Sofia didn't mean to blow up the stables. She liked horses dammit. She was an animal lover. Had volunteered with WWF in 2011. Had been one third vegetarian since 2012. If Fia's stupid fiance/cousin hadn't tried to put his chubby hands down her shirt, this probably wouldn't have happened. 

Her home-made bomb recipe was supposed to be a small controlled explosion inside the abandoned wheat godown; the resulting confusion would have given her the window of escape she needed. 

Instead, she had wasted valuable time, nearly taking Faddy's eyes out for ambushing her in the stables on her way to the godown. Maybe the assault might have stung less if he hadn't been such an utter pig about it. 

"Tayajee (Uncle) told me to remind you that I'm your man. I am in charge. You think I want you? Sofia Thulli (Fatty)? Your ass is bigger than Rutti's (family cow)! At least she gives us milk and meat. What use are you? Always trying to outsmart me with your jokes and big words," he maliciously twisted her hair, snapping her bra against the soft flesh of her back.

Injury. Meet insult. 

Fia was aware that she was on the wrong side of size 12, but even by Faddy's standards, this unprovoked attack was crass. Tayajee had probably told him off for playing on his Playstation too much, and he was now returning the favor by being the less than affectionate fiance that he was always destined to be. To think that she had bought chocolates for him once upon a time... 

"Funny, that you have to touch me, to remember that you have testicles, Faddy. Did they fall off because you mistook them for Joysticks again? You know what they say about 'playing with yourself' too much?" She quipped back as if they were exchanging pleasantries. 

Faddy's face turned red as he spluttered, trying to think of a response. When his wit failed him, he turned to his hands for help. A gasp of pain escaped Fia when he twisted her arm, and she dug her nails into his wrist, trying to keep it from reaching the concealed pouch of tools tied to her waist. Faddy screamed like a sacrificial goat when her nails drew blood, thankfully pushing her away from him. 

How's that for feeling like a man, cousin? 

 "No more smart mouthing when you're my wife, Sofia. I mean it. One loose tongued jibe and you'll be sent to Makran, to live with Crazy Kaali Maasi (Aunt)," he panted from the doorway of the stables, clutching his injured wrist to his chest. "And cut your nails! Are you an animal? Fucking broke my skin..." 

Fia tsked dramatically. 

"Want me to bandage that for you?" she pouted sympathetically and made a move towards him, brandishing her long-unfiled nails like a claw. Faddy nearly stumbled in his hurry to get away from her. 

"Keep the hell away from me, Fia. I mean it!" he screeched, storming out and locking her inside the stables on his way out. 

"Oh. How will I ever manage that?" she remarked dryly to herself. 

She had been a pretty passive person her entire life. Being raised by a real-life hippie mother probably had something to do with it. Conflicts were supposed to be expressed civilly, candidly; not physically. Animal tested products, were boycotted. Vegan diets were tried. Violent sports were banned from the TV. Extra-curriculars involved marching in anti-war protests and adopting abandoned puppies. 

"If you could see me right now, Mum," she chuckled in spite of the horrific situation.

Sofia's parents had met, fallen in love, and married in Europe in the early 80's. Before they ever met, Annalise Renee DuVere had been a pretty, vivacious Canadian BA student in her 20's; staunch supporter of the hippie movement, touring with ABBA; plenty of tie-dyed shirts, peace protests, and recreational drugs. Sofia rather thought that her father had been like a psychedelic drug to her too; fun, exciting, exotic, forbidden. Also easily worn off. 

When Kassim Mughal proposed marriage to her with a condition; she gamely agreed. How hard is it anyway? converting to Islam? 

Luckily Kassim wasn't exactly a model Muslim. She was still allowed to eat, drink and wear whatever she wanted, as long as she didn't try to influence him to indulge in it too. They got married in a tiny Muslim community center in East Germany, witnessed by the Imam and a random deli owner. Kassim was estranged from his family in Pakistan, and living in Germany on a student visa. Anna, a product of foster care, hadn't any to begin with. They settled in Bulgaria soon after to start their own nuclear family.  

4 miscarriages and 12 years later, they'd all but given up hope. 

Fia was a miracle baby for 43-year-old Anna. They named her after the beautiful city she was born in. She had her father's dark hair and eyes, and her mother's pale, French coloring and petite nose. 

