The Secret Sky: A Novel of Forbidden Love in Afghanistan by Atia Abawi Page A

an eyebrow, and I think perhaps he’s impressed. Then he laughs and says, “Well, what would you rather do?” as he puts the pen behind his ear, gently weaving it through his thick, wavy hair. I have an urge to touch his hair, just to see what it feels like, but instead I quickly look away and sit on the large rock behind me.
    “How about we look for
toot
?” I say.
    “That sounds perfect!” He actually seems excited. “I’ve missed the mulberries in this village. The fresh, juicy kind. I had dried
toot
while I was away, but I wasn’t able to ever find the fresh ones.”
    “Good, then!” I’m happy my idea has been so well received. We head deeper into the woods, looking for the trees growing in the wild.
    “I think I found one,” Samiullah yells. I run over and see the wide tree with long branches and beautiful red and purple berries. I pick one and pop it in my mouth. The tart juices spark throughout my tongue. It’s hard to believe these are the same berries that we dry and have with tea during the winter; the flavor is so different when they’re fresh. “It’s delicious, isn’t it?”
    I nod and continue to feast. Sami joins me. I find a branch thick enough to climb. I reach and feel the coarseness of the tree scratch the inside of my hand. I try to pull myself up, but I don’t have the strength. Sami walks toward me and bends over. “Here, step on my back,” he says.
    “No, you’ll get dirty.” I’m looking at his white
payron.
    “I can have my clothes washed.” He smiles at me with crooked lips before looking back down. I push myself up and am able to climb to an even thicker branch. Sami follows and sits next to me. He reaches out and pulls down a long branch, picking some berries and handing them to me before taking more for himself. We sit quietly eating our
toot
in the cool shade of the woods.
    Thoughts of my parents’ conversation last night keep popping into my head. I don’t want to get married to a stranger in another village. I won’t know him; he won’t know me. And I won’t be able to see Samiullah anymore.
    “What are you thinking about?” Sami asks, breaking the noise in my head.
    “Nothing,” I lie.
    “I don’t think that’s the truth,” he says, making me smile. He has always been able to read my silence better than anyone else. “I see what we’re doing—we’re playing the guessing game! I like this game.”
    I can’t stop grinning now and play along, pursing my lips together to show that I won’t say a thing.
    “Let’s see. What can it be?” He snaps his fingers. “You’ve decided to lead a women’s rights march in the village?” I snort, picturing my mother and the other women parading around. I saw women do that in the capital city back when our television set was working, before its battery died. “From the snot that just flew out of your nose, that is not it.” I quickly touch my nose and realize he was teasing. And, of course, now he’s the one smirking.
    “Okay, then what can it be? Aha, you’ve decided to join the Afghan army. Not because you want to fight for your country, but because you want to get as far away as you can from your mother?” That’s a thought. I should keep that in mind. But I press my lips together harder and shake my head.
    “No, no.” Sami gives me a long look. “Could it be that you’re going to marry an old man with a long white beard and leave me stranded in this village without my dearest friend?” Samiullah says those words, obviously satisfied with what he finds to be a ridiculous statement, but it hits me right in the heart. Old or not, my mother does in fact want to give me away to someone. She’s begging my father to give me away to someone.
    As I look up at Sami, tears fill my eyes and distort my vision. I can feel them running down my face, and I am suddenly gasping for breath. I jump off the branch. I don’t want him to stare at me when I look so foolish. I land hard on my feet and squat on the