Chapter 1: The Joy of January
The morning unfurled beneath a sea of cerulean blue. Clouds drifted overhead like scattered clusters of pearls, carried wherever the gentle breeze wished. The air was pleasant—neither cold enough to demand a sweater nor warm enough to leave anyone seeking shade.
High above the neighbourhood, an eagle glided through the blue.
Nestled within a quiet residential neighbourhood stood a modest two-storey beige house. It was neither extravagant nor plain; it possessed the sort of warmth that only a well-loved home could.
Time had left its fingerprints upon it. The paint had faded where years of sunlight had lingered the longest, and the decorative moulding around the balconies had softened beneath countless monsoons. Yet no fresh coat of paint could have given it what it already possessed.
It looked lived in.
Loved.
A mature custard apple tree spread its branches across the front yard, casting playful patches of shade over the tiled pathway leading to the entrance. Every now and then a ripe fruit surrendered to gravity, dropping softly onto the grass below with a muted thud.
Life flourished in every corner of the property.
Terracotta pots overflowing with roses, hibiscus, lilies, jasmine, mint and a thriving curry leaf plant lined the front yard. A delicate orchid and a blooming red rose occupied pride of place on the first-floor balcony while long strands of money-plant vines climbed patiently along the walls until patches of green interrupted the beige exterior.
The balcony railings had even been fitted with rows of metal pigeon spikes.
The pigeons, however, appeared to hold rather different opinions about their intended purpose.
Several perched comfortably upon the spikes as though they had been installed for their convenience. Another stubbornly attempted—for what was almost certainly not the first time—to wedge a twig between them.
It slipped.
The twig tumbled to the ground.
The pigeon stared after it for a moment before fluttering down to retrieve it and trying again.
Persistent little things.
Down in the driveway, Nazim Rashid stood beside his ageing silver Toyota SUV while a mechanic leaned over the open engine bay.
“Try it now.”
Nazim turned the key.
The starter motor groaned.
Nothing.
He sighed.
Please don’t do this today.
“Once more.”
He tried again.
The engine hesitated...
Then suddenly rumbled to life, startling a cluster of pigeons into noisy flight from the balcony.
“There we go,” the mechanic said with a satisfied smile before lowering the bonnet.
“The battery’s beginning to weaken. It’ll manage for now, but I’d replace it before it leaves you stranded.”
Nazim nodded.
Just survive one more month.
Buying a new battery wasn’t impossible.
It simply wasn’t a priority.
Inside the kitchen, the aroma of fresh ginger, crushed cloves and cardamom drifted warmly through the house.
Tea simmered gently in a steel saucepan while Salama stirred it with an absent smile, watching the rich caramel colour deepen as the milk blended in.
Porcelain cups touched softly against one another as she arranged them on a tray.
"Nihad!”
No reply.
"Naaz!”
Silence.
"Noora!”
Still nothing.
She shook her head.
“Someone come downstairs right now.”
These children keep getting lazier every day.
A moment later, footsteps descended the staircase.
Nihad wandered into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Good.”
She handed him a small cloth bag.
“Go bring me some curry leaves and mint from the front yard.”
“Okay.”
As he turned to leave, Salama paused.
“Oh... what should I make for lunch?”
Nihad stopped immediately.
“Oh! I found this amazing salt-baked fish recipe online yesterday.”
His hand disappeared into his pocket in search of his phone.
“I’ll show you—”
“No, no, no.”
Salama laughed before he could unlock it.
“You’ll make me sit through another cooking video.”
“It’s only twenty minutes.”
“Exactly.”
He grinned.
“Ask Naaz or Noora.”
“They’ll say I’m ruining their diet.”
“They’ll start talking about calories, protein and olive oil.”
He sighed dramatically.
“You know how they are.”
Salama pointed firmly towards the garden.
“Go.”
“You’re already here.”
“...Fine.”
On the first-floor balcony, one particularly plump pigeon wandered along the railing.
Its tiny head tilted.
The balcony door stood slightly open.
Inside...
Silence.
No movement.
The pigeon stepped confidently through the doorway.
It wandered inside as though it had every right to be there.
Naaz sat before her dressing mirror, patiently pulling a hairbrush through her long black hair.
“...Ow.”
Another knot.
She frowned at her reflection.
One day I’m going to shave my head.
A horrified pause.
No... I’d cry after five minutes.
She tried again.
The brush snagged once more.
“...Seriously?”
Across the room, Noora lay sprawled across her bed, one leg dangling lazily over the side while her attention remained entirely fixed on her mobile phone.
Her bed resembled the aftermath of a small natural disaster.
Crumpled sheets.
A half-folded blanket.
Pillows scattered everywhere.
Beside it, Naaz’s bed looked as though it belonged in an IKEA catalogue.
Noora scrolled absentmindedly.
Another message.
Another video.
Another meme.
Then...
Something unexpectedly heavy settled on her foot.
She frowned.
Huh?
Without looking away from her screen, she shook her leg.
The weight exploded into frantic movement.
A pigeon launched into the air in complete panic.
It ricocheted wildly around the room before darting toward the curtains, as terrified of the girls as they were of it.
Feathers floated through the room.
