Orange tshirt

He wakes up just knowing she's back. Not questioning it, he jumps out of the warmth onto the hideously cold floor, cursing as he trips, then pauses to untangle his foot from the blankets. He opens his door, but then goes back, grabs a jacket, and presses the espresso machine on his desk and fills a travel mug while throwing on a warm sweater.

He sneaks out into the stunning mountain views, into a blue black sky streaked with orange and red from the sunrise. She's sitting at the edge, legs dangling down the green slope, wearing a neon orange t-shirt that should clash with nature, but doesn't. She's absently chaining daisies together, oblivious to the goosebumps.

"I brought you coffee" he offers from behind her.

"I would have killed you if you hadn't" she says by way of invitation, knowing it will make him smile

And sure enough, he's grinning as he throws the jacket at her, and thumps down. He curses as he predictably slops hot caffeine onto his hand.

She rolls her eyes, used to his 6' 2" clumsiness.  While other boys would have been basketball or volleyball stars with that gift, he was just too gangly and uncoordinated to do more than smack his forehead on all the school doorways and trip over stray bags. He once rolled down an entire flight of stairs making the class snort with laughter for weeks whenever they passed the landing dent.

"How have you survived sixteen years without maiming yourself"

"Maa ki dua" he gestures to the heavens, making her smile.

They sit companionably at the top of the slope, watching the sunrise. She shivers a little, and sidles closer to his body warmth, hugging the coffee mug for some respite. The chowkidar emerges from his hut at the foot of the hill, breath misting. He crosses to the woods and disappears into the fog on the other side of the road, probably to get some firewood before he's needed for the household chores.

"She's going to kill you" he's close to her ear, not very loud, in case her mother is up for fajr and hears them.

"Fuck them all" her bravado is somewhat muted by her shivering.

"You can come live with us when they throw you out" he laughs. "Or you can use the treehouse. But it gets freezing so tell me and I'll give you a sleeping bag or something"

"You live too close. The treehouse practically hangs outside the living room" she gestures to the large tree behind her, the boundary wall between the two houses invisible in the woods. "Plus she wants me to go away. That's why she sent me to that fucking boarding school." He puts a hand on her back to ease her anguish. She thinks of the nuns, the stupid rules, the horrible girls, and her breath hisses out in indignation.

"They fucking caned me" the words fall out, anguished, because she knows there isn't anyone else in the world who would care. Even though she's held strong for four days, she now folds over, remembering the whips, her hands covering her face but not keeping the tears in. She dissolves into his lap. His hand on her back has stilled, and he forgets to breathe. His other hand has clenched, killing some daisies, and he fights to suck in some air. The thought of her amid insane power crazy old women, unprotected, his eyes literally mist over with red

"What the fuck"

It takes them a second to realize that the voice is not either one of them, but someone behind them. They jump guiltily, but the damage is done, and her cousin's loud voice has brought the early risers out to the door to gape at them. 

Orange Tshirt

Her arm muscles are quivering with agony. She is gasping for breath so loudly, she becomes scared someone will hear. She's wearing black, head scarf covering her hair, trying to climb over the boarding school fence at five minutes to midnight.

From experience, the guards that patrol the grounds at night are fairly indifferent to the background sounds of woods and mountains. But if she's caught, they will take her straight to the Principal, a formidable Jesuit missionary who will definitely cane her again. Her backside still throbs with the echoes of last week's episode.

Suddenly, she's over, and momentum swings her to the other side and she thuds painfully on her side. She's up, a quick careful check for her precious money and water bottle, and then runs to the corner of the road where the last bus will stop at midnight and take her to the sweet freedom of Islamabad, where she will catch another bus to her hometown Lahore.


Sweat runs down her back, even though its a cold night. The bus is coming up the street, and she's made it to the stop, but is still terrified someone from the school gate will look out and spot her. Finally, the bus pulls up with a squeal of rusty brakes, and she jumps in. She's the only passenger at this stop.

The driver gives her a look. An avuncular fellow, who clearly knows she's from the school and on an illicit mission. She had planned to slip him fifty rupees, but given her nerves and his look, she gives him the full two hundred and whispers "chai paani kay liyay" (for some tea or water) a universal declaration of the polite intention to give a bribe.

He looks at her, then the red currency notes, then his eyes flick back to the passengers that are either half asleep or indifferently watching. The notes disappear down his shalwar and he nods her to the back of bus.