Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Vision in Red

But she stopped.

Her hand hovered in the air.

A thought, cold and sharp as a needle, pricked her mind.

Am I fading?

The boy in the alley. The bride in the village. They hadn't known. They had felt nothing until their feet disappeared.

Am I already gone?

She had to know.

Slowly, terrifyingly slowly, Amal lowered the scarf. She turned her head and looked into the glass.

The reflection was there.

She saw herself. Tired eyes, dark circles, the hijab slightly askew. She saw the hallway behind her— the white walls, the coat rack, the door to Noor's room.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm Is."

She leaned closer, inspecting her skin. It looked solid. Pores. Fine lines. Life.

But then, she noticed the background.

In the mirror, the wall behind her wasn't white.

It was stone.

Rough, yellow limestone. The kind they used in the old village houses.

Amal blinked. The vision didn't vanish.

She looked at the coat rack in the reflection. It wasn't the cheap IKEA rack she owned. It was a wooden peg pounded into the stone. And hanging from it wasn't her denim jacket. It was a peasant's cloak. A woolen abaya.

"No," she whispered.

She spun around.

The hallway was normal. White paint. IKEA rack. Denim jacket.

She turned back to the mirror.

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