she wore in the hamper. She was making a pile for laundry that took place every Sunday. Zoha never had big piles, even before when dadi was alive and she put both of their clothes in one load. She remembered one thing dadi used to tell her-in her times women used to wash every family members' clothes with hands. There were no machines. No spinners to wring water out of them. And it was difficult for them because it was a tradition that several people lived together, joint family. Technology was not as advanced in early twentieth century, which could have made their lives easier.

Sometimes these snippets of memories were like drops of oil, that when they were poured into the jammed machine, it began to move the cogs and series of tick-tock commenced to play inside. She dazed out, oblivious to the sweet old times. They were so strong that its influence on her never fainted. She kept coming back to it. It was like emblazoned words in stone, once it was carved in there, it was nearly impossible to scratch it off.

On the bed, under dadi's pillow, there was her chadar that Zoha folded and kept it. When sometimes she missed her, she felt the softness of it, then imagined dadi by her side. Thinking made her fall asleep. Chadar was not washed even for once since she died. And Zoha didn't want to. The only smell of dadi would be gone forever. How could she so such thing. It was like throwing away her invisible presence, too.

She finalized what clothes she was going to wash and carried the light weight of hamper to the laundry room. There were two machines. Both empty and dry. Saliha hadn't done the laundry yet. Zoha had one load to wash. She would be free from this chore earlier and then relax.

As the load was being washed, Zoha went to the kitchen and drank half glass of water. The dishes from the morning were dry and stale in the sink. Rumina was accustomed to doing her work on time. Then why didn't she wash them? Zoha thought, what if she washes them? She knew it was not her job. But still. She could hear the chant from the dishes: wash me wash me. I am so smelly. She checked for the presence of Rumina. It seemed like she wasn't around. It was twelve o' clock in the morning. This part of her task in the kitchen was delayed. Zoha wondered when they were going to be cleaned. She didn't have anything to do at that hour.

She went forward, part of her was balking, restricting her from squeezing the dish wash sponge. She was unsure if she should scrub it against the body of the plate and turn on the tap. In spite of slight unwillingness, she fetched the sponge from the dispenser and formed foam with lemon-smelled liquid.

Sometime later as she was washing them, plates and china cups clinking against steel sink walls, Rumina showed up in the kitchen.

"Zoha bibi?" She called her name in bolting surprise. "What are you doing?"

Zoha halted amid. She turned off the tap, bubbles still on her hand. Then looked in the back at Rumina, whose mouth was gaped open.

"What are you doing, Zoha bibi?" She came forward.

Zoha was somehow nervous, like she was caught doing the wrong thing.

"I am washing dishes?"

Rumina took the sponge from her hand. "This is my work. Why are you doing this? You make me drop my head in shame."

"No, Rumina," Zoha said. "I really didn't mean that. I just thought- you were busy so it would help you if I did this small work." Storm of confusion was swaying from her one eye to another.

"No, Zoha bibi. You don't look good holding dirty dishes. This work is for people like me. Not you." Rumina's head was part lower than usual.

Zoha let her take the sponge from her hand. "Rumina, you can say whatever you want, but don't insult yourself. I see you as a family member. You deserve to be treated respectfully," she said politely.

Rumina moved past her to the sink, while Zoha's back was turned to her.

"Me working here for years is a big proof that you treat me respectfully," Rumina said with a level of confidence. "There hasn't been a single time when Saliha bibi hurt me for a mistake I did. She is the nicest owner. She is the reason I work here. You don't know how owners treat their maids. They break things when it doesn't fulfill their expectations and even hit them like they are some mule."

Silence crept between them.

"Not every house is safe for poor maids like us." Rumina started washing dishes. The noise of running water intervened her voice. But she was determined to talk through it. "It's a blessing that I am in this house. If it wasn't for your kindness I would have been loitering on the streets, pleading for work. Whenever I pray I thank Allah."

Zoha quietly listened to her. Then she said, "sometimes I like to do some kitchen work too."

"I know your nature very well. You have gone on your dadi. Well-mannered, polite and none arrogant. There is a huge difference between you and Manal bibi. Sky and earth."

"Everyone is different. I don't blame her. She has grown up spoiled. If my parents were alive, then maybe I would have been like her too."

"No, Zoha bibi, you can never be spoiled," Rumina said it like she was exactly sure.

"I mean you may never know." Zoha folded her arms across her chest.

"I have seen your mummy. She resembled the personality of your dadi. Calm and patient."

There was no perfect coincident than Rumina speaking about Aaliyah when Zoha knew her mother more by reading her journal. After this she felt her past had a strong impact on who she was now and a reputation that was connected to her name. At least somebody valued her. She wasn't lost in nothingness, despite she was alone.

"I remember how shocking it was to us when we got the news of her death. Car accident? Couldn't accept it. I was mind-blown. It was like the mountain had crushed on us." Rumina's hand stopped and she focused at one thought. Astonishment seemed the same on her face as the time when the tragedy occurred. "You were put to sleep just few minutes before in dadi's room. Zafar sahab and Saliha bibi, the responsible adults ran to the hospital, leaving their own little kids behind. Shehryaar baba was old enough to take care of her three year old sister. I tried to calm dadi, but she kept crying, muttering Rehman and Aaliyah."

Before this, Zoha had never heard much from Rumina about the accident of her parents. It barely occurred that they even talked like this.

"Then what happened?" Zoha's heart beat increased and she gasped to breathe.

