A Pair of Jeans and other stories by Qaisra Shahraz Page A

nonchalantly near the end of the bed, blissfully unaware of the havoc it had created in the life of its wearer.
    She stepped over the pair of jeans and looked at herself in the long mirror on the wall. Eyes widening, she scrutinised her face and body for any tell-tale signs of her inner turmoil. Her face looked haggard. The mouth, which was normally full-lipped , was now a thin, sharp, pinkish line. There was a certain stiffness about her, the way her shoulders sloped down; as if carrying her body was an immense ordeal.
    Angrily, she swept away from the mirror and went to the window to look down at the lawn and flower beds in the rear garden. Ideas and thoughts jolted and formed in her head, each vying with the other for attention. One idea, however, lodged itself firmly in her mind: Farook and his parents weren’t going to get away with it!
    “They can’t do this to me!” her mind screamed. She didn’t know whether Farook knew about this matter, but she was going to make sure that he definitely did and there was only one way of finding out if he didn’t! She noticed that the flowers below were in full bloom. The colour of those roses reminded her of the bridal bouquet she was planning for herself. All of a sudden, her body relaxed and she felt a certain calmness descend over her as she closed her bedroom door behind her.
    There was no rushing. She simply glided down the stairs and had begun to dial Farook’s phone number on her mobile by the time she reached the hallway. As the phone bell pipped away at the other end, her heart skipped a beat for a fraction of a second. What if his mother or father picked up the phone? What would she say to them? She was about to snap her mobile shut when rebellion surfaced again. She shook her fears aside. So what if they answered the phone! She would deal with them and the situation as it arose. To her dismay, nobody answered the phone at the other end. She tried again, defiantly letting it ring for two minutes – somebody was going to answer it one way or another.
    Her mother came out of the kitchen and saw Miriam with her mobile phone held fast to her ear. Miriam heard her mother’s approach, turned and caught her eye. Fatima shot her a questioning glance. Who was she ringing? A worried look crossed her face.
    At last, somebody picked up the receiver. The ringing stopped and the word “hello” was audible to Miriam’s ear. Relief shot through her. It was her Farook. She greeted him first with “hello” and then with the Arabic “
Assalam-a-Alaikum
”, “Peace be upon you!” She then reverted to speaking in English.
    “Farook, it’s Miriam.” She tried to control the rhythm of her heartbeat and keep her voice steady.
    “How are you, Miriam?”
    “I am fine…” She was staring at her mother. Fatima was desperately signalling her to end the call.
    Miriam ignored her mother’s shaking hand and turned to look instead at the picture of a landscape on the wall opposite, concentrating on what she was saying.
    “Are you alone at home, Farook, or are your parents with you? If they are there, I want us to meet in the Student Union.” Tone brusque.
    “Usman is with me. Mum and Dad have gone out. They’ll be back soon though; did you want to speak to them?”
    “No, it’s you… I wanted to speak to you, Farook.” She paused for a few seconds, her heart thudding again, and then continued, still in control.
    “Have you heard anything about us, Farook?”
    “Us? No. What do you mean Miriam?” He was now quite intrigued.
    “Just as I thought.” Her voice hardened. A bitter laugh echoing in her head. “It’s probably too soon for them to break it to you. They are probably deciding what to do and how to put it to you.”
    “Miriam, you’ve got me all puzzled now. Come on girl, what is going on?” He nervously laughed.
    “I am sorry Farook – just talking to myself. I know it’s all in riddles to you, isn’t it? Look, I can’t say much more over the phone, but