Claiming the Fourth
’Dressing quickly, Kamini chooses a saree that drapes elegantly over her curves, its soft cotton whispering against her skin, though Nadeem's words about modesty echo in her mind. She walks the 30 meters to Aisha's sprawling home, her steps heavy with resolve. The morning heat presses against her, amplifying her unease. At the door, Aisha greets her, her burkha framing a face etched with concern as Kamini recounts the boy's ogling through her window. “He was staring at me, Aisha,” Kamini says, her voice trembling with indignation, “watching me in my own bedroom.” Aisha's eyes widen, her hand resting on her pregnant belly. The boy, she explains, isn't home, but she calls for Fatima, his mother and Nadeem's first wife. Fatima, older and sterner, her own burkha a shield of tradition, listens as Kamini repeats her complaint, her cheeks flushing with the memory of the boy's hungry gaze.’