"After half hour we gotta call from Zafar sahab and your dadi picked the phone with her trembling hands." Rumina stopped, clipped to series of thoughts.

"What did he say?" Zoha already knew what was coming next.

"Rehman sahab passed away and Aaliyah bibi didn't seem to last longer either." Tear popped in her eyes. She wiped them with the tail of her dupatta. "Zoha bibi, I will wash the dishes. You go to your room."

As Zoha looked at Rumina, her sadness grew. She immediately left before it became too overwhelming not to cry. She took out clothes from the washing machine and put them in the spinner. Then waited for twenty minutes in the small room, arms folded across her chest, leaning against the wall, eyes transfixed at the box of detergent. She couldn't help but brood about her sad life. There was barely a grain of happiness.

When the spinning was done, she pulled the near-to-dry clothes, and dropped them one by one in the plastic basket. She checked for the color of her kameez, in case if it faded. They were fine. She sniffed at the softener-filled air. Warm and light. She liked it whenever she did the laundry. She carried the basket with two hands and climbed the stairs to the roof, where noon was bright and stunning to leave wet clothes hanging until they turned dry and crisp.

The roof floor was baked with sun. She could feel the heat underneath her thin flip-flops. She put the basket down and fished out a neon pink dupatta, then hung it on the line. The material of it was see-through. As more clothes covered the line, she felt little bit protected from the shining sun, which blanched her view.

Her arms were tired from extending high. She stopped and took a breath. She went to stand by the railing and looked out. She didn't come up here very often. In fact nobody did. It was kind of deserted. But Rumina still kept it clean-evident from the dustless tiles. The walls were painted couple of years ago. Zafar thought to make this place more inviting by adding furniture. But it seemed that he forgot about it. Or didn't have time. Either possibility progressed the loneliness around here.

Birds often found the empty roof their house by landing at the railing. There was no shelter above. Only the open sky and the companion wind. She looked down at the lawn and the driveway. The flowers appeared like dots from the height. Grass-a green carpet. She drifted her eyes elsewhere. Her arm started to burn from the constant heat. She jolted it away before redness shocked her skin.

She went back to continue hanging the last two pairs of clothes, so she could finally abandon the hot roof. When she lifted her heels to reach, the voice of someone came nearer. She halted to look at the door. It was Shehryaar. He was covering the speaker of the phone close to his mouth to eliminate distraction. Zoha turned to continue hanging clothes.

How come he is here today? she thought.

He talked loudly going over to the railing.

"Hello, Mr.Ramirez? Can you hear me now?" he said.

Zoha peeked through the clothes, seeing who he was talking to. She bend down to pick her inner shameez, light colored and hung it next to kameez. The basket got empty. She skimmed down the line and applied clothespin to each one. The work then was done. She picked the basket and headed down.

When she was coming out of the laundry room, she bumped into Shehryaar in the corridor.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," she said and continued to go to her room.

"At least I saw you," he said in Zoha's back.

Zoha stopped. Then slowly turned around.

"It's like we are neighbors living in the same house."

"Jee?" Zoha was confused by what he meant.

He took steps toward her. "It has been days since we properly met each other. Isn't it strange?"

"I am busy that's why." She spoke in a low voice.

"But what?" He sounded more serious than before. "What do you do?"

"You were there when I was hanging clothes on the roof."

Shehryaar came forward even more. His eyes were planted on her. "Doesn't the house maid do the laundry?" He began speculating her.

Zoha breathed. "I do mines every week. It's my habit."

"Hm." He rubbed his stubbled chin with pointer finger. "Have you noticed that you do things that Manal never does? I mean mummy does it because she is an adult. But you?"

His eyes on her made Zoha feel nervous and insecure. She always tried to avoid talking to him. But he was the one who came and spoke to her endlessly.

"It brings me satisfaction to do my own things."

"Well, that's a good habit."

Zoha dismissed the small meeting by turning away. She thought this was the only thing he wanted to talk about.

"Do we have any relationship?" he said. "Of cousin?"

Zoha stopped.

What does he want? she said in her heart.

She looked at him.

"Have you grown up shy or you don't only like to talk to me?"

"I have always been little shy. I am sorry if you felt bad about it."

Shehryaar took one last step toward and his shadow overpowered Zoha's. He was big and strong in front of her.

"No. Not at all." He hissed a sigh. "I wanted to talk to you. Promise won't take much of your time."

Zoha managed to look into his brown eyes. "What is it?" she murmured.

"You look like you are not happy here. Am I getting that right?"

"I miss dadi so much."

"I can understand your loss. But-maybe not as much." Hint of gloominess was visible on his face. "Why do I think you are hiding something. It's more than what your saying."

"Why are you asking me that?"

"I know- you wouldn't want to share it with me. But still."

Quietness stretched between them. Zoha wondered if her whamming heart was loud enough to be heard outside. She began twiddling with the edge of her dupatta.

"It's nothing like that," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you look happy and lively like Manal and Faiza? Do you talk to them?"

"Not much." She lied. She didn't even go near them because they always looked at her with the eyes of an enemy.

"Why?"

"I will talk to you later. I have to go to my room." She turned and went to her room.

"Zoha?" he called. But she didn't reply.

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Reshami dupatta- reshami is a type of material. So dupatta is made out of that material.

Bibi- maids often call their female owner by that word to show respect.

Sahab- it is called to a man with respect, like 'sir'.

Jee- yes, or what.

😀