Someone will remember us, I say, even in another time — Sappho

*A few months later*
May

The days when the month of fasting were ending, were slow. In those days, time would stop. The lingering heat of the sun, that burnt the roads and set the skin on fire with the lightest of grazes ; all would bring a mirage to life. Of water in the streets, of customers walking towards you, of a cooler wind but most importantly of better days to come. The bright days would dwindle into extinguished fires, the embers of their soul looking—searching for a fleeting moment of relief. It would begin at the dawn, the first call to prayer, the men averting their gazes from the diamond street—all in due time. The rest would spit at the start of the street, a sign to demean the residents. One's in between who's legs comfort was sought three hundred and thirty five days of the year.

As the days progressed and the holy month came to an end, the abandoned streets began brimming with life. The road that had withered like leaves in autumn finally achieved full bloom, all sorts of colours filing into the broken pavements, sounds of feet running around as the muezzin [man who calls prayer] announces the end. Announces that the day of celebration would be in the morning. Then, men of all sizes and ages thronged to their doors, knocking rapidly for them to be opened once more, looking for the inviting warmth of human bodies. To be deeply sunk in between a woman's cunt after a month of abstaining. They had after all—worked for it. They deserved it.

The streets were fixed with a handful of fairy lights, acting as a cover from the open eye. A long line of wooden tables on each side covered with a white starchy linen cloth, and a wide array of products. Starting from glass bangles, henna cones, earrings—just about everything you could want on the day before Eid. Women of all professions, moved in the already densely crowded streets, their fingers skimming the thin plastic wrappers that covered the bangles, touching the dangling beads of the jhumkas [earrings], feeling the cold henna cones. Meanwhile, the men diverted their whole attention towards the windows left ajar, women with tightly fitted clothing sitting in between stroking their hair, fixing their makeup. All in preparation for the arrival of the feast.

To prostitutes of Heera Mandi, the end of Ramadan was like the end of winter. In the thirty days, the would excruciatingly waste time, fasting some days—skipping most after all they were already sinners, might as well commit more. They would nimble away slowly at all that they had earned in the eleven months prior. Waiting for the drought to end. And then when the first man walked through their doors on the last day, it was cause for rejoicing. Winter was over, bread had found it's way back to their kitchens.

Laila strutted around the open veranda of the small home. The plain grey, cemented floors were covered in rugs, their colours ranging from husky brown to deep azure blue swirling in them. Her thin brown kaulapuris [traditional foot wear] sunk into the threads, her toenails painted brightest of ruby reds. Henna swirling along the planes of her feet. Locks of her thick black hair—almost a deep caramel un the setting sun teased the chandelier shaped earrings. Khol lined her eyes and a sharp eyeliner jutted out from the ends of her eye.

She walked around with authority her hands holding on to a thin notebook listening to a woman her age inform her about the expenditure of the week. Sighing, Laila nodded her head—owning your own place was definitely a tough job. And Asma Bi had made it seem effortless.

"Rukshanda I get it. Thanks, could you please ask my mother to bring me a cup of tea? My head is hurting," Laila begged.

Her novice apprentice nodded her head running towards the narrow entrance of the kitchen. Meanwhile Laila sunk deep into the garden chair, her legs crossed as she massaged her forehead. Groaning at the realisation that tonight was going to be a busy night.

"Sar mein dard ho raha hai?" [Is your head hurting?] The soft voice of Ayna reverberated through the air.

Laila nodded silently, moaning in pleasure as her elder sister's hands took over to massaging her head. Ayna's hands had magic in them it seemed, her fingers rubbing loose circles into her skin, pressing the pressure points behind her ears.

"Come sit!" Laila whined.

Ayna giggled as she sat down next to her younger sister. The sister to whom she owed everything.

"How was university?" Laila questioned.

"It was well. I'm pretty sure I'm failing the Finance mid term though," Ayna informed.

"Tsk! Don't talk to me about your big fancy named subjects. I'm a simple woman," Laila muttered in great annoyance.

"And what do you like? Men?" Ayna exasperated.

"Torturing men! The look in their face as I control them in bed? Waah! Mein apnay sadqay jaun!" [Wow! Let me ward off any evil eye on myself!] Laila giggled excitedly.

"Astaghfirullah!" Ayna touched her ears.

Their moment of laughter was broken by the entrance of a furious Sara. Her hands holding onto a saucer filled to the brim with tea, eyes narrowed like that of a Hawk's as soon as it finds it's prey.

"Laila hin hin kartay sar dard nahi hota?" [While laughing doesn't your head hurt?] She pinched her younger daughter's ear.

Placing the cup of tea onto the small garden table made of wrought iron, Sarah diverted her whole attention towards the elder one. Whose hands were covering the fits of giggling that kept falling from her lips.

"Aur tum? Itna time parhai mein lagay hota na tou Finance fail karnay ka dar na hota! Had haram! Kabhi parh bhi liya karo". [And you? Had you put enough time in studying Finance you would not have had the fear of failing! Lazy! Sometimes you should study as well.] Sarah screamed, pinching her ear as well.

