ASYA
The day Shiv called me, I didn’t need him to speak to know who was on the line. He was humming the song he had sung to me the day I said I loved him. I waited for him to finish, and when he spoke, he said, “Asya, I went to an ashram. I had to find myself, and in the meantime, you found freedom.”
The sound of his breathing melted me. I let myself remember his breath by my ear, my neck.
I recited a poem. With courage in my heart, I began,
“Waiting
While sounds of doom fill the air
I visit us
When time stood still
For words and breath
To touch my empty heart.”
“I am still your biggest fan, my Tagore. Your book is so beautiful. I met someone here, but I want to—”
I hung up. He never called again, but when the phone rang one day not long after, I almost thought it was him.
“Hello, is this Asya?”
“Yes, who is this?” By the Western accent, I was hoping it wasn’t a fan who had gotten my phone number. I searched the room for Jai; he was playing peek-a-boo with the baby.
“This is Adam from Ladki Rights. We are the organization that saved your sister, Amla. She is going to call you to coordinate. We are all so glad to reunite you both—”
I dropped the phone. “Amla!” I screamed.
Jai ran over, his eyes wide. “She is okay, Asya; she is right here, Didi,” he soothed me, holding up the baby.
I nodded and reached a shaking hand down to pick up the dropped phone.
“Hello?”
“Yes, okay, so she will be calling you from the US now, once we hang up.”
“Yes, of course, thank you, thank you.” In my mind, I thanked this Adam and thanked God over and over as he explained what had happened to Amla. The God that I had given up on, the magic that I wasn’t sure of anymore, the voice inside of me that I questioned until each time I looked at the moon and knew we were watching the same one. I thanked him that, in the end, we had found our gifts, my poetry and her photography, to break free from all that held us down, past the darkest moments and back to each other. My sister.
When the phone rang, I snatched it up before the first ring had finished.
“Asya?”