Hina did not say anything. It was already evening. They exited the museum. Right opposite the museum was a café on the ground floor of a small art gallery. They sat and had a cappuccino there. They talked more. It was already 7.30 p.m. Yusuf said to Hina, ‘Let’s go!’ and placed his cup on the table. ‘There might be traffic on the way.’

It took them half an hour to reach the JJ flyover. Had there been no traffic, this distance would have been covered in five minutes. They did not talk during the drive. When they crossed the flyover, Hina looked out of the window and felt a cold wind brush against her cheeks. She liked it. She turned and asked, ‘Are you happy?’

‘Yes. Earlier I just existed. Now, I’m happy.’

She smiled at her father’s words and repeated them, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Now I’m closer to myself and have started accepting who I truly am. Otherwise we’re actually the duplicates of the society we are born in. All our actions are to please others or to copy others. Even our thought process and ideas are copies of others.’ He looked at Hina once and continued, ‘We simply exist when we try to copy others rather than finding ourselves.’ Hina noticed that Yusuf’s English had become better than before. She had never seen her father talk so seriously. She was reminded of an English teacher, Rahiya Salamat, who used to talk so deeply while teaching poems.

‘Daddy,’ she said and then looked out of the car. While looking at the beautiful lights in a grand building of the Bohri Muhallah she continued, ‘Daddy, you never used to talk like this before.’

Yusuf smiled and said, ‘Yes, you’re growing up and now I can speak my heart out to you.’

Hina’s cheeks turned red.

Before she could react, Yusuf said, ‘We are home.’

She looked into her father’s eyes for a second. He smiled.

She smiled back and got off the car.

She had dinner with her mother after the night prayers. Darakhshan was very happy. She had specially made kheer for Hina. Hina tasted it and praised it. Darakhshan asked her, ‘What did you talk about?’

Hina answered, ‘We talked a lot. Abba has changed a lot.’

‘He has changed, yes.’ Darakhshan’s voice carried a sense of rancour in it.

‘Now he speaks very smartly,’ Hina said and looked at her mother.

‘Seems like he has fed you well,’ Darakhshan said.

‘He does not even know how to do that. You know Abbu is a man of direct words.’

Hina had found herself taking her father’s side in front of her mother after many years.

Darakhshan looked at Hina, swallowed a morsel and said, ‘That is why I repeatedly say that he has been possessed.’

Hina smiled and said, ‘You’ve been trying to break the possession for four years. So much money has gone into it.’