Azm

AMRHEINS

19 July 1989

12:00 pm

Boston

A warm breeze hits Aziza on her face, waking her up from her slumber. She wakes up slightly confused rubbing her eyes. Opening her eyes, she takes in the breathtaking view from her apartment balcony. She realizes she slept outside while writing down the draft for her next article in the magazine. She gets up from the couch collects her stuff and moves back inside the living room. 

Her apartment is a spacious 3-bedroom property on the 8th floor of a well-maintained building in the heart of Boston. The living space is huge with a big old couch next to a full-size window. The television is placed right in front of the couch. The wooden floor is shining with the sunlight falling on it from the open window, the curtains flowing with the warm breeze and the entire place is filled with flowers and plants. The walls have her pictures from her office parties, some with her friends and all of her achievements hanging proudly on her living room wall.

Moving inside she closes the door behind her to stop the warm air from coming inside. She places the coffee mug on the kitchen counter and enters the first room right next to the main entrance, which has been converted into a home office, as she does work from home sometimes. She places the drafts securely into a file and sits down on her desk.

Moving into her room she notices the number of clothes and stuff scattered around, along with a half-open and half-filled suitcase, which suddenly reminds her of her trip to Pakistan. She is flying out to Pakistan the day after for a project with the magazine. Her office is organizing this trip for her as a Senior Content writer where she will have to go out into small towns in Pakistan and interview women for a special blog in the 5thanniversary edition of their magazine.

She has been dreading this trip ever since her boss asked her to go for it. She knows the consequences she might have to face if she encounters the streets of Peshawar, her childhood, her youth, and her daughter. She wanted to deny this offer and let someone else go instead of her, however, she also didn't want to miss this opportunity and half-heartedly agreed to it.

Aziza gets up and starts packing all of her clothes and everything she would need. Once she is done, she moves toward her closet and opens it up. She takes out a key from a drawer in the cabinet and inserts it into the one above it. Opening the drawer she moves aside a few old documents, pictures, and a small handkerchief and takes out an old, ragged picture of her holding a small baby close to her heart. She is hugging the baby so close, and her eyes depict the amount of love she has for that little bean in her hands.

"I miss you, but I'm sure you're safe and happy wherever you are" whispers Aziza, looking at the picture in her hands.

Closing and locking up the closet behind her she delicately put the picture inside her handbag. It was already six when she completed the packing, she moved out all her suitcases into the living room and entered the bathroom for a long warm shower. As she enters the washroom she strips and stands under the running water, which perfectly conceals the tears flowing down her eyes, but sadly could not hide the pain on her face. She quickly composes herself and changes into a nice outfit for dinner with her friends before she leaves for Islamabad.

Aziza dresses up in a flowy white dress, puts on some moisturizer and dabs on lipstick before grabbing her purse and heading out of her apartment. She checked the time as she waited for a taxi under her building, it was a quarter to seven and she realized she was late. She gets into the taxi as soon as it arrives and tells the driver the address.

"Amrheins, 80 W Broadway" she instructs the driver.

As the taxi rolls out on the busy road, she can't help but get lost in the thoughts of her past and what the future holds for her.