Soon after, Kassim suffered from his first paralysis stroke, severely limiting his physical movements. He left his job as an assistant professor of Historical Literature, to open up a bookstore with Anna's help; a small quaint corner place with French doors and wood-paneled walls that Anna painted with flowers and peace signs. "Les Ailes" they called the place: "The Wings".

Maybe it's because she was born surrounded with a wealth of books, or the fact that Kassim was in the habit of reading to her as an infant; because when one-year-old Sofia started reading books, neither of the first-time parents thought it was all that remarkable. It seemed natural enough that their daughter would read before she could barely walk.   

"Before Redbull; the only way you could get wings, was through books. The words, they're magical things. Look at them, a collection of strokes, shapes and dots; but put in the right combination, they can make you laugh, cry, scream, love. They can make you lose yourself in them. Fly. Soar. Be free." Kassim would say affectionately. And two-year-old Sofia would try to lose herself in Roald Dahl and Dr. Suess. But somehow, the childish fantasy books weren't enough. She always needed to know more. She questioned everything from such rational angles, that sometimes Kassim and Anna found themselves exasperatedly answer-less. 

"But how does Mr. Wonka pay his chocolate factory bills, Mama? If nobody came or went inside the factory, how would they audit it? What about his tax returns? What about employee safety training?" she'd chirp incessantly, as she helped her mother pack care-packages for homeless people. 

"You know what honey? Why don't you write to Mr. Dahl? Ask him about it? Hmm?" Anna would kiss her head distractedly before returning to folding freshly laundered socks and scarves inside wicker baskets.

Thus began Sofia's obsession of writing letters. Her classmates at pre-nursery were still tracing alphabets on workbooks when she politely asked her teacher to give her unlined paper. 

"I have some very big most extremely much important letters to send to people," was the reason she gave her kindergarten teacher. When the lady good-humoredly repeated this to her parents in the parent-teacher meeting, the phrase stuck with the family. Growing up, Sofia would later be lovingly teased about her choice of words. 

She wrote to plenty of her favorite authors with innocent queries regarding their plots. The pencil too big for her tiny chubby fingers, her handwriting was painstakingly meticulous while writing 'g' and 'y'-letters that gave her a little bit of trouble. She'd then bug Anna or Kassim to buy her penny-stamps so she could mail her 'very big most extremely much' important letters. 

Kassim didn't have the heart to tell her that most of them were deceased, so he'd write back to his daughter pretending to be C. S. Lewis, Jean Webster or Enid Blyton. But then some of the authors actually wrote back. Somewhere with all of her childhood records, Kassim saved letters from the likes of Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary and Chris Van Allsburg, all addressed to "Dear Sofia"; apologetically explaining plot-holes.    

Every parent would like to believe that their child is a goddamn gift to the human race. Maybe that's why Kassim and Anna laughed it off when Fia's teacher insisted that their baby was a genius. 

"Have you ever heard of a 3-year-old quote Ulysses?" the teacher asked them incredulously, "Dear me, have you even heard of a ten-year old quote Ulysses? I'm no sure I can quote Ulysses!"

Her mother had smiled indulgently. 

"I get what you're saying. Fia is just a little bright, but-" 

"And Picasso was just a little creative!" Ms Leona quipped wryly, "Mrs. Mughal, Sofia can work out advanced sums in her head. She has an almost perfect memory...Why is it so hard to believe that you have been blessed with a gifted child?" 

Because what does one do with a gifted child anyways? Other than love, clothe, educate and feed?

"So what exactly do we do? make her skip a grade or something?"

"To begin with. Yes." 

And so it began. The Gifted Child Games. 

Every couple of months her teachers would call up her parents, requesting them to consider moving her in a higher course level. 

"Sofia is already familiar with second grade concepts..."

"Her reading and math levels are beyond grade three..."

"We feel like sixth grade might be a more appropriately challenging grade for her..."

"She scored in the 98th percentile for the John Hopkins Diagnostic test. She already knows concepts that the 7th grade course entails..."

When it was suggested that six year old Sofia enroll in high school; Kassim drew a line. 

"For God's sake, there are big kids in that level! It's ridiculous! I want my daughter to grow up with at least a little bit of stability! This isn't fair to her." 

And so, for the first time in her life, Sofia had to spend an entire year in one grade...

...and was utterly miserable. 

The bigger kids in her class treated her like an alien-like oddity. An ugly little duckling in that swarm of bubblegum lip-gloss wearing wannabe-swans. Her brain may have been quicker than most 8th graders, but she was still a little kid. Sure she could do word-problems in seconds, but she also loved watching Barney. She still drank milk from her twisty Hello Kitty straw cup. She still thought the tooth fairy was real. 

