“You will be a martyr,” she said.

She moved through the crowd in the cafe, another random person on another random day, toward the toilet, unnoticed by anyone, then past it, then out the back door.

“You will be loved,” she said, quietly, “I will see you in Heaven.”

The people around her, and there were many, went about their hurried lives. She saw someone laughing, a meaningless face in the crowd, and wondered; how could he be so carefree on a day such as this? Did he not know? Does he not understand?

“I will see you in Heaven.”

She remembers the face of her Father. “What have you done?” His voice had quavered, his brows knotted with rage.

“I will make it right,” she had said.

“How can you possibly?”

She remembers the sting of the slap, the roar of his voice, “It is unthinkable!”

She thought it strange, but she remembers the spittle flying fourth from his mouth, the mouth that he always said that she, too, had. “What you have done! You! You are-” And that was it. No more words.

She remembers the pain in his eyes. It came from his lack of understanding. But he will. When she meets him in Heaven, then, then, he will be smiling. It was a smile she had not seen in a very long time.

She moved through the crowd, a circle around buildings and people, until she was across the street from where she had started, looking at the door of the cafe she had just left.

She remembers the face of her Lover. “It is okay,” he had said, “I will take care of you.” His smile was one that came easily, with a twinkle in his eye. His rough hands were always so firm, so sure, so assuring.

“We should wait,” she had said. But they didn’t.

They didn’t wait the time after that, and the time after that, until the time for waiting was over.

“Let’s run away,” she said.

“Let’s run away,” he had said, “let’s go somewhere else, together, a place for us, our Heaven.”

“No,” she had replied, “no. Let’s think of something else.”

It was her plan. Eight months was plenty of time to think of a plan. It was a good plan. It will make things right.

He wanted to run away. Somewhere else, together, Heaven. She had insisted on the plan. Finally, he had relented.

Across the street, the baby within the pram was still sleeping soundly. The tiny half of half a pill she had crushed and fed him had done that.

She remembers the face of her Child. “You are the most beautiful thing,” she had said, “Shaheed, my Shaheed.”

I cannot do this, she thought.

She wanted to run away. Somewhere else, Heaven. He had insisted on the plan.

“You will be a martyr,” she had told her baby. His huge luminous eyes fixed on her. She thought he tried to smile, and realised, he understands.

Finally, she realised he was right. The small frail thing was right. She, too, understood. She had to do what had to be done.

She remembers the face of her Father when he saw, for the first time, her Child. She had expected shame, pain, fury. She had expected torment and retribution.

Instead, he had smiled. First at the Child, then his face turned toward her, and his mouth never wavered. He was smiling at her.

It was a beautiful day, on that crowded street. She looked upwards, towards the blueness of the sky. She smiled.

“This is the right thing,” she had said. He remained silent. He hardly spoke, anymore. His assuring hands no longer touched her.

She remembered the pain in his eyes. “We were supposed to get married, our family in Heaven.”

“You are not the man I knew,” she had said, “No one will ever marry you.”

Across the street, someone had noticed the pram she had left behind.

She remembered the steel in his eyes. “I will see you in Heaven,” he had said, “I could only prepare two sets, but be sure. Be sure that you will not have to wait long.”

Across the street, the meaningless crowd was starting to gather around the sleeping child.

“I will see you in Heaven.”

It is the only way, she understood. This will wipe clean the sin of his birth, allow him passage. This is the only way they can all be together, in eternity.

God did not ask this of her. She asks this of God. That He, in His mercy, forgive her for the unforgivable thing she had done. She offers this to Him. Forgive them all, and let them all be together.

At last, someone leans over the pram, his hands reaching out toward the child.

“You will be a martyr,” she said.

The hands lifted the child out. He was a big man, and she was stunned by how gentle he was. So like her Father.

Her eyes closed.

“You will be loved,” she said, quietly, “I will see you in Heaven.”

The trigger released with the weight of the child, the bomb within the pram exploded.

Across the street, she looked on. He was in Heaven now. In the smoke and the chaos, she waited. Soon, they will be together.

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