Prologue

achin district of nangarhar province

afghanistan

september 28, 2016

2030 local time

At half past eight in the evening, the musicians played “Âhesta Bero,” prompting bride and groom to enter the wedding hall after hours of symbolic isolation. Qasim Nadar, along with the three hundred other guests, got to his feet and turned to watch the bridal procession. Round tables and high-backed chairs with white cloth covers filled the cavernous event space, leaving a wide central passage. Gold and maroon silk drapes hung from the walls and ceiling, tastefully hiding electrical conduits and other utilitarian architectural details. The facility was not opulent, but what it lacked in luxury was overshadowed by kinship and ambience.

Qasim smiled at his sister as she walked past. Even the veil Saida wore couldn’t hide her radiance. He’d never seen her so happy. Today was a joyous day, a wonderful day . . . a perfect day. The groom, Eshan Dawar, was his oldest and most cherished friend. Qasim could not imagine a more perfect union—his twin sister marrying his best friend.

Truth be told, he was a bit jealous.

The trio had been inseparable since childhood, each of them filling a distinct role. Saida, the charming one with her infectious laugh; Eshan, the prankster with his brash bravado; and Qasim, the cool-headed, cerebral one who somehow always managed to keep them out of trouble—no small feat in Afghanistan. The scarred and turbulent country—plagued by war, opium trafficking, and terrorism—was no place for happy-go-lucky children. And yet, despite this, love, laughter, and community had found a way to persevere. The sons and daughters of war were growing up, and Allah willing, they would forge a path to peace and prosperity for their children’s tomorrow.

Qasim watched the ceremony with tear-rimmed eyes and a dull, happy ache in his chest. When it was over, he hung back, waiting patiently while the couple made their rounds with the elders and guests of honor. When it was finally his turn, he embraced the grinning bridegroom.

“Congratulations, brother, I am so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Eshan said, slapping his back. He stepped back to regard Qasim. “I would not have thought it possible, but you’ve got even taller while you’ve been away at university. You must be at least two meters!”

“I still have a few centimeters to go, but I’m getting close,” Qasim said, cheeks flushing. At six foot four, he towered over almost everyone else in the room, including his father.

Eshan, who stood a perfectly respectable five foot ten, pretended to take an imaginary jump shot. “Well, if you decide you don’t like engineering, you could always try out for the NBA.”

Qasim chuckled at the joke, despite hearing it constantly from classmates. On that cue, Saida, who was perfectly matched to Eshan in more ways than height, joined them. She threw her arms around Qasim and let out a contented sigh.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, releasing her grip and considering him. “You look thin. Are they not feeding you at university?”

“No, no, it’s not that. Everything you could ever want or imagine is available—except for Afghan food, of course.” He chuckled. “But you know me, when I’m lost in my work, sometimes I forget to eat.”

“Well, I hope you’ve filled your belly tonight. Did you get some kaddo with yogurt sauce? Our aunt made it extra sweet, just the way we liked it as kids,” Saida said, her skin and eyes glowing.

“Three portions, and it was delicious . . . Now, go dance and don’t worry about me.”

“What’s that look for?”

“I’m just so happy for you,” he said. Then, turning to Eshan, “For both of you. I just wish I could somehow be a part of . . .”

When he didn’t finish, Saida pressed a fist to her heart. “Qasim, you are always with us in here.”

“I know.”

“And when you graduate and come back to Afghanistan, you can marry Diba, have children, and then we can be one giant, happy family again,” Eshan added with a sly grin.

Qasim glanced at the pretty girl in the emerald-green gown and shawl who was trying not to get caught looking at him. Diba averted her eyes, but too late. They’d been playing this little game all night. Eshan was not wrong about her. She would marry him in a heartbeat if he asked her father for her hand. And Diba’s father had made it known on more than one occasion that a union between the families was something he greatly desired. Qasim had fantasized about bedding Diba because she was beautiful, but the girl had very little to say. After the novelty of physical intimacy wore off, he wondered if he’d find her intellectually stimulating enough to spend a lifetime with. Thankfully, he was in no rush to make that decision. He still had four semesters left at school, and there was a girl in the electrical engineering program who’d caught his eye. Maybe he’d end up with her instead. The future was impossible to foresee. A star could fall from the heavens tomorrow and change all their fates.

