Ten days ago.
‘Do you want to go?’
‘I do.’
‘Any regrets?’
It took a minute before she texted back.
‘None!’
‘Then I’ve got a plan for you.’
Three weeks ago, it was just another ordinary morning for Saba Irfan. She would wake up at Fajar, brew some tea, recite the Quran, prepare breakfast for her family and by the time the clock in her living room pointed its big hand at eight, she was on her way to the university. If you’ve ever been to Islamabad, you would understand why Saba needed to leave early. The quiet of the morning, with less than forty cars pausing at a traffic junction, worked like adrenaline for her brain. She’d look at the birds perched on top of the trees that surrounded the road, stared at the clouds and the mountains beneath them. She would often contemplate on how lucky she was to live in a beautiful city like this.
The capital of Pakistan, Islamabad, is but a doorway to the rich culture of the subcontinent. An important entry point for the tourists as well as the locals. They come uphill during vacations, or for errands which do not require further clarifications for the sane mind. The capital also serves as an important ground for the country’s most prized research institutions. Saba was enrolled at one of the prestigious schools of the city – Quaid – e- Azam International University. She had climbed her way winning one scholarship after another into graduate school.
She was still unaware that today was going to change her life forever. After spending most of her time in the library where she worked on a paper discussing the evolution of the culture of the Indus Valley Civilization, she got a blank email from her supervisor with the subject: Urgent matter! Meet me in the office.
What now? She noticed that the library was almost empty except for a couple huddled in a corner… kissing. She walked towards the doors as the girl hastily broke free and tried to smile at her.
‘Carry on,’ Saba replied without turning her head.
The evening sun made her brown hair shine gold as she walked across the main courtyard towards the faculty building.
Buzz.
‘Sorry, I just got back from my sister’s.’
Saba glanced at a text from Haris.
‘I’ll get back to you in a few,’ she typed before putting the phone in her bag.
The growling in her stomach reminded her that she needed to eat something or she’d pass out in front of the supervisor. At twenty-four years of age, Saba looked like an anaemic, tall and pale. People would often find slim shaming her as an opener for a conversation. In case you don’t know, a thing like slim shaming exists. And slim people do feel the same way fat people feel, but just in reverse.
‘Don’t you get enough food to eat?’ is the most common rhetoric slim people get to hear. It’s just the opposite of ‘Do you ever stop eating?’ And both of these terrific one-liners are neither funny nor sarcastic. They are hurtful words. Saba was aware that bulimia was a problem, but she didn’t have it. There were times when she would, eat like a pig, is the phrase, inappropriate but delivers the perfect meaning. And there were times when she would completely forget to eat. A lot of people can’t really comprehend this behaviour, but then again, a lot of people don’t really need to.
The cafeteria was just on the left side of the parking lot a few paces away from the supervisor’s office. Grabbing a samosa and tea in a disposable cup she swished past lazy freshers and empty tables, catching a glimpse of the clock.
4:46 PM
. . . to be continued [2/4]
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 