The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

by Nadia Hashimi

That was the reason Aasif had taken her from the palace. Gulnaz had given him no children at all. He didn’t want Shekiba—he wanted sons.

Ok so hes using her kys

Not a man, not a woman. I am nothing.

WAS A LITTLE GIRL and then I wasn’t. I was a bacha posh and then I wasn’t. I was a daughter and then I wasn’t. I was a mother and then I wasn’t.

“After all that? A girl? How can this be?”

Shut up omg

I will be a mother. I will have my own baby. Is this possible?

“That’s how it is for girls. A daughter doesn’t really belong to her parents. A daughter belongs to others,”

Whether it was the chicken livers or the prayers or just God’s will, Shekiba gave birth to a son.

Please, God, don’t let anything happen to my little boy. He’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever had. Please do not take him away!

may have killed one of Abdul Khaliq’s children. But he had just killed another.

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” she said, suddenly remembering I was sitting beside her.

How ironic

Their deaths had taught me that anything was possible, and

that death was closer than I wanted to believe.

thought of the woman in the shelter. She’d disobeyed and her husband had sliced off her ear. I had no doubt Abdul Khaliq could be just as vicious. I leaned against the wall, my heart pounding in fear. I had to think fast. We were due to return home in three days.

Stupid, she told herself. Look at this crowd. How could you have thought you were suited for something like this, that you could be worthy of taking that stage, of appearing before all these people!

But sometimes you have to act out of line, I suppose. Sometimes you have to take a chance if you want something badly enough.

This life is difficult. We lose fathers, brothers, mothers, songbirds and pieces of ourselves. Whips strike the innocent, honors go to the guilty, and there is too much loneliness. I would be a fool to pray for my children to escape all of that. Ask for too much and it might actually turn out worse. But I can pray for small things, like fertile fields, a mother’s love, a child’s smile—a life that’s less bitter than sweet.

While we walked, Hamida talked and I thought of my husband. Twice, I thought I might vomit on the street.

Real

I let Sufia guide me with a hand on my back, thinking of something Khala Shaima had said when I shared the story of the girl from the shelter with her, how she’d escaped her husband only to be found again and beaten, punished for running away. “Poor girl. She ran out from under a leaking roof and sat in the rain.”

Rahim wound in and out of the streets, heading further away from the hotel and in the opposite direction of the parliament building. Rahim, the bacha posh, listened for someone yelling behind him, listened for a sign that he’d been spotted, that he was going to be dragged back to Abdul Khaliq’s compound and punished. Rahim, shaking so badly that he thought his legs might collapse, needed a place to hide.

I’m sorry, Khala-jan. I’m sorry I never thanked you for fighting for me, for everything you taught me, for the stories you told me, for the escape you gave me.

The letter was signed Bibi Shekiba.