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He rolled every syllable. The 'ain' from the throat. The stretch of the 'salaam' . He poured ten years of loneliness, of love, of the scent of the Bazaar, of the rain on the haveli stones, into those four Urdu words.
She giggled. "My Urdu teacher said we have to greet everyone properly. Not like 'Hey.' She said this word is a dua —a prayer. It means 'Peace be upon you.' And if you say it right, Allah sends ten angels to write good deeds for you."
"No," Rafiq said, firmly. "Listen."
Since then, the phone calls had grown shorter. