core.
When Ramadan began, we arose an hour before sunrise, eating
boiled eggs and potato biryani and oatmeal, so full by dawn that we were
happy to forsake food and drink for the day. Before returning to our beds
for the few hours before school began, we prayed for Zoya khaala’s recovery.
Though I chose to spend lunchtime in the library, Mariya insisted
on sitting with the rest of her classmates in the cafeteria. She remained
queen of the foursquare blocks, the champion cowboy on the playground.
She relished in the questions, I realized later. She relished in the looks of
astonishment at her athleticism, her self-control despite the fast.
As the month went on, I felt the days lengthening; by the time
the school day was over, my stomach felt sore, my throat bone dry. I fell
asleep as soon as I reached home, awakening at sunset to break my fast.
Nevertheless, I was determined to finish the month, insisting that my
parents wake me up for the pre-dawn meal, bearing the pain of hunger
cramps even as I slept.
Mariya seemed to be in no such trouble, skinny and scant-eating
as she was. My parents marvelled at the way she bounced through the
door after school, ran around in the backyard before settling down with a
book before sunset. It was she who woke me up before the evening meal.
“I’m so proud of you, Aisha,” she would say, “so young, and doing so
much.” Her eyes glimmered. Even at nine, I knew her voice sounded too
light, too slick for sincerity.
On the last day of Ramadan, I woke up to Mariya hovering over
me, her hair hanging long and falling onto my own face, two rolled-up
wheat rotis in her palms. I noticed light outside the window. My stomach
growled. With sudden, sick realization, I snapped forward and grabbed
Mariya’s shoulders.
“What happened?” I asked, “Why did no one wake me up for
breakfast? How am I supposed to fast without eating?”
“It’s okay!” Mariya said, putting her finger over my mouth, “Your
mother thought you needed a break. I told her you did. I know you’ve
been so tired. And you were coughing yesterday. Sick people can’t fast.
You’ve fasted enough this Ramadan!”
“But it’s the last day!” my voice wavered, while hot moisture
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