A Thousand Splendid Suns

"I see you want to," Laila said, irritated by this circuitous, playful
accusation.
"Well." Mammy folded her hands on the rim of the pot. Laila spotted an
unnatural, almost rehearsed, quality to the way she said "Well" and to
this folding of hands. She feared a speech was coming.
"It was one thing when you were little kids running around. No harm in
that. It was charming- But now. Now. I notice you're wearing a bra,
Laila."
Laila was caught off guard.
"And you could have told me, by the way, about the bra. I didn't know.
I'm disappointed you didn't tell me." Sensing her advantage, Mammy
pressed on.
"Anyway, this isn't about me or the bra. It's about you and Tariq. He's a
boy, you see, and, as such, what does he care about reputation? But
you? The reputation of a girl, especially one as pretty as you, is a
delicate thing, Laila. Like a mynah bird in your hands. Slacken your grip
and away it flies."
"And what about all your wall climbing, the sneaking around with Babi
in the orchards?" Laila said, pleased with her quick recovery.
"We were cousins. And we married. Has this boy asked for your hand?"
"He's a friend. A rqfiq. It's not like that between us," Laila said,
sounding defensive, and not very convincing. "He's like a brother to me,"