I noticed her one morning. Walking down a street that widened into a bigger road connecting two disparate parts of Lahore in an uncomfortable conjunction, her steady gait seemed to have an unhurried purpose. Neatly dressed in simple clothes and sensible shoes, her short hair primly outlining her solemn face, every morning she walked on the street that connected to my son’s school. One morning I stopped the car. I asked her where she was going. She answered, “The bus stop at the Mall Road.” I asked her if I could drop her there. She seemed pleased. It happened many times. We talked every time. I don’t remember her name anymore. She was a teacher, she was a mother, she had been working her en
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