Member-only story
The Shawl He Gave Me On A Cold Afternoon
I remember that winter afternoon very clearly. We went to his house without telling him. It was December and very cold in Arifwala. The wind was sharp and the sky was grey. My mother said, "Don't go, it's too cold." But I wanted to see him.
His house had no heater. There was only a small angithi burning in the corner. The room was still cold. The walls were cold. The floor was cold.
He opened the door and smiled like always. His smile could make any cold day warm.
"Meri beti aa gayi," he said. His hands were cold. I could feel it when he held my hand to take me inside. His hands were always cold in winter, but his heart was always warm.
We sat down on the charpai. He brought tea quickly. Two cups of tea, with two biscuits. Same as always. He had very little, but he always shared.
But I was still shivering. My jacket was not enough. My feet were cold. I was trying not to show it, because I didn't want him to worry.
He looked at me for a second. He didn't ask. He just noticed.
Then without saying anything, he stood up. He went inside the small room and came back with his own shawl. It was not a new shawl. It was old, slightly faded, brown in color. But it was clean and neatly folded. He kept his things very clean, even when…
