We were simpatico, mostly, except when you slipped into your father’s skin. Your dad and mom were hand in glove, you bragged. His hand, her pliant glove, I thought, but never said.
The peacock was now an intermittent visitor to the garden at Sakoonat-e-Siddiqui, just as Sumaira’s cheerfulness had become more and more an occasional companion. She couldn’t help drawing a comparison between the bird seeking out her garden and her wellbeing seeking the outdoors.
Sumaira came out onto the veranda to the shrill scream of a peacock. The bird sat resplendent and angry in the garden looking at the house like a baneful beast. Sumaira was gripped in a flux of emotions as she caught her breath watching the iridescence of its plumage in the morning sun. She also felt a rush of anxiety raise the hairs on the back of her neck.