters of polish on her nails. Had Ammi thought of her children before she fell asleep for the last time? Had Ammi remembered her and Shazeb, staying at Tahira Khala’s house, waiting for Ammi to come and bring them home?

            What if she hadn’t remembered?

            Or what if she was like Abu, knowing that they loved her but leaving all the same?

            Shazi squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering at the thought and fighting off the sobs that threatened to choke her in the heavy silence. She pressed her face against the leather seats, letting their chill seep into her skin as outside it began to snow.

--

            Another month wore on. The front page in Shazi’s notebook was beginning to fill with the neat black marks drawn in meticulous rows. She’d heard Tahira Khala and Taimoor Uncle discuss her in hushed tones, whispering that perhaps they should hide her notebook so she wouldn’t constantly be counting the days. Shazi wasn’t sure how they’d found out about her tallies. Perhaps it was Yasmin who’d told them. Perhaps it was Shazeb, but she doubted it, considering he rarely even spoke to her nowadays. Since returning from the funeral, he’d been distant, quiet. Like a ghost. Her throat constricted. She’d lost her father and mother. She didn’t want to lose her brother too.

            She tore her gaze back to her Mac, the essay she’d written for English class open on her screen. In conclusion, one of the themes of the novel Lord of the Flies by WilShazeb Golding is that humans will do anything when desperate to survive. Shazi buried her toes in Yasmin’s fuzzy carpet, feeling the cold even through her no-show socks. Was that true? To survive, would people really do anything? What if sometimes survival was torture? She shook her head, driving off the thoughts that still often toyed with her mind. Like a dark and sickly-sweet perfume, clogging her senses until all she could think of was why Ammi was gone. Why Abu was gone. Where they’d gone. If, wherever they were, they still remembered their only daughter.

            Suddenly, in a fit of anger, she snatched the book from its hiding place in her duffle bag, thrown in a corner. Most of her things had already been integrated into Yasmin’s room—her clothes hung on the left side of the walk-in closet, her toothbrush sat on the left side of the sink, her textbooks on the left side of the desk—but the notebook had remained buried deep in her duffle. Like something sacred. Shazi held the book in shaking hands, fury running through her veins as she stared at the tallies that filled the page. If Abu loved her and Shazeb at all, she told herself, he wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t have abandoned them. Her heart squeezed as she wondered if he even knew Ammi was gone. If he even cared.

            Why was she counting the days that Abu had been gone if he didn’t even think about her? Why was she still holding onto him? She counted the marks. It had been two months. Two months, three weeks, and six days. One day away from three months, she realized. One more day.

            She watched the paper crumple in her grip, and finally, before she could stop herself, she ripped it straight through the middle, watching the jagged line tear through the paper like the chasm between her and Abu. On an impulse, she kept ripping, until finally her hands were filled with tiny broken splinters of paper and it felt like her heart had been torn to shreds too.

            Yasmin came upstairs a few minutes later to find Shazi sitting at the desk, her Mac open in front of her, eyes hollow. She asked quietly what was wrong, but when Shazi shook her head, Yasmin nodded and headed to the bathroom. Only when she heard the sound of the shower turning on did Shazi finally bury her face in her hands and cry.

            No one asked that night at dinner about Shazi’s red eyes and blotchy cheeks, but she saw the exchanged glances passed between Tahira Khala and Taimoor Uncle, and after she’d placed her dishes in the sink and excused herself, Taimoor Uncle stopped her.

            “Shahzia, beta, wait a minute.”

            She paused at the bottom of the stairs, and he quickly got up from his seat and hurried after her to Yasmin’s room. He followed her in, sitting down on the bed beside her. She turned to him, waiting for him to speak, suddenly irrationally afraid that he was angry at her. She didn’t want him to be angry.