It wasn't like she was bullied in class; but she was never really invited into its folds either. 

Her school life so far had unwittingly treated her like an oddity:

"You already know how to perform long division!?"

"We still haven't covered Inorganic Chemistry. How do you know this already?"

Sofia felt like it was somehow her fault that she absorbed and processed information so quickly. It was as if she were outgrowing shoes too fast, and her parents and teachers were left scrambling to find her a bigger pair...

So, she often found herself getting agonizingly underappreciated and bored, waiting for her classmates to catch up. She had read so much about friendship and adventures in her books, but the concept of connecting with these older kids in her class was almost laughable. None of them liked things that she liked. Or maybe they just didn't love those things as deeply as she did. 

When Sofia loved something; everyone around her was aware of it. Kassim used to laughingly say that Sofia didn't just carry her heart on her sleeve, she flung it around everywhere, like confetti in a parade. And hence, whether it was the gardening/botany phase in elementary school, or the intense enduring affair with Space in high school; Sofia immersed herself mind, body and soul until all she could breathe and talk about was stars and black bodies. Her room was filled with glow-in-the-dark stickers that she and Kassim arranged in the shape of her favorite constellations. All she wanted for birthdays, Eid and Christmas, were telescopes and star-gazers. While most kids worshiped Disneyland, Sofia's dream vacation was a visit to the Hayden Planetarium in New York City.

When she was 9, Sofia was invited to the United States as part of an exchange program for gifted kids. Her student counselors encouraged the Mughals to let their daughter apply for colleges in the US while she attended her host school. Sofia, a high school junior by then, was pleasantly surprised to discover that her private special school had other children like her; the differently special ones. So at least for one year, It was a relief to be able to be as smart as possible, without freaking her teachers out. She discovered that her brain had limits; something which frustrated and excited her at the same time. For instance, while she could memorize entire pages of classic literature after reading them once, she found herself unable to interpret the complex feelings and emotions that poetry and prose embodied. Similarly, she could learn to play difficult instruments given enough time, even recall and reproduce complex Chopin, Vivaldi and Beethoven, but her musical talent ended at that; she didn't have the ear or the creativity to produce something of her own. Her art skills were non-existent; painting and drawing was something she did out of sheer childish fun, not to prove her genius at it.

When 11-year old Sofia got accepted into almost every Ivy League college she applied to, the family decided to move permanently to the states, to support her through it. She eventually chose MIT for her Bachelors of Science in Aerospace Engineering, and two years later, became one of the youngest females to ever graduate in this discipline. Following a double Masters, PhD and several research accolades, 17-year old Sofia had just gotten a very coveted Aerospace Information research grant and lectureship tenure from her Alma Mater, when Kassim Mughal passed away in his sleep.

"Sudden Cardiac Death Syndrome," the doctors explained. Most likely caused by a restriction to the blood-flow. There's nothing anyone could have done. The window for survival during the attack, was around 3-minutes, if overseen by professionals. He died quickly. Mostly pain-free.

Anna had been on a voluntary first-aid mission in earth-quake stricken Haiti when The Worst happened. Due to non-existent communication lines, she got the news a week after Kassim's funeral.

"This is our time to be brave, baby," she wept over the crackly phone line, "you can never believe the devastation around me right now, Fia. At least you have a roof over your head, and you're old enough to care for yourself. Just think of the pain these orphan children are going through, what with the starvation and illnesses..."

Sofia numbly agreed, not realizing how unfair it was, for her mother to leave her 17-year-old daughter grieving alone by herself, how paradoxically selfish it was not to be the parent she needed when she needed it.

A few days later, Sofia's period started...and didn't stop. For nearly three weeks she bled, suffering from sharp bloated cramps and excruciating aches in her belly, before she finally realized that self-medicating with Tylenol wasn't getting her anywhere. A visit to her gynecologist turned Sofia's world upside down.

"You're experiencing Premature Ovarian Failure," the middle-aged blonde Doctor explained gently, "Not unlike, a very early menopause. Do you...have you been sexually active recently?"

Sofia scrunched up her face with confusion, and shook her head. She might have been raised with liberal values, far off from her father's conservative culture, but a few things had been non-negotiable; premarital relations being one of them

"I see." Dr. Grace pursed her lips regretfully, "Is there an adult guardian I can meet with? to discuss your treatment further?"

