Farah pressed her ear against the door to listen.
‘Haram zaadi, how dare you ruin the food, can’t you do anything right, you little bitch!’
Farah couldn’t believe it! She was astonished, for she was certain that it was Zaheer that was yelling. She would never have believed that he could talk to his wife in this way, if she hadn’t heard it with her own ears.
She gently pulled the handle to open the door ever so slightly, mindful not to make any sound, and through the tiny gap she could now just about see into the kitchen; it was a large, well proportioned, show room type kitchen, with glossy, oyster-coloured, fitted units, black granite worktops, and state of the art fitted appliances. Zaheer had his back to Farah, and his wife was stood next to him, also with her back to her. And they were both looking down. Farah carefully opened the door a tiny bit more, and what was previously a sense of surprise instantly turned into a sensation of shock that flooded through her entire body, like a terrifying riptide. For there, in the far corner, sat next to the range cooker, visible between the gap between Zaheer and Aneela, cowering on the stone tiled floor, was a young woman.
Today, it was scorching hot; the mid-afternoon sun was relentless in its pursuit to spread its iridescent light across the land as far as the eye could see.
Razia’s face shone as red as a bride’s freshly painted henna by the time she reached the stream. Once she was at the edge, she took off her sandals and carried them in one hand, and with the other she gently lifted her shalwar well above her…
I am really delighted to have received a 'Highly Commended' in the Arts & Culture category of the Nat West Asian Women of Achievement Awards 2017. Just to be shortlisted from amongst hundreds of candidates was amazing in itself, but this recognition is wonderful, and gives me even more confidence and energy in my quest for Razia to be published.
If you haven't already done so, please share…
These people are helping to fund Razia.