This story won second place in Pithead Chapel’s Larry Brown Short Story Prize.
Through the pores of the mosquito net, I see Abba holding my aunt Salma Khala’s hand. She’s Ammi’s younger sister, as tall as my mother, but much slimmer. Tonight, she’s wearing a white muslin kameez. Moonlight shines on the heel-sized bald spot at the back of Abba’s head as he leads Khala into the darkness of the room at the farther end of our rooftop terrace. They must be treading on their toes because I don’t hear the tinkle of Khala’s bell anklets or the characteristic fall of Abba’s feet that makes the floor shudder. Click here to read the full story.