So he tried to silence her; for he felt ashamed about what he had imagined and said. He always did that to her. Shut her up because he never had the courage to accept that he was wrong.

Like Adira, my father had a knack for being blunt. But unlike her, his words usually hurt more than they invigorated or showed support.

She was staring at me trying to intimidate me. But I was her daughter, and wouldn’t back down until I got what I wanted. “So you are collaborating with my enemy?” She finally said.

I’m tired of making mental notes every night about the next day’s meals. I want to write poetry but all I’m left with are recipes. I want Ajit to listen to my verses but all he cares for is, what’s for dinner.

"All that we shared were stories of tragedy – of lost children, of missing husbands and brothers, of sexual abuse endured. I felt I was the luckier one among them.”