Naaz looked up.
Her eyes widened.
“AAAAAH!”
She stumbled backwards.
“NOORA!”
“Turn off the fan!”
“What?”
“The fan!”
“You do it!”
“You’re closer!”
“No, you are!”
The pigeon shot alarmingly close to the spinning blades.
Naaz’s heart lurched.
She dashed barefoot across the room, ducking beneath the frantic bird before slamming the switch near the foot of her bed.
The fan slowed.
Neither sister waited for it to stop completely.
“Mumma!”
“Mumma!”
They thundered downstairs.
Salama poked her head out of the kitchen.
“What happened?”
Noora immediately buried her face against her mother’s shoulder.
“Mumma...”
“There’s a pigeon in our room!” Naaz cried, looking moments away from tears.
Just then Nihad returned carrying a bag overflowing with fresh mint and curry leaves.
He took one look at his sisters.
Then burst into laughter.
“You two are in high school and college...”
“...and one pigeon defeated both of you?”
Naaz folded her arms.
“Oh?”
“So you can handle it?”
“Of course.”
“Please don’t let him upstairs,” Noora pleaded.
“He’ll do more damage than the pigeon.”
Naaz nodded vigorously.
“Don’t you remember the mirror?”
Nihad immediately stopped smiling.
“...”
“...We don’t talk about the mirror.”
Salama laughed.
“I think Naaz has a point.”
The front door opened.
“What’s everyone discussing?”
Nazim stepped inside after seeing the mechanic off.
Immediately both daughters spoke at once.
“Baba!”
“There’s a pigeon in our room!”
“It almost landed on me!”
“It almost ate my toe!”
“I’m scared!”
The complaints overlapped until none of them made much sense.
Nazim couldn’t suppress a smile.
“Alright.”
“I’ll go negotiate with our guest.”
The pigeon had finally exhausted itself.
It sat miserably upon the curtain rod.
Nazim approached slowly.
“So...”
“You’ve certainly chosen the wrong family.”
With surprising gentleness, he draped a small towel over the frightened bird before carefully lifting it into both hands.
After a brief struggle, it settled.
“There now.”
The doorbell rang.
“Nihad,” Nazim called.
“You get the door.”
“I’ll release this fellow afterwards.”
Standing outside was Aziz, almost as tall as Nihad, balancing an enormous three-tiered stainless-steel tiffin carrier.
“Assalamu alaikum.”
“Wa alaikum assalam, Uncle.”
“Ready for lunch?”
“Uncle...”
“We just had breakfast.”
Salama emerged from the kitchen, adjusting her dupatta.
“Assalamu alaikum, Bhaiya.”
“I was just making tea.”
“I’ve already had tea,” Aziz smiled.
“But one can never have enough.”
As though perfectly timed, Nazim descended the staircase holding a thoroughly defeated, thoroughly offended pigeon.
Aziz grinned.
“I see you’ve made a new friend.”
“I think he’s already been enemy-zoned,” Nihad laughed.
Aziz placed the tiffin on the dining table.
"Asma cooked a little extra.”
Nazim smiled at Salama.
“Looks like lunch has been decided.”
Aziz’s phone vibrated.
"Khalil.”
He answered immediately.
“Assalamu alaikum.”
“Wa alaikum assalam, Abba.”
Khalil’s smiling face appeared on the screen.
“How’s everyone? You’re not at home.”
“I’m at your Chacha’s.”
Aziz turned the phone towards the family.
A chorus of greetings erupted.
Laughter followed.
Before handing the phone to Nihad, Aziz reached into another bag.
“Oh... I nearly forgot.”
“This is for you, Naaz.”
She accepted the old family album with an excited smile.
“You remembered.”
The sisters settled together on the sofa, eagerly turning yellowed pages filled with weddings, graduations and birthdays.
“Noora, look at Baba’s haircut.”
“Oh my God.”
“Baba... what were you thinking?”
“It was fashionable.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Naaz declared.
“Your mother liked it.”
“Don’t involve me,” Salama replied, smiling.
A loose black-and-white photograph slipped free and floated onto the floor.
Noora picked it up.
“Baba... is this you or Uncle?”
She smiled mischievously.
“Whoever it is looks better than Nihad Bhai”
“Hey!”
Nihad protested, still holding Khalil’s phone.
“Mumma! Noora called me ugly.”
Even Khalil laughed.
Aziz’s smile faded ever so slightly as he recognised the photograph.
“No.”
“That’s our eldest brother.”
“Asad Bhaiya.”
The room grew quieter.
Naaz looked carefully at the smiling young man.
“Where is he now?”
Aziz lowered his eyes.
“He passed away.”
“He was only sixteen.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Nazim glanced at the faded photograph. For a brief moment, his thumb lingered against the edge of it before he looked away.
Then, from upstairs, a mobile phone began to ring.
Naaz excused herself and hurried towards the staircase.
Behind her, conversation slowly returned.
Tea was poured.
Lunch was unpacked.
The pigeon, now released into the garden, immediately flew back towards the roof as though nothing had happened.
And beneath the bright January sky, the Rashid family carried on with the ordinary happiness that so often precedes extraordinary sorrow.
nice detailing