takes his hand in hers, the metal of his wedding band cold against her palm.
They married the day that they arrived in Murree. Sayeed looked relieved when Tariq told him they would.
He would not have to broach with Tariq the delicate matter of an unmarried couple living in his hotel.
Sayeed is not at all as Laila had pictured him, ruddy faced and pea eyed.
He has a salt and pepper mustache whose ends he rolls to a sharp tip, and a shock of long gray hair combed back from the brow.
He is a soft spoken, mannerly man, with measured speech and graceful movements.
It was Sayeed who summoned a friend and a mullah for the nikka that day, Sayeed who pulled Tariq aside and gave him money.
Tariq wouldn't take it, but Sayeed insisted. Tariq went to the Mall then and came back with two simple, thin wedding bands.
They married later that night, after the children had gone to bed.
In the mirror, beneath the green veil that the mullah draped over their heads, Laila's eyes met Tariq's.
There were no tears, no wedding day smiles, no whispered oaths of long lasting love.
In silence, Laila looked at their reflection, at faces that had aged beyond their years,
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