The Lost Pearl (2012) (12 page)

I went home that evening feeling overwhelmingly happy. It was true, then, that a song or a poem could change one’s whole life. Ahmer was wrong if he believed he did not have the power to eradicate my sorrow, yet it was also true that the sadness in me was so profound that the weapon required to erase it completely was only within my reach.

Ahmer had changed me. He had given me a renewed zest for life, the gift of confidence, and countless memories that I would always cherish, even if, for some unforeseen reason things did not work out between us. My frightening dreams had dissipated to a significant degree. They had become rare and somewhat less intense. The nightmares had been replaced by happy dreams. I had a dream once of Ahmer and me riding a white horse along a snow-covered mountain path. He was riding fast, towards a new, bright sun, as if he were saving me from something and taking me to a happy place, a heaven on Earth. I felt it symbolized the way he had indeed saved me from a bitter existence, taken me away from all the darkness that had enveloped me for years towards a new sunrise.

When I attempted to return his poetry book, he said, “You’ve heard of the saying, haven’t you, that the one who lends his book to someone is foolish, and the one who returns it is even more so?”

I had not heard it, so I smiled.

“I want to save you from foolishness, so please keep it.”

It was the first gift I accepted from him.

He gave me a rose on my birthday, which I placed between the pages of the beautiful poem, along with the scrap of paper with Ahmer’s handwritten translation. It was still wet from the water, so it left a red mark near the top of the page. Throughout my life, I often had a series of what-if questions running through my mind: What if my father hadn’t been taken away from me? What if my mother had never remarried? But the positive person I was starting to rediscover in myself had begun asking questions in a different context. What if Professor Reynolds had not cancelled his class that day in February of the year before? If it had not been Papa’s death anniversary, I probably would have gone back to my apartment to finish my laundry or get ahead of the schedule with my college assignments. Had Jennifer or Kavita been available, I may not have stayed alone on a bench reminiscing about the past. What if Ahmer had been having his class during that time? What if I had never struck up a conversation with him? What if I had never left Pakistan or he had never left? What if I had never met him? Introverted and conventional as I was, I probably would have never met anyone and simply agreed to marry whoever my mother and aunt chose for me. What if? But I believed that destiny would have brought us together regardless, if not in America then in Pakistan. We were meant to be, and nothing could ever come between us. I had been sure about a lot of things: leaving my home when I did, my career choice, Stanford. However, the conviction that Ahmer was right for me gave certainty a new meaning altogether.

I often thought that I might not have spoken to him had I met him in Pakistan. Here in America, his dark skin had drawn me to him; he had fulfilled my need to connect to someone from my country and my culture. Someone who understood me without the need to explain, without the need to translate my thoughts into words. I talked about Pakistan with my friends but I was always guarded, making every effort to highlight the positives and forever attempting to minimize—and sometimes disguise—the
negatives. But with Ahmer it was different. It was like discussing the flaws of a beloved family member among family. I loved talking to him; it had become comfortable enough that it felt like walking home yet remained unpredictable enough that it felt like taking a different route every day.

One evening when it came time to walk back home, it suddenly started to rain. What began as a light drizzle soon transitioned into a heavy downpour. I stood under the arches to wait for it to slow down, but it did not. The oak trees that had previously given me refuge appeared helpless in this stormy, thunderous rain. Ahmer had an umbrella and said he would be more than happy to walk me home. We waited for a little while longer, and when it subsided a bit, I gladly accepted his offer. He insisted I take the umbrella, so part of the way we shared it, and when the rain became less intense, he held it generously over my head, ensuring that neither my books, nor my hair got wet. Thereafter, even on the brightest, sunniest days, he walked me home.

We had many light conversations and on occasion would have long heart-to-heart talks. We would stroll beneath the shade of the tall palm trees and gaze at the bright pink magnolias that crossed our path. I had walked that path countless times before having met Ahmer, but everything seemed much more beautiful and serene in his presence. I appreciated the lush green of the grass beneath my feet and the sunshine peeking through the trees over my head. I noticed the birds chirping and the squirrels stealthily climbing up the branches before mysteriously disappearing from view. The walk home had once seemed tedious; walking alone, thoughts of my past would come back to haunt me, and by the time I reached home, my feet would be tired and my mind would be worn out. Now that same walk seemed too short and made me wish that I lived further away. Our walks had become a perfect way to wrap up my day. I returned home feeling positive and worthwhile. Our friendship made perfect sense, much like the numbers and letters in a solved algebra equation,
the time we spent together concluding like a well-constructed sentence.

On one of our walks, I finally gathered the courage to broach the subject that had been dominating my thoughts for months. “So are you taken?”

“Taken where? Taken aback, taken to prison, or taken for granted?” He was always being funny and it was impossible to outwit him.

“You know what I mean, Ahmer.”

“No, but I am considering you very strongly.”

I could not help but laugh, and although I was not sure if he was joking, I let it be. I liked the way this was playing out. I just knew I felt happy and complete. He was a true gentleman who had a lot of respect for women, a generous heart, and the best advice.

