A Thousand Splendid Suns

In Laila's head, Mammy's voice rang out. Like a mynah bird in your
hands. Slacken your grip and away it flies. Guilt bore its teeth into her.
Then Laila shut off Mammy's voice. Instead, she savored the way Tariq
had said us. How thrilling, how conspiratorial, it sounded coming from
him. And how reassuring to hear him say it like that-casually, naturally.
Us. It acknowledged their connection, crystallized it.
"And what are they saying?"
"That we're canoeing down the River of Sin," he said. "Eating a slice of
Impiety Cake."
"Riding the Rickshaw of Wickedness?" Laila chimed in.
"Making Sacrilege Qurma."
They both laughed. Then Tariq remarked that her hair was getting
longer. "It's nice," he said Laila hoped she wasn't blushing- "You changed
the subject."
"From what?"
"The empty-headed girls who think you're sexy."
"You know."
"Know what?"
"That I only have eyes for you."
Laila swooned inside. She tried to read his face but was met by a look
that was indecipherable: the cheerful, cretinous grin at odds with the
narrow, half-desperate look in his eyes. A clever look, calculated to fall