When the Apricots Bloom

by Gina Wilkinson

“Sisters forever.” They locked eyes. “Or sorrow for us and the generation to come.”

“Don’t feel guilty, my dear. Living a full life, not dwelling in sorrow, that’s the best way to honor the dead.”

“In a perfect world, we could wait until the apricots bloom. Alas, the world is not perfect.”

“A lie takes only one moment to leave the mouth, but it can linger to the grave.

“The great poet Rumi said sorrow sweeps everything out of your house violently so that joy has space to enter.”

Huda didn’t understand the birds. Did they not harbor the urge to fly toward the sun, to eat wild rice, and drink from a babbling stream? Born in a cage. Raised in its stinking confines. Was a handful of seed and a saucer of dirty water really enough to keep them in place? Was that all it took to change the nature of a bird, to extinguish its need to be free?

But Rania knew honor was a two-bladed sword. Loyalty on one side. Revenge on the other.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you? Two can keep a secret only when one of them is dead.”