"I am almost an adult now." Sofia explained, "I've been...I took care of Dad when he was alive. I'm used to being in-charge. You can discuss the specifics with me, and I can assure you that I will be very mature about it."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Dr. Grace candidly explained what was wrong with Sofia's body. Then with practiced professionalism, she tactfully left the room for a few minutes, leaving the stunned teen alone to come to terms with the awful prognosis.

Sofia was facing a choice that no teenager should have to make alone. She could either suffer the symptoms of menopause for months and years, or choose to end the symptoms immediately.

Option A would cause her pain and discomfort, along with destroying her quality of life. She'd be on a cocktail of meds constantly, just to ease the process naturally.

Option B would relieve her of pain and suffering. It would also relieve her of the ability to have children. Ever.

One of the curses of having a brilliant mind is the ability to weigh pros and cons unemotionally, almost automatically. And hence, before her heart accepted it, her mind already knew what was to come...

Many days following the surgery, Sofia was tempted to tell someone about it. Maybe the sweet grandmotherly Mrs. Javier who lived downstairs from the Mughals, or maybe one of her friendly co-workers she often hung out with. But somehow, the words could never form at her lips. Somehow, voicing the terrible secret would make real...

When Anna returned to Boston two months later, Sofia experienced for the first time, undiluted, one-on-one interaction with her mother, without the soothing, calming presence of Kassim to diffuse the tension around them. Anna was guilty about leaving her daughter alone for the funeral. Sofia was suffering from the hormonal imbalance Dr. Grace had warned her about, and an acute inability to broach the topic of her condition.

What followed was months of mild spats, and almost stranger-like distances. Sofia acted out just for the sake of acting out. Almost overnight, she became a hormonal, rebellious, obnoxiously belligerent teenager stuck in the life of an adult. In retrospect, it was probably just to get her mother to spare her the same dedicated parental care that she lent to her social projects, but in that moment, it rather felt like she was on a mission to make her mother as desolate and angry as she was inside.

She'd stock their refrigerator with meat, just to rub her newly adopted, non-vegetarian tendencies in Anna's face.

Realizing that leading a perfectly moderate and conservative lifestyle had still landed her fatherless, and infertile; Sofia decided to try everything she'd previously denied herself.

She tried alcohol for the first time in her life. Decided she hated it, so naturally indulged in it until she ended up in the emergency room one night with alcohol poisoning.

Irresponsible work attitude, and inappropriate conduct during lectures, forced the MIT academic board, to gently but firmly force her to take a sabbatical, "to clear her head".

She accepted one of her co-workers invitations of a date, and when things went beyond casual, she let them. Afterwards, she cried with shame and guilt and loss. He never called her again, and she was glad. The experience had been physically and emotionally heartbreaking on more levels than she could ever explain to her partner. And she decided that she'd never let another man go this far. Any other boys she brought home were purely for her mother's benefit...

Worried about the almost manic shopping sprees that her daughter was indulging in, Anna cautioned her about being financially responsible with her money. Sofia responded with a blank stare and a trip to a ridiculously exclusive tattoo parlor...

"Have you forgotten your father completely?" Anna screamed at her eventually, after one too many late-night calls from nightclubs requesting her to pick up her inebriated under-aged daughter, "have you forgotten who you are? What your values are?"

"Oh! So now you're going to tell me, how to be a Muslim?" Fia jeered, "You!? Don't pretend your relationship with Islam went anywhere beyond your lame marriage to Dad. Truth is; you just wanted to sleep with him. That's it. If you hadn't gotten pregnant with me eventually, I'm pretty sure you would have found a way to dump his disabled self, and run off to save the dying seagulls of Madagascar! For his sake, I'm just glad you waited until I was old enough to take care of him, before you took off. But don't you dare pretend to be something you never were."

The blood draining from her face had made the already pale Anna, almost ghost-like. She was a firm believer of harmony, love, and other fairytale-like ideals. She had done her best to raise Sofia to be as non-confrontational as possible, and for 18 years her daughter had been perfect. Anna couldn't fathom how anyone, who had been given so much love, could ever turn as caustic as the angry young woman facing her. Later she might chalk up her own lack of parental skills on her childhood; how would a state-owned orphan know anything about raising a child? Later she might even blame her husband, for choosing to shoulder the responsibility of both mother and father, instead of involving Anna more in the process...but right now...right now, her daughter's callously delivered taunts were unerringly touching the right nerves.