On a day when I was feeling particularly down, he said to me, “It is natural to feel sadness about your father. He was taken away from you at such a tender age, but maybe you can try to do what I do when I think of my mother: think of all the good years and the wonderful memories. Don’t let the tragedy of his untimely death overshadow his whole life. You are such a wonderful person; I’m sure much of the credit goes to him, and the thing he would have wanted most is for you to be happy. You are a giving person, Sana, and one cannot give from a heart full of sadness and anger.”

I thought about Ahmer’s advice very carefully. What he had said was so deep and so true; his words worked wonders for me, becoming a soothing balm on my aching heart. I am sure they made me a better person, or at least they brought out the good person that had, years ago, died somewhere inside me.

Two thousand and one was the year of my graduation. I had been accepted for the journalism program at Stanford, and Ahmer had joined the master’s program for law. Ahmer had become a vital part of my existence. We had become inseparable friends who could read one another like pages of a thoroughly memorized book, and hear one another as lyrics of a song practiced to perfection. Neither of us had given a name to our friendship, and it was adequate for me that he was my companion and my confidante.

My aunt and uncle were present for my graduation ceremony, as were Ammi and Sahir. Sara had wanted to attend, but my stepfather did not let her. I was disappointed that my sister was not part of such an important day in my life, and it added another level of resentment to what I already felt for Mr. Rehman.

I embraced my education and immersed myself in the world of journalism. Ahmer had unlocked so much inside me that I was able to overcome countless obstacles and find new avenues of writing. I stopped worrying about what people would think or how they would judge me based on what I wrote. I felt free and was ready to venture into new territory like a caterpillar having acquired its butterfly wings.

I was fortunate to have great teachers who taught me lessons that extended beyond the words that were written in my textbooks. Professor Reynolds once said,

“Always pay attention to detail. If you write facts, make sure it is the truth—not just the apparent truth, but the real truth. Be inquisitive. Check all your facts. Always read between the
lines and hear what’s between the audible frequencies. Don’t go by what’s on the surface; dig deeper. Dig until you find the truth, because even if it isn’t what you expected to find, it is your real treasure. If you write fiction, write it as a truth so it appears real; that means you don’t just write it, you live it. You sleep thinking about it. You dream about it. If you are writing about a person, you have to become that person. If you are writing about a place, your mind has to be in that place. You want to be like a seasoned actor performing a character role. Write what your heart tells you to and when it tells you to, and I promise the ink will flow.”

Ahmer was getting busier with his college work, as well, but always managed to find time for me. “You seem to be praying a lot these days,” he said to me on one occasion. “Can you add me to your prayer list?”

“I don’t have to add you,” I said, smiling. “You’re already on it.” You are on the top of the list, I thought to myself. “Anything special I should ask for?”

“I desperately want to get chosen for that law firm internship in New York I told you about. It’s very competitive; they select only four law students from the entire country.”

“I will remember to include that request in my prayers, but I’m sure your outstanding credentials will get you there,
Inshallah
[God willing].”

A few weeks later, Ahmer called and said, “I got selected for the internship in New York! I can’t believe it. I’m so excited and had to call you right away.”

“That’s great news,” I said, feeling genuinely proud of his achievement. “Congratulations. I know what a promising lawyer you are because I can never win an argument with you. You have such immense convincing power that the jury will always be on your side.” However, as I spoke, the thought of Ahmer leaving for the East Coast began to tug at me.

“Thank you for praying, Sana,” he said softly.

“I can’t say I prayed day and night, but I did pray with a good amount of sincerity, even though it means you are going to be far. That was the least I could do after you took away my stage fright so successfully. How long is the internship?” I asked, not wanting to sound overly devastated about our forthcoming separation.

“It’s six weeks long and it starts two weeks from now.”

“New York has a culture of its own, you know. People talk fast, and you might not be able to understand them. They walk fast, too—they could run you over,” I said, attempting to neutralize my sadness with some humor.

“I’m not worried about getting run over. I always walk looking down, so I am always grounded. People who keep their chin too high are the ones who fall,” he replied cleverly.

“But if you look down, you might not see all the beauty. You don’t want to miss the magnificence of the Twin Towers or the pretty women on the streets.”

“I will make sure I see the Twin Towers; actually, I’ll be working there. Pretty women I don’t need to see. After all, it’s not like I’m searching anymore.” He had won his argument elegantly once again, and since I was flattered by what he had said, I gladly decided to rest my case.

The two weeks leading up to his departure passed before I knew it. When he was about to leave for the airport, I wished him good luck. “Take care of yourself,” was the last thing he said to me before he left. In that moment I suddenly felt that he would be gone for a really long time. It’s just six weeks, I reminded myself.

His schedule in New York was busier than I had imagined, and I felt as if his life had taken up the city’s pace. He seemed to be working extra hard and eating and sleeping progressively less.

“I am enjoying my work a lot,” he told me over the phone. “They like me and they might offer me a position in the future
if I do well. But Sana, I’m so bored without you. I tell you about my day and all over the phone, but it’s just not the same. I can’t believe I had gotten so used to your company. I’ve known you for five years, but it feels like an eternity. I can’t remember what life was like without you.”