            He didn’t say a word, just sat beside her. The silence settled uncomfortably over both of them, and Shazi played with a strand of her dark hair, looking anywhere but at him. Her hair was growing long, she thought to herself. Abu had always wanted her to have long hair, but she’d never had the patience to let it grow past the middle of her back.

            “How is school?” Taimoor Uncle’s voice startled her from her thoughts.

            “Fine,” Shazi replied, unsure where the conversation was going. “Good, I mean. I have A+’s in all my classes,” she added, wanted to please him. Taimoor had been nothing but kind to her. And her words were true—she was acing all her classes, feigning joy at the 100s written in bold red at the top of her test papers, acting happy when she sat at lunch with Yasmin and Kallie and their friends, all for the sake of seeming normal. Normal, Shazi thought, was exhausting.

            He smiled. “Of course. And how are you? Are you happy?”

            That hadn’t been the question Shazi had expected. She nodded numbly, the textbook answer jumping to her lips. Yes, Taimoor Uncle. I love it here. She opened her mouth to say the words, but no sound came out. She tried again, but only managed a whimper. Tears welled up in her eyes at the blatant lie.

            Taimoor Uncle’s gaze fell upon Yasmin’s overflowing trash can by the desk. Shazi cursed inwardly, wishing she would’ve thought to hide the shreds of paper better… Instead, Taimoor Uncle stared at the torn pieces of notebook paper, tarnished by countless little black lines. He didn’t speak.

            “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

            Taimoor Uncle turned to look at her, his eyes serious. “For what, beta? For grieving? We all grieve.”

            Shazi closed her eyes, her stomach twisting into knots. We all grieve. Before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out of her mouth, words that had been swallowed down for far too long. “Then why didn’t Tahira Khala cry?” She slapped a hand over her lips a second too late, after the sentence had already escaped. Tears leaked out from under the floodgates of her eyelids.

            To her surprise, Taimoor Uncle laughed. “Your Tahira Khala is a funny woman,” he replied. “I believe she is the true head of this house. I am her servant. I do not know all her motives, but I believe she is a kind woman at heart.”

            Despite herself, Shazi cracked a smile through her tear-stained cheeks.

            Taimoor Uncle did not try to console her. Instead, he said quietly, “Yasmin, she is a good girl. Tahira is strong—you know that. You are tougher than you think. You will all be okay.” He paused, studying her reaction. Shazi’s dark eyes met his, and she was momentarily stunned by the sincerity in his gaze. “But beta, I need you to talk to your brother.”

            Shazeb?

           Shazeb is fine, Uncle, she wanted to say. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t fear. He’s the tough one, not me. He made the tennis team at school last week, she wanted to say. He’s coping. He’s moving on. How can you think me tough but Shazeb not?

            He seemed to read her mind. “He hurts just as much as you, Shahzia. Perhaps more. He just shows it differently.”

            She bit her lip. “He won’t talk to me, Uncle,” she confessed, searching a clump of her hair for defects. Shazeb is as far gone from me as Abu is, she realized. Like a split end. Emerging from the same piece of healthy hair, but broken in two different directions.

            Taimoor Uncle rested his hand on hers, gently pulling it away from her hair. “Beta. Please. He misses you. Believe me.”

            She bit her lip. You are tougher than you think. “Okay.”

            Shazi’s dreams were turbulent that night. Ammi’s deep brown eyes swam in a haze of confusion and fractured mirrors. Abu watched her amid flaming papers, covered in little black lines. Shazeb stood on the other side of a coursing river, and when Shazi dipped her fingers into the water, they emerged coated in blood. She woke the next morning tangled in Yasmin’s green sheets, her mouth dry. Yasmin sat on the opposite side of the bed, eyes full of concern.

            “You okay, Shaz?”

            Shazi forced a smile, and found that this time it came a little more naturally. “Yeah. Just a nightmare, that’s all. I’m good.”

            Yasmin studied her for a moment before standing up, running a hot pink brush through her thick hair. Suddenly, on an impulse, Shazi asked, “Yasmin? Should I cut my hair?”