"Sorry ammi!" [Mother!] Laila whined.

"Par Bright sab right kar de ga!" [But bright will fix everything [it's an advertisement]!] Ayna cheekily added.

"Chup karo badmash! Kaan keh neechay eik di na tou phir kehna 'Ariel! Ho ho!" [Shut up you naughty kid! When I slap you then you're going to cry 'Ariel! Ho ho!'] Sara reprimanded.

The seriousness had the sister's sobering up quite fast, their eyes pointing towards each other in accusation, as they let the other take fall for whatever they had done. Deep down though, Sara felt glad. Her daughter's had never lived so freely as they were after they had left the brothel owned by her sister. Just the though of being related to her had her shuddering. Closing her eyes, Sara was taken back to the eventful day in March. When it all started.

Flashback March
———

A furious Laila entered the lounge inside Asma Bi's bedroom. Her mother and sister seated at the feet of their disgusting pimp. Tears streaming from Ayna's eyes, a red hand print on the side of her cheek. Narrowing her eyes from Ayna, towards the careless Asma Bi who was busy popping sunflower seeds. As if she was not deciding the fate of a young woman.

"Dekho bhai—seedhi saadhi baat hai yeh yahan nahi reh sakti," [Listen people—it's a simple thing that she can't live here anymore,] Asma Bi smacked her mouth loudly.

"Why? She has served you for so long. Aur phir mera bhi tou kuch haq hai iss ghar par," [And then even I have some right on this house,] Sara defended her daughter.

"No! She can't do a simple job right! She isn't earning her keep," the woman rolled her eyes.

"And are your daughters?" Laila intervened.

Seething, she glared at everyone else in the bedroom. Her hands placed on her hips, lips jutted out as she pointed at the three young women standing behind their 'owner'.

"I own this place so you have no right—" Asma Bi's excuse was cut off.

Laila opened the zip of her cross body bag, thrown crisp notes of five thousand at the disrespectful woman.

"Yeh lein! Humari azaadi ki parchi!" [Here you go! The ticket to our freedom!] Laila spat.

Coolly she wrapped her hands around her family, walking out of the room. Not caring that inside, havoc had been wreaked. That Asma Bi was loosing her mind figuring out as to how Laila had managed to get so much money. Counting the notes, her fingers trembling as she summed it all up, she coughed. Her life caving in as the young woman had paid to pay off all of hers and her sister's dues. How was the question though.

"Ruko!" [Stop!] Asma Bi shouted from the threshold of her bedroom.

Laila stilling as she turned around, her shoulder pulled back—arrogance dripping from her smirk. This was not Laila, no, this was the Rani of schemes.

"Speak". She rolled her eyes.

"How?" Asma Bi whimpered.

"For a woman whose run this crumbling place for so long, you sure are clueless," she uttered, stepping forward.

Resting her hands on Asma Bi's withered shoulders, Laila brushed of non existent lint rolling her honeycomb eyes before continuing.

"It's called having brains. From day one I've been taking two clients each night. One to whom you sold me, the other one I sold myself to. Had to get my family out of this hell hole ya'know?" She motioned towards the place, winking at Asma Bi.

"Y-you will pay!" The old woman cried.

"I will. I'm going to hell, might as well taste freedom on my way there," she rolled her eyes.

"But—" Asma began.

A raise of Laila's palm and the woman was silent. She knew the young woman standing infront of her now held power over her. No longer under her thumb, Laila was now a butterfly out of her cocoon.

"No but's. We'll be leaving in a few hours. My brothel house is ready for us, and anyone who wishes to walk out. God knows I have enough to free some of your slaves!" She announced proudly.

Flashback over

———

Sara smiled gleefully at her daughters. Since that day things had begun looking up for them. Laila's brothel had taken over and Ayna had been enrolled into a university, just like she had always wanted. Moreover, Laila's business was doing extremely well. Hers was rapidly becoming the most frequented brothel on the street. They had made so much profit that Ramdan had passed through like a breeze for them.

"Go Ayna, study. And you, prepare for tonight. A lot of guests are expected". Sara reminded.

Ayna nodded, instantly launching off of her chair and heading inside. Meanwhile, Laila rested her back against the chair, taking a deep breath as she sipped the tea slowly.

"Laila I'm so proud of you," Sara smiled.

Deep in her heart, Sara knew her friend Salma would have been proud of her daughter. Laila gave her workers full freedom to choose what the wanted, they could be prostitutes or study if they wished to. No compulsion at all. This in turn had caused her to build a loyal workforce in just the span of two months and Sara had never felt more at peace.

But sometimes life gives peace right before it brings the storms of the past at your door. Knocking, ready to cause destruction.

OMG
LAILA QUEEN

SHE CAN WALK ON ME
SLOW PACED BECAUSE ITS ALL PICKING SPEED NEXT WALAY SAI

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