“She leaves the spoon and takes my face in her hands. They're warm and smell devine. She holds me, whispering, "God help him understand you are still a child. God give you health and prosperity. God release you from all… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“Wasn't sunrise meant to be the hour of hope? 'The season of creation' some poet or other had once called it. Fucking poet.” — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“How secure is a forty-year-old state? I remember the garrison towns of the Punjab plains, the fenced-off lands, the young soldiers, and I have… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“She leaves the spoon and takes my face in her hands. They're warm and smell devine. She holds me, whispering, "God help him understand… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“It was here the land spoke to him most, in a region that lay high in the north of what was now Kazakhstan, though… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“I feared her love for me was like a Pakistani glacier. It was difficult to say if it was growing or retreating.” — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
“I'd been missing this, the ease of being with someone without speaking, without suppressing speech. I'd grown up with it in Karachi, where groups… — Uzma Aslam Khan Copy Share Image