            Her cousin turned around, surprised, tilting her head in consideration. “It’s getting kind of long, yeah. But… I like it this way. You should grow it out a little more.”

            A lump formed in Shazi’s throat but she quickly forced it down. Abu had once said the same words, so many, many, many tally marks ago. Instead, she grinned back at Yasmin. “If you insist.”

            “Come help me pick out my outfit,” Yasmin replied, not seeming to notice that anything had been amiss. Then, after a beat, she added, “I’m… I’m glad you’re here. It’s like having a sister.”

            Shazi blinked, stunned to find that finally her eyes seemed to have dried up. Yasmin’s words didn’t sting, the way they might’ve hurt a few weeks ago, a reminder of the family she’d lost. Today, they simply felt buoyant. Like a new beginning. A fresh start. She smiled back. “You know what? Me too.”

--

            Shazeb had stopped driving her to and from school since they’d moved to Tahira Khala’s home. She rarely saw him anymore; not at school, where she often found herself surrounded by Yasmin and her friends, nor at home, where Shazeb shut himself in his room for hours on end, doing who-knows-what. Homework, he claimed.

            That day after she arrived home off the bus, Shazi took a deep breath, steeling herself. Nerves stormed her stomach like a typhoon, and she clenched her fists to keep them from shaking, from betraying how her heart pounded.

            Yasmin gave her an encouraging look as Shazi climbed up the stairs towards the guest room. Funny—even after all these months she still viewed Shazeb’s room in the house as the guest room. Like he didn’t really belong in this family. Like she didn’t belong, either. Shazi’s heart ached at the thought.

            She raised her hand to knock on the door, but then stilled. Back before, she would’ve barged into his room without a second thought, even though he’d hated it when she did that. She would’ve screamed at him, “Why are you ignoring me? You’re my brother, Shazeb! You’re supposed to be here for me!” The words dried in her throat as she stared at the door to the room, one of the many, many barriers that had sprung up between her and him.

            At last she twisted the knob. It clicked into place—locked. Shazi closed her eyes, trying to dissipate the icy claws that wrapped around her lungs. Taking another breath, she lifted her fist and knocked.

            Shazeb didn’t answer.

            She tried again, in vain. Shazi sunk to the floor, leaning her back against the door, hugging her knees to her chest. “I know you’re in there,” she whispered. “Open up, Bhaiya.”

            No reply. She pressed her ear against the door to listen for sounds of him inside, but she heard nothing. No signs that her big brother was even alive.

            Shazi’s eyes widened. “Shazeb!” she snapped sharply. “Shazeb, open up!”

            His door remained stubbornly shut. Each minute passing felt like a wrench twisting at her heart, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs as she heard footsteps approaching from behind her. Expecting Yasmin, Shazi quickly rubbed the tears from her cheeks and smoothed back her hair. But instead, she turned around to find Tahira Khala towering above her.

            “Come on,” Tahira Khala said quietly. “He’s not going to open the door, beta.”

            It was perhaps the kindest Shazi’s aunt had been to her since her arrival three months ago. Not that she was mean, just that Tahira rarely went out of her way to speak privately to her, and when she did, it usually meant that Shazi had done something wrong. This time, she reached out her hand to help Shazi up, leading her into the master bedroom.

            This was the one room in the house that Shazi had never been in before. The furnishings were similar to the rest of the house—elegant and lavish but still practical. Tahira Khala motioned for Shazi to sit beside her on the loveseat by the window, sweeping her long, dark hair all over one shoulder.

            “I know Taimoor talked to you about Shazeb,” she said frankly, meeting Shazi’s questioning gaze. “I told him not to press you.”

            Shazi wrinkled her brow and waited for her aunt to continue.

            Tahira Khala obliged, closing her eyes and sighing. “I told him siblings cannot read each other’s minds. That sometimes we all need some space from each other.”

