I am a Friday night. I laugh the hardest, the longest and the real-est on the phone when Faiqa tells me about the bellati, and we talk about ammi papa, and read The Raven and Wodwo, over and over, and google eman-e-mufassil.

The silences grow longer. The ACs stop humming in the afternoons, the fans slowly stop whirring. There is a khamoshi to kill before aftari every afternoon and after aftari every evening. I wear kohl in my eyes, try to fight little disappointments.

-abandoned post