The streets of Karachi were full of their usual hustle and bustle. Liyana, perched on her stool at the window in the kitchen of her father’s café, watched the children play cricket in the street, while stopping from time to time for traffic or passers-by. Her weekend afternoons were usually spent here, breathing in the sweet aroma of the cardamom tea her father was making and listening to the murmurs of conversations between the busy workers.

Uncle Hashem was one of her father’s friends and also owned a coffee shop, though a little smaller than her father’s, and also had a daughter a little younger than Liyana. However, Liyana wasn’t like Uncle Hashem’s daughter who helped the waiters. She couldn’t run around taking orders or balancing trays on her head. Liyana used a wheelchair. Polio had struck her when she was a toddler, leaving her legs weak. But Liyana didn’t let that define her. Her mind was sharp, her wit even sharper.

A new family had recently moved into the neighbourhood and their son, Ahmed, was the centre of attention. Ahmed was Liyana’s age, but, unlike........

© Dawn Young Magazine