            Shazi found herself nodding, hesitantly. Tahira Khala’s voice was nothing like Ammi’s. Ammi had a voice like petals floating in the wind, yet Tahira Khala’s was more like thick honey sliding down a stained-glass pane.

            “There is a reason Shazeb has not sought you out, Shahzia,” Tahira Khala continued. “We just do not know it yet. But believe me when I say it is not your fault. Do not worry yourself over him.” Her gaze was sympathetic as she looked at Shazi. When she spoke again, it was so softly that Shazi wasn’t sure if she’d misheard. “You have your ammi’s eyes.”

            Shazi’s head snapped up, startled. She blinked, steeled her courage, and finally blurted out the question that she couldn’t contain any longer. “Why do you never talk about Ammi?”

            She was quiet for a beat. “Your ammi was a stubborn woman,” she said at last. “And so am I.”

           Shazi didn’t reply, thinking that her aunt would elaborate. But instead Tahira Khala stood up, running her glossy nails through her hair. “You should get downstairs,” she said at last. “Or else Taimoor and Yasmin will be worrying.” She paused at the doorway, hovering for just a moment as if deciding whether or not to speak again. “Shahzia? You look very pretty today.” With that, she strode out the room, leaving Shazi drowning in unanswered questions and suddenly realizing how starved her heart had been for a mother’s love.

            Friday night, Shazi and Yasmin stayed up late painting their nails on Yasmin’s bed and watching a trashy Netflix show. Yasmin selected a creamy polish to paint tiny polka dots on top of Shazi’s already-coral-colored toes, carefully drawing the pattern as so not to smudge them. “This would go really well with that pinkish-orange shirt we got at the mall last week,” she remarked as she dipped the little brush into the polish.

            Shazi grinned. One benefit of rooming with Yasmin was sharing her clothes—and she had to admit, her cousin had impeccable fashion sense. “How are you so good at painting nails? I can never get the edges that neat.”

            Yasmin smirked. “Practice,” she replied, holding out her fingernails for Shazi to admire, which had been done in red, green, and white to make a watermelon design. Shazi smiled to herself. It was still April, but Yasmin seemed to already be ready for summer, from her wardrobe to her nails.

            She clicked off the Netflix show as the episode came to an end, groaning. “This is so overrated. It’s not nearly as good as Cassidy said.”

            “I know right?” Yasmin replied, rolling her eyes. She paused to study her handiwork as she drew the last polka dot, dropping the brush back into the cream-colored polish. “Hey, let’s play Truth or Dare.”

            Shazi bit her lip, hesitating, a little nagging feeling in her stomach saying that this might not be the best idea. Finally, she sighed and nodded. “Okay. You go first. Truth or dare? ”

            Yasmin grinned. “Truth.”

            “Hmm. If you had to marry one of the guys from our grade, who would it be?” Shazi smirked at her cousin.

            Yasmin groaned. “Shh, don’t let Ammi hear!” She glanced at the door cautiously before whispering, “Probably Tim,” she admitted, blushing. “Have you seen his eyes?”

            Shazi laughed. “Fair point. And that jawline?” Both girls burst into giggles.

            “Anyway,” Yasmin continued, “your turn. Truth or dare?”

            Feeling bold, Shazi replied, “Dare.” It was just a game, right? Nothing could go wrong. She was getting stronger, she reminded herself. She could handle it. You are tougher than you think.

            Yasmin raised her eyebrows. “Okay. Um. I dare you… to go knock on Abu and Ammi’s door! And then run away when they open up.” She gave Shazi a smug look.

            “Okay, fine,” Shazi replied, her pulse quickening at the thought of disturbing and angering Tahira Khala. Before she could talk herself out of it, she sprung up from the bed and ran across the hallway. Tapping twice on the master bedroom door, she turned tail and fled into Yasmin’s room before she could even find out if Tahira Khala and Taimoor Uncle had heard her knock. Heart pounding, she slid back onto the bed, glad that her toes were covered in quick-dry polish. “There, I did it.”

