She blows over the melted slide, the seesaws, the merry-go-round; she blows through the chain links of the melted swing. She blows into the air toward the sky, she blows onto the sand as she slowly spins around, so that her breath can reach every part of the playground.

A glitter in the sand catches her attention: it’s one of two plastic figurines that were attached to a rotating drum mounted on a climbing structure. This figurine is the princess, with yellow hair and rosy cheeks and dressed in a sparkling white gown with a gold tiara on her head. Amina has asked Ammi many times for something similar to the tiara for Asma doll, but Ammi has always refused—tiaras are not for Muslim dolls. Amina picks the figurine up, brushing the sand off it.

The princess is unharmed except for a small fused section of the tiara. The prince is missing—Amina searches futilely in the sand—he must have melted in the fire with the drum. She cradles the princess close to her chest, singing to the princess the song her mother sings to console Amina when she’s hurting.

At first Amina sings softly, whispering the song into the ears of the figurine. But she’s alone here, with nothing around her but the ruins of a place she has spent happy hours in. She begins singing a little louder, as though she wants what’s left of the playground to hear her. And then louder still: to the sand, to the air, to the skies.

Her voice is clear and ringing even to her own ears, and she revels in the sensation the song produces in her throat, in her chest, in the upper reaches of her nasal cavities as she strains for the high notes. She’d started the song plaintively, but as it works its way into her body, it transforms into something subtly joyous, the notes a little brighter, the tempo a little quicker, the cadences lilted toward the sky.

In the new universe she’s singing into existence, the princess figurine has been restored to its original condition and united with the prince, the playground has been re-created, her mother has returned, her brother is well again, and she is safe at home, surrounded by everything familiar and dear to her.

When her father calls, she spins around startled, dropping the princess. Her father beckons from the car parked close. She fumbles to pick up the figurine, then sights her backpack, shrugs it on, and races toward the car, almost forgetting to duck under the yellow tape. Beside her father sits Arshad. No mother, but her disappointment lasts only a few seconds. Her brother must be feeling better; she’s pleased he has accompanied their father to collect her.

But why does Bhaiya not get out of the car and help her into her booster seat as he usually does? Is he still sick? It’s Abba who helps her, strangely stern and silent. Bhaiya doesn’t even turn around to look at her.