"For the record, you don't have to marry to have sex, mother!" Fia went on hysterically, "It's a biological act. Not a religious one. It takes more than that to make a marriage work, and it certainly takes more than a few words of Arabic to make you a Muslim. So just so you know: people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones!"

"You win." her mother replied wearily, "you want to destroy yourself for some reason, and you want me to sit and watch you do it. But I've seen enough, Sofia Mughal. You're practically an adult now. You have your own job, your house, your...friends. You're smart. Too smart for your own good maybe, so I'm sure you can figure your life out eventually. If you ever want to...ever need a mother, you'll find me. Meanwhile, my spirit needs to get away from your negativity. I need to be around people who need me-really need me. I can't waste time dealing with your belated teenage rebellion, while newborns are dying of hunger in Africa..."

If Anna had realized just how much her daughter really needed a mother in that moment, perhaps she might have stayed, and made things better. But as was her hippie nature, Anna loathed confrontations. She shied away from permanence, and lengthy commitments. Because of her daughter's fast-forwarded education and career, in her mind, Sofia had been an adult, long before her 18 years. She was independent and unaccountable to her mother. In her mind, Anna evaluated herself objectively as a social worker first, and a mother second, and in that moment, one took preference over the other.

Left alone in the world once more, was the slap to her face that Fia needed. With nobody to be sullen around, was there a point anyway? With nobody to answer your drunk pleas for help, next time would you bother going to the club at all? With nobody to lecture you on morality, would you bother bringing your casual boyfriends home?

With enough time; time to grieve, rant, and then to eventually come back to her senses, came the realization for Sofia that she was truly ready to become an adult: an adult who was comfortable with her body, her future and her past. With lingering guilt over her actions of recent past, she decided that she needed a clean start; a fresh one. First she quit her job. Applied and got accepted in a NASA for an aerospace safety internship at their Washington HQ. She quit plenty of other things, including and not limited to her boyfriends, her friends, and drinking.

With other realizations, came acute horror for her past choices. With a grimace, she threw away most of her wardrobe of flashy club-wear. After avoiding her reflection for weeks, she paid her salon lady generously, to restore her hair from impulsive peroxide blonde to its original coffee-brown hue. 

Months of excessive drinking, post treatment drugs and unhealthy eating had resulted in a splotchy pallor to her smooth, pale skin, and added extra pounds that were unflattering to her petite height. For the first time in her life, Sofia Mughal became aware that her body was the one in-charge; not her Genius IQ brain. Her body was a temple that she had long since stopped praying in. She had always considered her body as a vessel-a transportation device for The Big B (her Brain)-nothing more. Now facing a host of dire medical conditions, she joined a gym, and sought a nutritionist.

She saved her apologies for last; an awkward long-distance phone call to Annalise in Ghana, during which Sofia told her about the surgery, and both mother and daughter cried for what never could be...

Anna's regret over being unable to comfort her daughter in the past was overshadowed by her desire to see her happy in the future. She agreed with Sofia's decision to get a fresh start, and offered to help her move to Washington. Promising to check in every few days, Sofia hung up the phone, and felt lighter than she had in months.

She opted to end the lease of their airy 3 bedroom Boston apartment. It took a great deal of guilty teary apologies to her Dad's spirit, to be strong enough to go through his office and his files during the packing. It felt like his presence was hovering over her that entire time, slightly disappointed, but welcoming at the same time.

It was here that Sofia discovered that Kassim had left her a small, modest fortune in cash and a bigger, less modest one in agricultural property assets.

Her eyes widened at the estimated value of the assets. And they widened even more when she saw the address of her inheritance: Gharri Kherian, Sindh.

Pakistan.

Enclosed in the neatly arranged legal document folder were a number of letters addressed to her father. The letters were in a language that was neither Arabic, nor Urdu, but in the same familiar Arabic-ish script. A trip to the Harvard linguistic department solved the dilemma: the letters were in Sindhi, one of the biggest regional languages of Pakistan.

Could her Dad read this overly dotted mumbo jumbo? Why did he never tell her? And most importantly, why did he never mention that he had siblings who wrote to him? Someone who begged him to come back home and asked about his health in every letter...someone who loved him very much...

It took little under four days for Sofia to learn the basics of her ancestral language, and a week before she was reading through one painstaking letter after another.