            Yasmin rolled her eyes at Shazi, smiling. “You know Abu’s in his office downstairs and Ammi’s watching a show in the basement, right?”

            Shazi gaped at her. “Yasmin! You scared me for nothing!” Lunging at her cousin, she shrieked, “I hope you’re ticklish!”

            “Nooo!” Yasmin curled into a ball on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest as she tried to twist away from Shazi, both girls out of breath from laughing.

            When they finally went to sleep that night, exhausted, Shazi succumbed to sleep within moments, feeling like maybe—just maybe—she might belong here.

--

            The next morning Shazi woke at dawn, just as sunlight began seeping through the gauzy curtains. Yasmin was still sound asleep, her long hair pulled back from her face with a velvet scrunchie. Shazi felt her heart swell, the emptiness that had once swamped her insides slowly beginning to fill again. She stared at the door, realizing that there was just one barrier left. One thing stopping her broken self from being taped back together—imperfect, but still whole.

            Bhaiya. I miss you. What happened to the boy who held my hand during the drive to Tahira Khala’s house? I remember he told me not to worry. But I am worried, Bhaiya. I’m worried about you.

            Before her rational side could tell her that Shazeb was probably still asleep, or that he wouldn’t want to see her anyway, she’d hopped out of bed and pulled a long cardigan over her fuzzy pajamas. Shazeb’s door was shut, as always. Probably locked, too. Shazi swallowed. Placed her hand on the knob. Twisted, already expecting it to resist.

            Instead, today, it swung open.

            Shazeb sat on the bed—not asleep either. His hair was mussed, and the dark rings beneath his eyes indicated that he too hadn’t gotten much sleep. He didn’t seem to notice Shazi’s entrance, his eyes hollow and empty.

            “Bhaiya?”

            There came no reply. Shazi’s voice sounded dusty in the still air, creaky from disuse.

            “Shazeb?” She tried again, dropping the respectful name for her big brother. “Shazeb, I know you can hear me.” Shazi stood in the doorway, her thin figure leaning against the doorframe, stomach knotting as she watched this shell of her brother. She remembered Shazeb’s sixteenth birthday, the last birthday they’d spent with Abu and Ammi. They’d gone out for dinner, ordering a chocolate mousse cake and bringing it back home to eat. Abu had handed Shazeb the knife, saying that he was old enough to cut his own cake. Old enough to take care of himself, and his sister too. A real man. Shazi had impatiently told him to just hurry up and cut the cake. In her memory, it was the best cake she’d ever tasted.

            The Shazeb hunched over on the bed didn’t look like a man to Shazi. Just a boy, who’d lost his way and couldn’t find the path home. She stared down at her coral-colored toes as she realized that this was home to her, now. Not Tahira Khala’s house, or Yasmin’s house. This was her home. And despite everything, these people were her only family left. She wanted to stay.

            On an impulse, she shut the door and sat on the floor beside her big brother, noticing the way he flinched when she approached him. Like a scared animal, in one of those documentary films about taming wild beasts that she’d watched with Yasmin out of pure boredom. Like Shazi was the predator and Shazeb was the prey.

            Her eyes stung at the thought, her lungs suddenly feeling so very heavy. “Bhaiya? Why won’t you talk to me anymore?”

            Shazeb didn’t reply. Simply closed his eyes and turned his back to her.

            “No! Stop! Stop turning away—don’t you see?” Shazi’s voice splintered as she grabbed onto Shazeb’s wrist. “It’s not doing you any good to run away from your problems, Bhaiya.”

Three months ago, Shazeb would’ve called said yes, Shazi, I’m running away from you because you’re one of my problems. And she would’ve chased him around the whole house until both of them collapsed from exhaustion and laughter. Today, there was nothing.

