A man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing, Mariam. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed, it won’t stretch to make room for you.
Learn this now and learn it well, my daughter: Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always. You remember that, Mariam.
Perhaps this is just punishment for those who have been heartless, to understand only when nothing can be undone.
A woman who will be like a rock in a riverbed, enduring without complaint, her grace not sullied but shaped by the turbulence that washes over her.
Blessed is He in Whose hand is the kingdom, and He Who has power over all things, Who created death and life that He may try you.
You see, some things I can teach you. Some you learn from books. But there are things that, well, you just have to see and feel.
Boys, Laila came to see, treated friendship the way they treated the sun: its existence undisputed; its radiance best enjoyed, not beheld directly.