Asma woke up to a crying baby this morning. She was used to the crankiness by now. Naira was eight months old and all the sleepless nights were worth it thought Asma as she got up. Beside her, Farhan was snoring softly. She walked up to the bassinet by the window and picked up her precious little monkey who was now starting wail her head off. Asma took her to the living room and began nursing her child. 

Half hour later when the sun began to rise and her child now asleep in her arms, Asma decided she might as well begin her day. She cooked breakfast and lunch all in an hour. Her husband would be awake any minute now and he would be his restless self. She loved the man she married but the morning was not his finest hour.

With a big sigh she stirred the pot of dal. The kitchen smelled just like her mothers did in the mornings. It had been four years since the accident. Four years since her life had been turned upside down, four years since she lost everything. Four years, and the only thing that remained constant was her mothers dal.

She occasionally flashed back to her pre – Farhan period. She was younger and she was climbing the career ladder like no other. She had her parents by her side and she had Nabeel. Nabeel, that man who stole her heart. She had a perfect, story book life and one day everything came crashing down. The accident, her parents passed away and the she was passed on to her older brothers. They had their own lives and were uncomfortable with the “responsibility”. They didn’t listen to Asma about Nabeel and she was married within six months. She moved to a new city with her new husband and life as she knew it ended.

It took her a long time to get accommodated to this life and still she never felt comfortable in it. Farhan never noticed this. He was a good guy. She loved him adequately. They had a beautiful apartment and a sweet baby. Everything looked great on paper. She had already experienced passion and knew better than to expect that from this marriage. Farhan was always busy, working hard. No time for passion. Weekends were spent shopping, watching TV and playing with the baby. Life was monotonous and Asma was just playing along.

The crying baby jolted Asma to reality. As she ran to attend to her child the cooker whistle went off. So with a child attached to her hip and a ladle in her hand she resigned herself to face the fight with whatever was left within her.

Farhan didn’t say a word at breakfast. Surprise, surprise. Asma was so used to this by now that it didn’t bother her. He washed down his toast with some tea, gathered his things and was almost out the door when suddenly, he caught her eyes.

“Something is different in him today”, thought Asma.