            Shazi swallowed. “Why are you ignoring me, Bhaiya?” She’d meant to challenge him. To blame him for not taking care of her. Instead, her voice came out in a whisper. She breathed in, then out. Felt her emotions bubble up in her throat until finally she couldn’t contain the words that spilled from her mouth. “Why do you hate me? I’m your sister, Shazeb! I need you back!”

            The question pierced the fragile dawn. Shazeb sat, a dark silhouette amidst the scattered shards of sunlight, and Shazi knelt beside him, her face hidden by her tresses of black hair. The silence felt so tangible, it could’ve punctured her heart. Perhaps it already had.

            Without waiting for Shazeb to speak, Shazi stood up and walked out of the room. In the hallway, her legs gave way beneath her, and she fell into Taimoor Uncle’s waiting embrace.

            “I am sorry, beta,” he whispered into her hair.

            She cried in his arms.

--

            Breakfast was just as usual. Tahira Khala had left already for brunch with the aunties at Tasnim’s house, and Taimoor Uncle ate in his office, typing away at his laptop. Yasmin and Shazi served themselves cereal and milk, watching the next episode of the Netflix show as they ate.

            “Okay, this show is awful, but you have to admit it’s really addicting,” Yasmin sighed as she poured milk into her bowl.

            Shazi rolled her eyes, nodding. “The plot is trash, but I’m kind of attached to the characters now.”

            Both girls snickered as the main character, Heidi, fell down the stairs. “Oh my goodness!” Shazi squealed. “I hope she’s not dead.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized what she’d said, and the famiShazir pang seized at her stomach. Ammi was dead. Abu was gone. Her brother was a broken vessel. Shazi blinked and bit back a shuddering breath, relieved that during this morning’s scene, Yasmin had still been sound asleep.

            Not noticing that anything was wrong, Yasmin dumped a handful of chocolate chips into her bowl, sighing with exaggerated relief when Heidi stood up and brushed herself off. Shazi smiled at her cousin’s antics, but this time, her lopsided grin felt a little more strained than usual.

            After Tahira Khala had come home and taken Yasmin to her violin lesson, Taimoor Uncle knocked gently on Shazi’s door. She opened it, admitting him in, chewing nervously on her lip in preparation for the talk that would surely be about what she’d done that morning. Instead, Taimoor Uncle sat down on her bed beside her and handed her a manila folder. Shazi saw the sympathy that welled up so freely in his eyes, the grief that had bitten wrinkles into his forehead, and suddenly her pulse felt off-kilter, unbalanced. Like the world was spinning too fast for her head to keep up.

            She accepted the folder with shaking hands.

            It seemed so inconspicuous.

            So innocuous.

            Just a sheaf of papers covered in messily scrawled writing, and a couple of envelopes. Shazi’s eyes widened when she saw that one of them bore her name, scratched in Abu’s distorted handwriting. Her gaze flitted back to the first page, the letter that she’d barely glanced at.

To my dear Shazeb and Shahzia,

            Your ammi must have already told you that I have left. I know you are probably angry, or upset. Please know that this is not because of you. To leave you behind pains me greatly, but I know that this is for the best. I do not wish for you to see your ammi and me fight. I believe that would hurt you more. I wished to file a divorce, however, she said no. But I cannot bear to live with her any longer as man and wife, pretending that all is well. I beg you to understand my choice.

            I have left some things for you in the envelopes labeled with your names. I love you both, forever and always.

Your abu,

Muhammed Imran Arif

            Shazi slammed her hands over her mouth as her stomach flipped. She dry-heaved, panting for breath as she trembled, a feather in the wind. Broken by the slightest touch.

            Why had Ammi not said anything?

            She wrenched her eyes shut, fighting the sobs that threatened to wrack her body. She’d never, ever seen them fight. Never heard raised voices, or angry shouts. Never knew that Abu had wanted a divorce.

