The Khan Saima Mir (best short novels TXT) 📖

was lost in translation. Maybe it was always this way with the children of immigrants, separated by the gap that grew between culture and generation. Her mother had never laughed with them the way she laughed with those from her home country, and although Jia spoke the languages of her mother’s land, they sometimes felt heavy on her tongue.

Once in London, Maria had dropped her bags at the apartment and headed to New Bond Street with her sister’s credit card. Jia liked nice things but had little interest in shopping; Maria knew what suited her, and what she liked. It was the perfect arrangement. They would head out to dinner later, but for now Jia placed her case down and sat on the edge of the bed, taking off her shoes. Her feet ached a little from being on her feet. She used public transport when in London. Here she could be just another face in the crowd.

The smell of the apartment took her back to another time, the scent of wood polish and floor cleaner and lilies reminding her of the career she had worked for here and how close she had been to achieving her goal of becoming a judge. She now realised it had been an empty existence, that family was what was needed to feel whole. Losing Zan and Ahad had left her raw, as if the very skin had been taken from her. It meant everything was painful; even innocuous comments about birthdays and anniversaries were like shards sometimes, a painful reminder of what she didn’t have. In order to survive she had armoured up and carried on, numbing herself to the pain. But Akbar Khan’s death had changed all that, forcing her to face up to her responsibilities and to the island that she had become.

Now, she was responsible for the happiness and livelihood of scores of families. And she found herself looking for ways to sew up the rift her father had created between her and her son, and make sense of her relationship with Elyas.

She picked up the letters her assistant had opened and organised ready for her return. Invitations to official luncheons, the Law Society Excellence Awards, a former colleague’s wedding – all reminders of a life once lived. A life distant from the one she was living now.

She thought of all the letters Elyas had written her. The ones she had sent back, unopened. The ones he had kept and handed to her as she left for London this morning. She’d been afraid to open them on the train, afraid of her reaction to what was in them, to the opening of the floodgates she had locked and barred.

Alone in her apartment, she took them out and read them one by one.

CHAPTER 35

‘I’m outside,’ said Jia. She’d been knocking on the front door for a while with no answer.

‘I was in the bathroom.’ Elyas pulled on a jumper and went to open the door. ‘It’s the middle of the day. What are you doing here?’ he said, letting her in. He found an old tissue in the pocket of his pyjamas and wiped his nose. She was holding a box, and a bag from the pharmacy.

‘I’ve brought you soup and painkillers.’

‘I don’t drink canned soup.’

‘I made it. Is that so hard to believe?’

‘When do you have time to make soup?’

‘When did you get so mean?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’m not well and my accountant needs some papers for my tax return. I’m just a little stressed.’

She kissed him on the cheek, accepting his apology. She slipped off her shoes by the door and hung up her mac, before walking to the kitchen with the provisions she’d brought. ‘I’ve got some time before my meeting. Why don’t you finish your work, and I’ll heat this up for you?’ she said.

He was going to protest, but changed his mind. It was rare for him to be looked after by someone else, and so he accepted the help graciously, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He watched her move around the room, taking out bowls and glasses and warming up food, like this was normal. ‘So, this is how it feels,’ he said. ‘I could get used to this.’

She put the bowl down in front of him, along with a napkin and spoon. The fragrance of chicken broth, cooked with onion and garlic, cloves, peppercorns and whole coriander wafted towards him. She waited expectantly as he put the spoon to his mouth. His face conveyed the right response: it was delicious. ‘Don’t get used to it,’ she said, and then laughed.

Little by little Jia began to seep into Elyas and Ahad’s life more and more. Elyas had extended his stay after the previous editor of the paper decided he didn’t want to return from his six-month sabbatical. He was eighteen months into the job now and didn’t know whether to take up the permanent post they had offered him – a lot depended on what happened with Jia. Things had remained steady and secretive and he’d been too busy to ask questions up until now.

‘So, are we going to talk about what’s been going on or just pretend that nothing is?’ Elyas said one day, waving at Ahad on the pitch. They were at a rugby match. Ahad was on his college team.

‘Where do you want to start?’ she asked.

The way he felt about her made him uncomfortable. He had built his house on a fault line and was expecting to avoid an earthquake. People always said that there were two sides to every argument but he knew that wasn’t true. There were always three: your side, their side and the truth. In this case the truth was a distant hope and Jia’s side had never been told. They discussed everything around them except her leaving him. And they never talked about her stolen visits to his house in the night.

‘You would never have said that ten years