Chapter 3

There, in the middle of the chaos, I had found solitude. In the mayhem of poverty, I had discovered her. Her hair was lush black, and her sandals had a large 'F' written on its strap. The rosy sandals mixed up with her pleated shalwar took my breath away. I stood on the main gate, looking through its crevice and hoping to get a peek of her sandals. She would come out during the time I fetched milk and sit on the verandah, dry her hair. It was all a dream for me.

The admiration for her was pure, and I struggled to speak as I faced her. Fozia was my first love, and the betrayal from that immature love slackened my trust in romanticism. It taught me many things that I wouldn't have learned the easy way.

When I was hanged by my brother on the beam of our cowshed, and ruthlessly beaten, it became apparent that I had made a mistake. Fozia belonged to the most influential family of our village. Her father was a contractor and the house she lived in, the people called it a palace. My mother wanted to save me from the monstrous hands of my brother, but she couldn't.

I was informed at the later stage that Fozia was also confronted by her parents. And we were both asked to give up the thing, although she never admitted to me that she loved me. The main reason behind this was that we had to face board exams of 12th standard. I hated her for telling her parents about me. I also put the blame on her for my poor performance in the exams after that.

I lived in the village for some time, before getting admission to a city college. That day I felt success had, at last, kissed my feet. My mother kissed me on my cheeks, and my barbaric brothers hugged me. And I felt like hovering in the clouds.