At that moment, in the mirror, Zahra for the first time looked into the eyes of her husband. Zainab put her arm round my neck, trembling with excitement. I felt withdrawn and alien in my thoughts. That moment would have been the same had it been any other reflection Zahra saw. Did no shadow fall across the mirror? No reflection of pained eyes? Was love so pliable? Was it to be recognised only in poems of unrequited suffering? Why question what others accepted? Why was I allowed to become different?
