Leilah Usman awaits an acceptance from a university abroad so she can leave the country she never loved when she stumbles upon an ancient diary. Through the eyes of Mahrosh Irfan, she finds herself in a world so completely different from hers.
One w...
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The buzz of voices from outside grew louder.
Mahrosh' head snapped towards the door, her heart skipping a beat as she quickly shoved the note back into the newspaper and dashed out of the open doorway.
It was a close call. Had she been a second late, she would have been seen by the trio that walked inside. Aleena led, rolling her wheelchair towards the kitchen; followed closely by Walid and another boy. The latter was instantly recognizable; his hair a dark shade of brown and his complexion barely a shade lighter.
"Two weeks?! You've been here for two weeks and you do not care to tell me?" Rahul stared at Walid, baffled and offended. He muttered a 'shukria*' with a polite smile as Aleena handed him a glass of sharbat* before his baffled gaze returned to Walid.
Mahrosh caught Aleena signaling to her, and she managed to follow her into the kitchen without being seen.
"Rahul, you returned from Multan this morning. How could I have?-"
Mahrosh was forced to zone out of Walid's response as Aleena asked her to help her set some food for the guest. The friends - a pair that had once been the best friends in town - talked and bantered about Walid's inability to reach out to Rahul; and yet, while Rahul's friendly tone and jokes hinted little change from his ways two years ago, Walid was a different case. His voice remained calm; and even his laugh had diminished itself to a mere smile.
"But I'm not even halfway through my complaints. What about the letters, huh?"
Rahul's voice caught her ears and Mahrosh stilled, her heartbeat escalating. Walid barely had the chance to say something as Rahul continued, "After the first year - your letters became so irregular! I wrote you a letter every single month."
And just like that, her heart sank in her chest. Mahrosh felt her grip tighten on the plate, her heart constricting inside her chest. Even Rahul had received letters.
Mahrosh did not know she managed to survive through helping Aleena in the kitchen before she took her leave, for her mind was elsewhere entirely, and her heart ill at ease.
She fell back on her bed when she was back in her room. A weight fell upon her heart, and it did not leave no matter the effort she put into pushing it back. A pile of journals on her bookshelf seemed to be observing her till her gaze flickered to the red one; the one that had been finished barely a few months ago.
Even in the privacy of her own room, Mahrosh feigned nonchalance as she picked it up, her fingers gingerly skimming through the pages. It did not take long for her gaze to settle on a certain diary entry-
12th September 1931
I went to the post office today as well and carried back a pile of letters. There were several addressed to Aleena, a few to Ammi, Abbu and one even to Dadi. It has been months... I no longer think he forgets to send mine every single time. I lie to the others, sometimes - pretend to know what they are talking about when they sit and laugh about the content of his letters-