            Tears melted down her cheeks. She felt Taimoor Uncle wrap his arms around her shoulders, holding her close, and she pummeled him weakly with her fists, pushing him away. He would only leave her too, she thought. Everyone she loved would leave her. Just like Abu. Just like Ammi. Just like Shazeb.

            Shazi buried her hand in her hands, not caring that her tears splattered the letter, leaving damp circles like bullet holes on Abu’s parting words. Was this why Ammi had refused to call the police? Was this why Shazeb would no longer speak to her after the funeral? Had he always known? Was she the only one who’d been stumbling blindly in the dark this whole time, wondering where Abu was, and if he was okay?

            She thought back to her tallies that she’d kept so carefully, and the shreds of paper that she’d clenched in her fists. A rainstorm poured out of her eyes. The world pressed in until its pressure bore down so heavily on her shoulders that she couldn’t breathe, and this time when Taimoor Uncle placed a hand on her shivering shoulder, she didn’t pull away.

            “Why?” she choked out, her head buried on his chest. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

            He smoothed her hair gently. “Beta, your ammi wanted to protect you and your brother. So she bore the secret all alone.”

She sniffled, her heartbeat hesitant. Almost asking for permission, begging her to keep on breathing. Through Taimoor Uncle’s shirt, she could feel his pulse, steady and strong. Keeping her anchored.

“The police gave the folder to Shazeb after the funeral, when you’d already left,” he explained softly. “He chose to do what your ammi did, and keep the secret from you. He was protecting you all along, beta.” Taimoor sighed. “Your Tahira Khala and I only found out about this yesterday. When she was putting Shazeb’s laundry away, she saw the folder in his drawer. We weren’t sure when to tell you, but after what happened this morning, I thought it would be better for you to know.”

Shazi’s eyes were hollow. All her tears were gone, empty. Was this really better? Was knowing that Abu and Ammi weren’t in love anymore better than not knowing what had happened to her father?  She wondered if he had a new wife now. A new family. If he still remembered his children. If he still thought about the wife he’d abandoned.

She lifted her envelope, but her arms felt like lead weights and she couldn’t tear it open. Taimoor Uncle gently pried it from her fingers and ripped it open at the top. Shazi watched as a picture and a check tumbled into her lap.

$10,000 to my dearest daughter Shahzia Imran Arif, read the check. Shazi held the thin paper in her hands. What was she to do with so much money? She slid it back into the envelope, anger stinging at her heart. Was he trying to buy back her love? She closed her eyes. She did love him, still. Nothing could change that. But at the same time, she hated him. For leaving, for abandoning her. For not saying goodbye.

Is it possible, she asked herself, to love and hate someone at the same time? She gripped the picture tightly in her hands. She was little, sitting on Abu’s shoulders, eyes alight with joy and the innocence of youth. Shazeb was trying to photobomb, making a blurry funny face in the background, and Ammi stood in the corner of the image, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at Shazeb. Shazi shivered, running her fingers over the picture, caressing each face that was now gone, forever. Memories, she thought, were worth so much more than what money could buy.

When Yasmin returned half an hour later, she found Shazi sitting on the bed, cheeks wet, the picture held tightly in her hands. Yasmin hugged her cousin wordlessly, no questions asked. Shazi leaned her head against Yasmin’s, feeling the cold that gripped her veins slowly beginning to dispel. Maybe, she thought, everything could be normal again. Maybe.

That night, when a hush had fallen over the house, Shazi lay awake, listening to the cicadas chirping outside. Sleep wouldn’t come, so she quietly got to her feet, careful not to wake Yasmin as she slid her feet onto the fuzzy rug. Unsure where her feet were carrying her, Shazi found herself in the kitchen downstairs, not daring to turn on the light. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of water from the pantry, sitting down at the kitchen table and twisting off the lid. Funny—she used to be scared of the dark, before everything happened. Before coming here. Now, the dark was the least of her fears. The corners of Shazi’s lips dragged upwards in a smile at the irony. Footsteps startled her out of her reverie, and she turned around to see Tahira Khala’s tall silhouette pace into the room. She didn’t fear Tahira anymore either, she realized. So many of her fears from before seemed so insignificant now. So childish.

