“My God, you must have over a hundred emails from this guy … what, Raza? Who is he?”
Maria was leaning over her shoulder.
“No one.” She turned around. “Are you going out somewhere?” she noticed the brilliant red lipstick shining on Maria’s face.
“Yeah, it’s a weekend. Gonna go out for drinks with my friends. You know? Fun? Frolic? Things single people do? You might want to try it on for size.”
“No thanks,” she said characteristically. “I’ll be zonked. Have an early day tomorrow. You go ahead and have fun on my behalf.”
She shut off her laptop and snuggled in her bed. Maria took a long look at her. “You’re weird.” Then she left.
There was an emptiness that Fouzia loved. Nothing to say. No one to answer. No one telling her she should feel something she was incapable of feeling. There was so much freedom here. Her family didn’t try contacting her, except over repeated emails from her brother who insisted she tell him she was doing okay. She told him if anything ever happened to her, he would be informed. “No news is good news, let’s just leave it at that.” Raza met with zero response. The emails dwindled. And until last week they almost stopped. They were all the same. “Where are you? Where are you?” punctuated with many angry remarks and many sane arguments. The last email was sent over two hours ago. He said he was tired of running after something that he would never be able to make right. And so she felt incredibly at ease right now. No more emails. No more dreading opening her inbox in the morning.
She took out Hina’s picture from her drawer. Kissed it good night and turned around to sleep. Without a sedative.
(end of part eleven)