She learned that she had an Aunt named Hamida. Apparently, younger than her father, Hamida was the one who had written those letters in that flowy script, accentuated with crisp dots...And it seemed like Kassim had written back to her, because the letters were like a conversation, and Hamida seemed to entreat her brother to send more pictures of "Munjhi Dheea" (My daughter), to tell her more about Anna, their life...

Hamida had casually mentioned their older brother, Faiz, and his family. There were mentions of her cousins; Fahd (Faddy), Reet, and Farsa.

For Sofia who had grown up without siblings, aunts and uncles; these letters were like a roadmap to a treasure chest. They were leading her to her family. There were people somewhere in this world, who shared her name, her religion, her DNA. Somewhere, oceans away, there was a tribe; her tribe. And an age-old instinct was telling her to go there, and claim it; her blood, her land, her people.

"Why didn't Dad ever take us to Pakistan?" she asked her mother who had dutifully flown back to help her daughter move to a new home.

Annalise was genuinely surprised over the evidence of Kassim's connection to his family in The Ancestral Land. According to her, Kassim had been very closed-mouth about his relationship with his family. All Anna knew was a very vague idea that the two brothers had had some sort of a falling out before Kassim had moved to Europe for his studies.

"I remember once when we were newly married, we kept moving around, and I didn't have the work license to find employment in Germany. Kassim had recently lost his job, and we were on the verge of landing up on the streets. I might have persuaded him to ask his family for help, and I will never forget the icy anger in his eyes. I rather think he considered them dead to him. Even later, after you were born, you might not remember it, but we didn't always have a lot to live on. It's just strange to know that he had this kind of inheritance within his grasp, but chose to reject it."

Sofia well remembered the times when they were living a hand-to-mouth existence. One of her earliest memories was being aware that they couldn't afford a Television in the house. So while other kids overdosed on Disney Channel and Sesame Street, Sofia's entertainment were the characters of books her father lovingly introduced her to. He cleverly convinced her that her own imagination was more entertaining than any moving picture cartoon on TV.

After bidding her mother farewell at the airport, and beginning her new exciting work with NASA, Sofia settled into her new life. But as a year passed, and then another, the nagging feeling of emptiness remained in her stomach. Maybe it was the anticipation of facing a lonely future, or maybe it was this unshakeable intuition that there was something very important in Pakistan, just waiting for her.

It was the constant restlessness that drove her to apply for a month-long vacation from her job. After completing her internship, she had quickly made her way to junior engineer and then Assistant for the In-Flight Safety Division. Her work had never failed to challenge and excite her, but for the second time in her life since The Unspeakable Year, she could feel an impending emotional turmoil ahead, and wisely decided to take time off, to clear her head.

On her first day home from work, she told herself that she was just a naturally curious person, and as such, it was just curiosity and nothing else that prompted her to Google Pakistan. She spent hours looking at Google maps, images, videos, news pieces from her (Fatherland?)...and when she was thoroughly entranced by the cultural depictions and horrified by some of the news, she shut down her tablet and forced herself to sleep. That night she dreamt of colorful Shalwar Kameezes and red-stone havelis. She saw her Dad, looking young and handsome in a crisp white Kurta, strolling alongside golden wheat fields. "May I join you, Daddy?" she asked him, and he smiled his crooked smile, wordlessly offering her his hand. If they explored his home together in the dream, she'd never know, because she was suddenly awoken from the dream with the insistent shrill of her cellphone.

It was 6:30 in the morning, hardly a civil time to call. If she had been more awake, she'd have noticed the unusually long caller ID number.

"Assalamualikum. Am I speaking with Sofia?" the accented English of the woman was vaguely familiar. Kassim had always spoken English with the same sharply pronounced words.

"Wa-likumslam." Sofia replied haltingly, her tongue felt heavy and awkward voicing the salutation like her father had taught her years ago, "Yes, I'm Sofia. Who is this?"

"Oh my child," the feminine voice broke as the lady on the line wept with feeling, serving to alarm Sofia further.

"Are you with my mother? Is it about my mother?" She asked frantically, imagining terrible scenarios involving Annalise.

"No. No, dear. I don't know your mother. I'm...I'm your Aunt. My name is Hamida. I'm Kassim's younger sister. You're my niece, child." Hamida's voice trembled with emotion over the words.

Apparently, worried over the lack of written response from her brother, Hamida had contacted the emergency number Kassim had given her, of a distant relative living in Houston. The relative had been clueless, but had volunteered to investigate on her behalf. It had taken months for him to find Kassim's will executor, who'd taken his own sweet time finding Sofia's new contact details.

