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Fiction, LiteratureDecember 2, 2016

On the Wings of Dreams

7

You are back to your old self, even better than your old self. You have cancelled the test and given everyone bonus marks. During lectures you do not only say the words, you act them out when necessary. You answer all the questions. As for the irrelevant ones, you help them direct it to the point of relevancy, and answer it all the same.

Any teacher you see walking by, you greet them. You even ask about their families. The teachers are glad you have finally come out of your shell. They tell you what they plan to give the soon-to-be couple, “Baby items, like clothes, feeding bottles, spoons—” They say someone has even gone to the city to get everything. They mention the name of the teacher. You do not know her.

“It is a good thing. It means we are wishing them fruitfulness. Chief will be happy.”

You congratulate them, although a bit saddened that their grand effort will prove futile.

Even the Principal has noticed your new attitude. He asks if you are okay. You say yes, that you have taken his advice to watch from the sidelines, and it is so satisfying.

The day you handed the letter to Blessing’s friend, she delivered it. Naturally, Blessing was scared, running away with someone she barely knew. But it was better than living her whole life as a fourth wife to a Chief she has mostly heard of and not known. There was nowhere she could run to in the village without being fished out. If she was to live out her dreams, the Corper was the best alternative she had. At least, she had no reason to doubt him; he was the only one showing concern about her predicament. So she agreed to your plan.

*

During break time, while working on a cryptic farewell speech to give your students, the E girl accosts you, reminding you of your debt. Because the rowdy staff room is not a place for such sensitive discussion, you invite her to take a walk with you. You both stroll to the deserted part of school, the area at the back, where the grasses grow untamed, towards the school fence.

She makes to give you a full hug, but you turn sideways and stretch your hand around her shoulders.

Any teacher you see walking by, you greet them. You even ask about their families. The teachers are glad you have finally come out of your shell. They tell you what they plan to give the soon-to-be couple, “Baby items, like clothes, feeding bottles, spoons—” They say someone has even gone to the city to get everything. They mention the name of the teacher. You do not know her.

“We are in the school environment.”

“Okay. Okay. But why is it that every time I see you, you always take your face away, like you do not want to see me? Even in class.”

“It is not like that. I have just been very busy. And don’t think I am ungrateful. I really appreciate what you’ve done.”

“Okay. I forgive you. So should I come tonight?” She smiles.

“Tonight? You know by then, Blessing and I will be getting ready to leave. And you know it will not make sense if Blessing comes, and you are—”

“I know, I know. I can come around seven. Since you are leaving by ten.”

“That won’t be possible. I will not be in a right state of mind.”

She frowns.

“Do you know what? Let me give you something.” You dip your hand in your pocket.

“Oh, you think it is because of money I am doing all these things? Corper, it is not because of money. It is because. It is because I like you. I am even tired of everything. Everything is just Blessing! Blessing! Blessing!”

You tell her not raise her voice, but she does not listen.

“It was me Chief first chose, then he saw Blessing! Now you too, Blessing! Just take your Blessing and go! At least after today, she will be gone from me! And Chief will have no choice but to take me!” Then she says something in her language and storms off.

You are too stunned to speak. Towards the fence, some students pass cigarette sticks to each other, paying no attention to the drama that just occurred. You cannot remember seeing them before now. You also pay them in kind, and walk slowly to the Staff room.

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One last love letter...

April 24, 2021

It has taken us some time and patience to come to this decision. TMS would not have seen the success that it did without our readers and the tireless team that ran the magazine for the better part of eight years.

But… all good things must come to an end, especially when we look at the ever-expanding art and literary landscape in Pakistan, the country of the magazine’s birth.

We are amazed and proud of what the next generation of creators are working with, the themes they are featuring, and their inclusivity in the diversity of voices they are publishing. When TMS began, this was the world we envisioned…

Though the magazine has closed and our submissions shuttered, this website will remain open for the foreseeable future as an archive of the great work we published and the astounding collection of diverse voices we were privileged to feature.

If, however, someone is interested in picking up the baton, please email Maryam Piracha, the editor, at [email protected].

Farewell, fam! It’s been quite a ride.

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