When she thought of him this way, she was overtaken with guilt, but also with a peculiar, warm sensation
that spread upward from her belly until it felt as if her face were glowing pink. No. Mammy had a point. More than she knew, in fact.
Laila suspected that some, if not most, of the neighbors were already gossiping about her and Tariq.
Laila had noticed the sly grins, was aware of the whispers in the neighborhood that the two of them were a couple.
The other day, for instance, she and Tariq were walking up the street together when they’d passed Rasheed, the shoemaker,
with his burqa-clad wife, Mariam, in tow. As he’d passed by them, Rasheed had playfully said, “If it isn’t Laili and Majnoon,”
referring to the star-crossed lovers of Nezami’s popular twelfth-century romantic poem, a Farsi version of Romeo and Juliet, Babi said,
though he added that Nezami had written his tale of ill-fated lovers four centuries before Shakespeare.
Mammy had a point. What rankled Laila was that Mammy hadn’t earned the right to make it.
It would have been one thing if Babi had raised this issue.
But Mammy? All those years of aloofness, of cooping herself up and not caring where Laila went and whom she saw and what she thought...
It was unfair. Laila felt like she was no better than these pots and pans, something that could go neglected,
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