A passionate tale of love, conflict, loyalty and tradition set in Pakistan. Truths are unfurled like the silkworms, in the story, unravelling their cocoon of silk. You'll not be disappointed by this poetic insight into a different culture.
He'd been combing her hair with his fingers again and now he didn't know whether to remove his hand or let it linger. He decided on the latter, but the hiatus gave him away. He brought both hands up to his face, deciding to make them useful by mopping up his damp cheeks. He couldn't return her look. He didn't know what he felt. He wished he could tell her that: I don't know what I feel any more. About anything. Love. War. Death. Home. All mere headlines. He couldn't string them together. That was what she'd been doing for him. Was she going to stop?