“Come with me to celebrate iftar with my baba,” I blurt suddenly, unsure why I hadn’t thought of it before. “He can play this for you—it’ll be just like a celebration at home.”
“Will there be other women?” she asks, momentarily uncertain.
“Yes—I will invite some!”
“Oh good!” Maliha claps. “Just let me tell Ginny.”
She scrambles to her feet and goes into the hall. I take my phone and send texts to everyone I can think of—Layla and her parents, Mr. Lincoln and Miss Cheryl, Hamida, and Coach and Miss Juniper. I don’t know how we’ll fit them all into our tiny apartment, but I don’t care right now. My whole body is light with joy. I can’t keep the rebab a secret another day.
I also send a text to Baba. Coming home soon. Can some friends join us for iftar?
He answers almost immediately, Certainly! You know I always make extra in case God brings us guests.
Maliha pokes her head into the room. “Okay, I’m ready!”
I get up and cradle the rebab in my arms while I follow her out. Dan joins us in the hallway.
He grins when he sees the rebab. “You got it back!”
“Maliha gave it to me.” I pull on my sandals by the front door while Dan and Maliha get their shoes. A new thought occurs to me, and I turn to her, bewildered. In Pashto, I ask, “What am I going to do with all the money? I still have eight hundred and ten dollars.”
She lifts her eyebrows, pulling on her second sandal. “What do you want to do?”
“Everyone has given so much—I want to give something, too.”
“The choice is yours,” she says cheerfully, straightening. “There are many refugees like you in this city, and God does love a generous giver.”
I nod, decided. I’ll have to research programs—perhaps I can talk to Mr. Farid or the imam about places they would recommend. Maybe I could even help Maliha find a dambora! I could get something for Baba, too. Perhaps I could find him some nice lotion to soothe his hands.
There will be time for all that later. Tonight, we celebrate.
And tomorrow, Eid al-Fitr, will be even more joyful.
As we’re going out, I say in English to Dan, “We’re going to celebrate fast-breaking—iftar—with Baba. I’ve invited a bunch of the others. Think your mom would be able to join us?”
“I’ll ask!” Dan gets out his phone.
“We need to grab some extra snacks on the way there.” I pause to grin at Maliha. I’m jittery with happiness. Not only do I have the rebab—I have money to truly host guests. “I think this may be the best Eid ever.”
“Alhamdulillah!” Praise be to God. Maliha lifts her porlaney over her nose, but her eyes are squinty with her smile.
* * *
Minutes before sunset, I try to shush everyone in the hallway outside my apartment. Mr. Lincoln elbows Coach, and Miss Juniper giggles. Mrs. Michele leans over to play with Jared to calm him down while Mr. Ty shifts his baby carrier. Dan’s mom—looking less tired now, with a tilt to her mouth and a mischievous gleam to her eyes—pauses her conversation with Miss Cheryl. Layla, Hamida, and Dan stop poking each other and turn to me. They’re holding the grocery bags of snacks we bought on the way.
“I’ll go first,” I whisper. “Then I’ll let you guys in. Okay?”
They nod. Mr. Farid translates into Farsi for Maliha. While he does, I stuff my money back into my pocket. We only spent a little on the food—barely a dent in my earnings. There will be plenty to give.
I take a deep breath and slide my key into the lock. There is no way to hide the rebab—it isn’t much smaller than me—so I don’t bother putting it behind my back. I tap the door open with my foot and step inside. An Islamic channel crackles over the radio, ready to announce the azaan and fast-breaking. The apartment smells of food and chai and spices.
“Sami jan? Is that you?” Baba calls from the living space. “I’ll be just a minute.”
“It’s me,” I say, though my voice trembles slightly. I slip off my shoes and shut the door quietly behind me. “My friends are coming.”
“Very good.”
My heart has never been so full. I walk to the doorway and pause. Baba is sitting on one of toshaks, straightening the tablecloth on the floor, but he looks up. Sees me.
Sees the rebab.
For the rest of my life I will remember what this moment feels like.
“Khuday Pak mehriban dey,” I whisper. “God is kind.”
Confusion and bewilderment flit across his face. I start to laugh, my happiness overflowing. I can’t contain it. I offer the rebab to him.
Baba’s cracked and worn hands close around the mulberry wood, and he draws the rebab to his lap. He plucks at the strings. A few notes soar into the stillness of our tiny apartment, and I see joy—deep and real—settle in his soul. He looks up at me then, as I open the front door to let in our friends.
Slow and true and wide, he smiles.