"I know you don't know me, but I feel like I've known you like my own daughter. You're my blood. Now that my brother's gone, you're the only thing of his that I have left." Hamida wept unabashedly.

She told Sofia stories of her father growing up in rural Pakistan. It was like this strange, yet familiar feeling of finding the missing pieces of her own father, and Fia childishly clung to her Aunt's voice, drinking in tales of mischief, love and family. Of buttered cornbread, and stolen goat babies. Of digging wells and eating tomatoes straight from the vines...

Hours passed, before Hamida pleaded fatigue and hung up, promising to call her again. Sofia asked if her Aunt had Skype in Pakistan, and the older woman was just confused, "Of course, we have the Sky here, darling. We have the clearest skies here that you could ever wish to see. When the night comes, you can spend the entire night trying to count the stars, but morning will come before you're able to finish."

With that lovely description making her smile, Sofia neglected to clarify the mistake.

The next day, when Hamida called, they spoke about the reason for her father's estrangement with his family. Or rather, Sofia tried to speak about it, and her aunt became too upset to reply appropriately. After hours of meaningless chatter, Sofia began to realize that her Aunt was slightly simple-minded, and extremely sensitive. All she was able to gather from the conversation was that her father and her Uncle had had a very big fight when they were young, over who their sister would marry. When her Uncle's word as the family patriarch was accepted as final, her father had walked away from the family, choosing to distance himself from the matter.

"Your Tayajee (Uncle), only wanted what was best for the family. But your father wanted what was best for me," she said plainly, "I loved Kassim for his devotion, but he shouldn't have taken himself away like he did."

On the third day, Hamida wanted to know if Sofia was willing to talk to her Uncle.

A bit apprehensive about speaking to a man, her father had never forgiven his whole life, Sofia agreed to speak to her Uncle.

Faizullah Mughal was paternally loving and almost authoritative when he welcomed her into the family. If Sofia had been more emotionally mature, she might have sensed the almost heavy handed way in which he convinced her to visit the family estate. If she had realized the cultural context of almost overbearing patriarchal values, she might have been cautious enough with her decision to visit without informing anyone about her plans.

As it was, for Sofia, the invitation to visit Gharri Kherian-the family village was like an invitation to claim her own destiny. She envisioned herself surrounded by relatives for the first time. She imagined friendly family meetings and anticipated sibling-like dynamics with her cousins. She dreamed of retracing her father's boyhood amidst crudely hewn dirt-roads, and magical fruit orchards. Having grown up in a squarely middle-class household, the tales of almost fairytale-like opulence, made her feel like a long-lost Princess being asked to reclaim her throne after years of exile from the kingdom.

So when her Uncle insisted on sending her one-way ticket to Pakistan, Sofia eagerly agreed to take the trip. Armed with gifts and love, she left a message for her mother, and left for a foreign country thousands of miles away.

Now, almost six months after landing in Karachi, Sofia felt like another person, in another realm of reality.

She was about to blow up a stable full of horse, for God's sake. And the only thing bothering her was the fact that she couldn't somehow arrange for most of her extended family to join the horses, while she blew it sky-high.

And sky-high it blew indeed.

If Sofia hadn't been busy running for her life, in the opposite direction, she might have taken the time to appreciate the huge columns of flame and smoke; amidst the confusion of screaming horses and frantic village-folk...In fact she might have noticed that with enough smoke, the galaxy of ever-present stars, was almost completely invisible.

Author's Note: 

Hello Hello! 

If you're a new reader: Welcome! 

If you're here from 'Don't Remind Me', or 'Not That Interested': WELCOME BACK HOMIES!  *Hugs*

Longest, most difficult chapter I have ever written! 

If you follow my work, you'll know why: I have changed my style of writing. Cookies for anyone who can recognize the change. :D 

Sofia's story has been bugging me, since before I ended DRM. The sharper of you kids will be able to find vague mentions and references to her in DRM. 

And because I have written a very cryptic prologue before this chapter, and in case you're wondering about the name...YES I stole Salaar from one of my favorite novels of all time. This is a half-assed tribute to Salaar Sikander from Peer-e-Kaamil. :') 

As always, your feedback is welcome and eagerly anticipated! I can't promise very frequent updates, but I am very impulsive, so you never really know do you? ^_^ 

Love,

-E.