‘Congratulations!’
It was the first word Saba heard when she entered the supervisor’s office. The first word that would be the cause of her nightmares for the next few days.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Saba said pulling out a chair and sitting in front of Mr. Razzaq.
‘I haven’t submitted the draft yet, so I really don’t understand the cause, unless,’ she paused to sip more tea from the styrofoam cup.
‘Unless that was sarcasm,’ she continued, munching on the last piece of samosa.
‘I’ve never liked the kind of tea you’re drinking.’ Mr. Razzaq pointed at the cup in her hand with the tea bag thread dangling on the side. ‘The taste isn’t good, and the cheap disposable container just ruins the experience.’
Saba smiled at the man’s attempt to appease her aesthetics. Ever since she joined the editorial board of her university’s newsroom, news of her being a published author spread like wildfire. It wasn’t long before the faculty members started asking her to host the Annual Literary Festival at the campus. Mr. Razzaq had first met her after she had just finished reciting a poem.
‘I write poetry too,’ he had said trying to praise her for her eloquence and Saba had asked him to share some of his writings with her. He probably would have, had they existed in the first place.
Knobbly, gnome-like, the supervisor was just one of the few people Saba did not like in the university. She could list a million things that were better than trying to have a conversation with him. A lot of students taking up research in the department suckered up to him in hopes of getting a good placement, or a recommendation but people pleasing was just the kind of thing she abhorred.
‘It’s a pity you won’t let me have a kettle in my office,’ Saba tried to be polite but failed miserably.
‘I suppose I should. Now that you’ve earned the privilege,’ Mr. Razzaq turned towards the printer and picked up a paper from the tray.
‘I wonder what I did to upset you this time,’ she said looking at the clock anxiously. 5:20 P.M. It was almost sunset and she did not want to hear another lecture about how girls should be inside their houses before Maghrib.
Twenty minutes to go before dad starts acting like Liam Neeson from Taken.
‘Here it is,’ Mr. Razzaq said as he handed the paper to Saba.
‘Here’s what,’ she retorted and her forced smile turned into a gasp.
‘Well?’
‘Are you sure it’s for me?’ She looked at the supervisor, waiting for him to clear any signs of confusion.
‘It’s yours. An offer for a fellowship paid in full.’
The news had not been a source of joy and pride for her. Instead, it had caused chaos in her house. She was called twice by her mother on her way from the university and a cold stare by her father upon entering the threshold.
‘How many times do we need to tell you that you need to be at home before dark,’ said her mother as Saba wiped her freshly washed face and covered her head with a dupatta. She remained quiet as she hastily unrolled the prayer mat for the dusk prayer.
Joining her family at the dinner table, Saba broke the news.
‘Guess what happened today,’ she sang the last word.
‘You topped another exam,’ her brother, Shahzeb, said in a dry voice without looking away from the TV screen.
‘Or she got a star from one of her teachers,’ teased her little sister, handing her a chapati.
Ignoring the remarks, she yearned for her parent’s attention.
‘Mom, dad, you’d want to listen to what I have to say,’ she said as her mother sat beside her and her father switched off the television ignoring the wincing of Shahzeb.
‘I’m listening,’ her father smiled.
‘I got a scholarship to Germany!’ Saba’s voice rose a few decibels.
‘You’re kidding,’ her father smiled, taking off his spectacles and wiping the sweat of his brow.
‘Here’s the letter,’ Saba perched from her chair to hand her father a small piece of paper.
‘She’s not going anywhere,’ her mother snatched it midway. She rose from the table with a foul look on her face as though her worst nightmare had come true and stomped out of the dining hall.
‘Mom…’ Saba called after her but was stopped by her dad who reassured her that he would take care of the situation.
‘Eat up. I’ll go talk to your mother,’ said her father in a low voice before walking out of the room.
… to be continued [3/4]
wasn’t. We only had a few hours and the sun was racing against the horizon. Too soon, it was dusk and the moon was shining like a white orb on a starless night. I worried if I was stealing time from his family, but I was afraid of never seeing him again, something that was inevitable, something that I never wanted to happen. We sat down in the parking lot as I built up the courage inside me and looked at him. He was waiting for an answer.
Unwritten 