In The Company Of Strangers
Mona has almost everything: money, friends, social status... everything except for freedom. Languishing in her golden cage, she craves a sense of belonging...
Desperate for emotional release, she turns to a friend who introduces her to a world of glitter, glamour, covert affairs, and drugs. There she meets Ali, a physically and emotionally wounded man, years younger than her.
Heady with love, she begins a delicate game of deceit that spirals out of control and threatens to shatter the deceptive facade of conservatism erected by Lahori society, and potentially destroy everything that Mona has ever held dear.
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FOYLES: https://www.foyles.co.uk/witem/fiction-poetry/in-the-company-of-strangers,awais-khan-9781912881482
Excerpt:
Introduction: Following a terror attack in the city, Mona repeatedly attempts to call her husband.
In the bathroom, Mona closed her eyes, but the gruesome images kept playing in her head. The news channels had had a field day. ‘The children... the suicide bomber didn’t even spare the children!’ the newscasters had all yelled in unison. The whole street had worn a scene of helplessness: dead bodies covered in white sheets being carried away on stretchers toward the ambulances; every house on the street standing bereft of its windowpanes, multi-coloured curtains billowing out in the crisp March wind like a scene from a horror movie; shocked and dishevelled men pointing at a disintegrated mass of concrete and steel, which had just hours ago been the hidden office of some clandestine agency’s headquarters.
Reports coming in from the hospitals were also far from encouraging. The terrorists might never stop, they said. Not until they’ve destroyed Pakistan.
Mona sighed as she opened her eyes. Pakistan was under attack, and all the people in this house were concerned about was what to wear tomorrow. Rolling a wad of tissue paper over her index finger, she leaned toward the mirror, and tried to wipe the mascara that seemed to have leaked from around her eyes, but looking closely, she noticed that the blotches were actually dark circles. A solitary tear escaped her left eye and slid down her cheek, staining her pink chiffon kameez.
She had been crying a lot these past few months; each bomb blast shook her in a physical way, deepening her fear that the world was falling apart just like her marriage.
Opening her Chanel handbag, she rummaged inside for her Touche Eclat to hide the tear tracks. She had left her friends in the drawing room with their favourite Belgian chocolate and Brazil- imported coffee. It was imperative that she should join them soon, lest they started questioning her whole existence.
Inside the bag, her hand brushed against her iPhone. She hesitated before fishing it out.
No messages or missed calls.
For the tenth time that day, she dialled the same number. The line rang and rang. Mona tapped her foot on the hard stone floor. Suicide bombs and an absent husband... how had it all come to this? Reciting an Ayat from the Holy Quran, she took a deep breath, and blew it across the bathroom in an attempt to ward off evil.
Bilal picked up at the last ring. ‘What?’ he asked irritably.
Gripping the marble slab supporting the wash basin, she took a deep breath. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Work.’ Mona took another deep breath. ‘Why haven’t you called me back?’
‘What part of the word “work” didn’t you get?’
‘Typical, Bilal. Do you have any idea how terrified I’ve been?’ Her voice rose as she pronounced each syllable with force, something she knew Bilal hated. ‘Your secretary wouldn’t tell me anything! Do you realise a bomb just detonated in the city? And in our neighbourhood!’
Bilal tutted. ‘Saira is sitting right in front of me, and it’s not her fault. I’ve been busy, Mona, and for God’s sake, don’t make a fuss. You know how important this deal with the investors from Dubai is for me. I hardly ever check my phone these days.’
Mona lowered her voice knowing that it carried out of mobile phones, and that Saira would be trying to listen in, ever hungry for a stray crumb of gossip. at bitch. ‘But the bomb blast,’ she said quietly. ‘Surely you must have heard—’
Bilal cut her off. ‘Of course I heard, but I simply presumed that you were safe at home since I called Amma, and honestly the work here has been so hectic lately, I just...’ His voice tapered off as he realised his mistake. ‘Listen I—’
Mona forgot about Saira. ‘You called your mother, and didn’t even bother to check on me? What kind of a person are you? Do you even care about me? e country blows up, and that still doesn’t make me any more worthy of Bilal Sahab’s attention? I mean, I left you ten calls. Ten! And you didn’t see t to reply to any of them. Oh, but you had time to call your dear Amma.’
Bilal was silent. The sound of his deep breathing and the occasional rustle of papers in the background was the only indication that he was still on the line. After what seemed like ages, he replied, ‘Don’t tell me that all of a sudden you care, Mona
The line went dead.
Blood rushed to her face, her fingers still gripping the cold marble slab. Her hand had turned blue from the pressure, the white knuckles protruding out like giant hills while the rest of her body shook as if in extreme pain. Chucking the phone into her bag, she wiped her clammy hands on one of the imported towels she had had own in from Dubai. What a waste, she thought now. She threw it in the rubbish. Before a rogue sob could escape her mouth, she unlocked the door and went off to the drawing-room.
Author Bio –
Awais Khan is a graduate of Western University and Durham University. Having been an avid reader and writer all his life, he decided to take the plunge and study Novel Writing and Editing at Faber Academy in London. His work has appeared in the Missing Slate Magazine, Daily Times and MODE, and he has been interviewed by leading television channels like PTV, Voice of America, Samaa TV and City 42, to name a few. He is also the Founder of The Writing Institute, one of the largest institutions for Creative Writing in Pakistan. He lives in Lahore and frequently visits London for business.
Social Media Links –
Instagram: @awaiskkhan @thewritinginstitute
Facebook: @thewritinginstitute
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