She stopped, unable to speak any more. Jai put an arm around his grandmother, hugging her tight. Although Jai’s head was swimming with questions, he knew now was not the time to ask them.

‘I wish I could go back and change what I did that day. How I wish I hadn’t left him there alone . . . ’ she broke down in stifled sobs—as if even releasing her grief fully was a luxury she couldn’t allow herself.

Badi Ma’s quiet tears wet her sari forming a dark patch where they fell, her shoulders heaved as she wept. Jai sat beside her in silence, wishing he knew what to say or do to make her feel better. ‘I’m sure you would have helped if you could have, Badi Ma,’ said Jai, finally. ‘I wish I had a sister who loved me like you love your brother. He was very lucky.’

‘No, Jai. Luck left his side a long time ago,’ said Badi Ma, almost inaudibly. ‘Every single day I wish that it was he who had lived, not I.’

Selection Day

Rawalpindi, Pakistan

Inaya’s alarm clock was yet to go off, but she was wide awake. In fact, she had been awake for almost two hours because today was Selection Day. The excitement had staved off sleep, which was pretty annoying because she knew that to perform well, she needed to be well rested. There was no point trying, however, so Inaya jumped out of bed. As she brushed her teeth, she spoke to her reflection in the mirror.

‘Today ish da day dat will dedermine de resht of your life, Inaya Haider,’ she declared, through the foam bubbles, before rinsing. ‘Okay, maybe that is overdoing the drama a bit, but still, today really matters. So, make it count.’

Rousing pep talk done with, Inaya quickly got ready and skipped down the steps, three at a time, to get herself breakfast. The sun hadn’t risen. The world lay asleep—the deep silence punctuated only by the occasional birdcall. Inaya went to the kitchen, brought out the egg and milk cartons and expertly cracked two eggs into a cup of milk, making sure that only the yolks dropped in. She had read somewhere that Jhulan Goswami also had her eggs like this. She was busily stirring the yolks into her milk, when Humaira entered the kitchen to have her sehri. She looked most alarmed at Inaya’s breakfast preparations.

‘Should I make you an omelette, Inaya? Why are you having raw eggs like this?’

‘They’re full of strength, Daadi. I need it today.’

‘Ah, it’s Selection Day, isn’t it? Best of luck, my kishmish. May the whole world always be yours,’ said Humaira, kissing Inaya on her forehead and then wrinkling her nose at the smell of the eggs in her glass.

‘Abba doesn’t know about this, Daadi . . . ’ began Inaya, as she collected her kit to leave.

‘I’ll manage your Abba, don’t you worry,’ assured her grandmother. ‘Go, play your best, Inaya.’