Halal Sitaare
The fluorescent lights of the diner cast a sterile glow on Asif's face as he wiped down tables. His hands, calloused from years of labor, moved with practiced ease, the rhythm of a life lived in service. At 54, he wasn't complaining. He'd come to America with a dream stitched in his heart, a tapestry woven with the threads of opportunity and a promise to his family. A promise of a halal life built on faith and honest toil. Back home, his wife, Zaheera, navigated the chaos of their six-bedroom apartment with the grace of a seasoned captain. Schoolbooks, cricket bats, and the lingering aroma of cardamom tea filled the air, a symphony of their domestic life. Zaheera, a teacher by profession, now juggled lesson plans with grocery lists and the whispered supplications of a mother praying for her brood. Their eldest son, Farhan, was already on the cusp of adulthood, a shadow of his father, with eyes mirroring Asif's quiet determination. Like vibrant gemstones, the five daught...