“Time will tell,” Qasim said at last, then, taking a hand from each them, “I’m just so very, very happy for both of you. The ceremony, the food, the exchanging of vows—all perfect.”

“Thank you, Qasim,” Saida said, squeezing his hand.

“And on that note, I think it’s time to start the real party,” Eshan said. “We have a surprise.”

Qasim cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s right, we have a DJ,” Eshan said with a grin. “I can only take so much tribal music. It’s time to dance!”

The next three hours were filled with dancing and laughing as the celebration continued well into the night, like all good Afghan weddings. Gradually, the older and middle-aged guests trickled out in pairs and small groups. Around one in the morning, Qasim’s father bade his children good night. His embrace with Saida lasted longer than usual while he whispered in her ear. When he finally pulled away, Qasim was surprised to see Saida laughing and crying at the same time.

“What did he say?” Qasim asked once their father had departed. He’d left with two men that Qasim knew were Taliban elders. They’d not been on the guest list, but they had shown up regardless. He’d seen his father talking with them, and though he’d not heard the conversation, he understood from watching that an agreement had been made.

Bribes paid in exchange for a bride’s safety, he thought. No point pretending. That’s the way things work in Taliban country.

“He told me a story about our mother on their wedding day,” Saida said, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Something he’d never shared before.”

“Can you tell me?” Qasim asked, his stomach suddenly in knots of emotion as he thought of their mother, who’d passed away nearly five years ago.

“I think I should let him tell you on your wedding day,” she said, smiling and looking up at him with wet eyes. “It would be more special that way.”

He nodded and went to hug her but stopped short when her eyes suddenly went wide. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my God, I forgot to thank him,” she said, her hand going to her chest. “I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder as she sprinted off.

This ought to be funny, Qasim thought, striding after her.

He stopped at the threshold of the wedding hall, smiling as Saida chased after the sedan in which their father was a passenger. She ran down the dirt and gravel road in her wedding dress and fancy shoes, waving her arms like a maniac. Brake lights flashed red, and the car glided to a stop a hundred meters away, well out of earshot.

“What’s going on?” Eshan said, joining him. Voice ripe with sarcasm, he added, “I figured it would take at least a few days before she realized she made a mistake marrying me.”

“She said she forgot to—” His voice cut off as a brilliant red-orange comet streaked down from the sky. A heartbeat later, the car erupted in a ball of fire.

“Saida!” he screamed as burning debris arced in all directions. He was aware of Eshan running beside him, yelling something, but his mind couldn’t process anything beyond the abrupt and irreversible shift in his reality. Not two seconds ago, his sister and father had been right there—alive and full of joy—and now they were gone.

Incinerated.

Wiped from existence.

“Turn away. Don’t look,” Eshan said, piercing the hysteria in Qasim’s mind.

But he had looked.

“Oh God,” he murmured. “It’s her leg . . .”

Hands were pulling him back now, away from the heat and the carnage.

The world was spinning. He felt dizzy. Time seemed to be passing in chunks. A crowd had gathered around him. Some people were screaming. Others were crying.

“Qasim, brother,” Eshan said, grabbing him under his jaw. “Look at me.”

Qasim blinked and Eshan’s face came into focus. He’d never seen his friend so pale. Tears ran freely down Eshan’s cheeks and the look in his eyes was all wrong.

“She’s gone,” Eshan said. “They’re both gone.”

“How?” he heard himself ask. “I don’t understand.”

“It was a drone strike,” Eshan said, his gaze tilting skyward. “The Americans did this . . . the Americans took our Saida from us.”