“Oh, he has the most handsome smile, and this thick, thick black hair!”
Giti had told Laila. No one knew about their attraction, of course. Giti had secretly met him twice for tea, fifteen minutes each time,
at a small teahouse on the other side of town, in Taimani.
“He’s going to ask for my hand, Laila! Maybe as early as this summer. Can you believe it?”
“I swear I can’t stop thinking about him.” “What about school?” Laila had asked.
Giti had tilted her head and given her a “We both know better” look.
“By the time we’re twenty, Hasina used to say, Giti and I, we’ll have pushed out four, five kids each.”
“But you, Laila, you’ll make us two dummies proud. I know one day I’ll pick up a newspaper and find your picture on the front-page.”
Giti was beside Laila now, chopping cucumbers, with a dreamy, far off look on her face.
Mammy was nearby, in her brilliant summer dress, peeling boiled eggs with Wajma, the midwife, and Tariq's mother.
“I'm going to present Commander Massoud with a picture of Ahmad and Noor,” Mammy was saying to Wajma
as Wajma nodded and tried to look interested and sincere.
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