“You could not sleep either?” her aunt asked with a sigh, settling into a chair across the table from Shazi.

She nodded.

Tahira Khala gave her a wry look. “You’re lucky it’s a Sunday tomorrow. Or else I would make you go back to sleep.”

Shazi felt the beginnings of a smile pull at her face. “I haven’t been sleeping that well lately,” she admitted.

“I know,” Tahira Khala replied. “Neither have I.” She stood up and fetched a mug from the cupboard, pausing before she shut it. “Beta? Tea?”

Shazi shook her head. “No thanks.”

As Tahira set water to boil, she glanced back over at Shazi. “Taimoor said he showed you the folder.”

            “Yeah,” she replied, surprised at how steady her voice sounded in the hazy darkness.

            Her aunt rejoined her at the table, dropping a teabag into the steaming water and pouring in a generous amount of sugar. “You know,” she said quietly, “that’s why your ammi and I fought. Because of your abu.”

            Shazi met Tahira Khala’s searching gaze, startled.

            “I think you ought to know,” Tahira said simply. “I saw him with another woman. I told Samira. She did not believe me.” Her voice hardened. “And look what happened.”

            She stared. That fight had occurred so many years ago, when Shazi was perhaps only nine or ten. How long had Abu’s infidelity been going on? Shazi’s heart ached, but she was sad to find that she wasn’t surprised. Only disgusted.

            Had their happy family been an act? Had all those smiles exchanged, and jokes told, and comforting hugs been forced? Shazi felt her stomach twist as she realized it was possible that Abu had other kids. Her half siblings. Suddenly, the darkness seemed to choke her.

            Tahira Khala’s voice pierced through the fog. “Shahzia, beta, I’m sorry.”

            Shazi blinked, and she could breathe again. “It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but she couldn’t say that. Instead she let a wobbly smile find her lips. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

            More footsteps penetrated the tentative silence. Tahira Khala glanced upwards. “Are we having a party down here today?”

            Shazi cracked a grin. “I hope not. I’m getting a little tired, to think of it.”

            Her aunt laughed quietly. It was a pretty sound, Shazi realized all of a sudden. So different from Ammi’s laugh but so familiar all the same. In Shazi’s memory, no one would ever have a more beautiful laugh than Ammi, but Tahira Khala came close. “Then you should head up to bed, beta. I think I will do some reading down here.”

            “Okay.” Shazi stood up, screwing the lid back onto her water bottle as more shuffling sounds came from upstairs. Probably Taimoor Uncle or Yasmin, waking up to go to the bathroom, she decided. Shazi paused by the doorway and glanced back at Tahira Khala, whispering, “Thank you.” And then she disappeared up the stairs.

            The sound was coming from Shazeb’s room. It was all too evident as Shazi reached the top of the stairs that the frantic scraping noises were from her brother, and she took a deep breath before placing her hand on his doorknob. Whispering a prayer under her breath, she twisted.

            It opened on the first try.

            Like he’d been waiting for someone. Waiting for her.

            Shazi’s stomach clenched as the door slid ajar.

            Shazeb stood inside, all the drawers in his dresser pulled out, clothes and books lying all over the floor. Eyes crazed under the hesitant moonlight.

            He stared at her as she entered his room, stepping carefully to avoid the mess. “It’s gone,” he breathed, wild gaze meeting hers. She closed her eyes.

            “I know,” she whispered back. “I know all of it.”

            Shazeb stood silent. Shazi felt tears spring to her eyes. At last he opened up his arms, reaching out to her, and she ran into his embrace, all angry words melting on her tongue. Bhaiya, she sobbed into his chest. Bhaiya, I missed you.

            When the sun rose the next day, Shazi’s heart felt so full it was ready to burst.