A Thousand Splendid Suns

A few minutes before eleven, a man with a bullhorn called for all
passengers to Peshawar to begin boarding. The bus doors opened with a
violent hydraulic hiss. A parade of travelers rushed toward it, scampering
past each other to squeeze through.
Wakil motioned toward Laila as he picked up his son.
"We're going," Laila said.
Wakil led the way. As they approached the bus, Laila saw faces appear
in the windows, noses and palms pressed to the glass. All around them,
farewells were yelled.
A young militia soldier was checking tickets at the bus door.
"Bov!" Azxzz. cried.
Wakil handed tickets to the soldier, who tore them in half and handed
them back. Wakil let his wife board first. Laila saw a look pass between
Wakil and the militiaman. Wakil, perched on the first step of the bus,
leaned down and said something in his ear. The militiaman nodded.
Laila's heart plummeted.
"You two, with the child, step aside," the soldier said.
Laila pretended not to hear. She went to climb the steps, but he
grabbed her by the shoulder and roughly pulled her out of the line. "You
too," he called to Mariam. "Hurry up! You're holding up the line."
"What's the problem, brother?" Laila said through numb lips. "We have
tickets. Didn't my cousin hand them to you?"
He made a Shh motion with his finger and spoke in a low voice to
another guard. The second guard, a rotund fellow with a scar down his
right cheek, nodded.
"Follow me," this one said to Laila.
"We have to board this bus," Laila cried, aware that her voice was
shaking. "We have tickets. Why are you doing this?"