It looked like a hurricane had been through Aisha’s bedroom.
Books were scattered, clothes and papers strewn across the floor.
The girl was kneeling in front of the bookshelf, panicked and perspiring.
“Mummy, where is it? My lucky pen, where is it?” she screamed as her mother entered.
The pen had been her lucky charm, her best friend’s Nayana’s last gift before she had moved out of the country. Aisha was sure she had kept the pen in her drawer after the annual exams.
“I thought we’d get you a Parker pen this year,” her mother replied, as Aisha fell on her bed, crying, “so I gave it to Zia aunty’s junk sale.”
(© 11th April 2015)