Lubna, Aunt of the Groom
It was the flashing blue and white lights that caught our attention. We knew the festivities were delayed, but we hadn’t thought anything of it. After all, what sort of desi wedding doesn’t run behind schedule?
The police presence at the Mirza residence that evening, though—those cars parked all over the grassy lawn by their family boathouse, where Hena was getting ready for the wedding—well, that changed everything.
We rushed over—to see if we could help, of course. We were nearly at the door when Shaheen, poor dear, shoved past me so roughly I nearly lost my footing. She was trembling head to toe. Irum, her daughter, was by her side.
While police officers crawled all over the place, Hena sat on the sofa, staring at absolutely nothing.
We assumed Shaheen had rushed over to check on her.
Comfort her. Instead, she surveyed the scene: the officers, the blood droplets splattered on the floor.
She marched straight over to a mustachioed detective bagging a reddish-brown knife and jabbed an angry red fingernail in Hena’s direction.
“My son is missing. No one has heard from him since last night,” she said, her voice catching. “Whatever happened here is connected. And mark my words, she’s behind it.”
To be fair, Shaheen never made secret her dislike of Hena.
When Nasir announced his intentions to marry her, she’d locked herself in her room for a full week, refusing to eat or drink.
We knew she disapproved, but the particular fury she unleashed in the boathouse that day?
It still makes me shudder. Irum, bless that sweet girl, tried to talk her mother down, but it was like trying to reason with a hurricane.
Here’s where things got interesting. Moments later, Hena’s mother arrived. She heard Shaheen going on and on with her accusations. I expected Frida to cut her off. To order her off the premises immediately.
Let me tell you: She did neither of these things.
Instead, she walked up to Shaheen and hugged her. Yes, that’s right. Hugged her. I swear it on my grandchild’s life.
So tell me, can you blame us for our suspicions? How innocent can a woman be when her own mother won’t stand by her side?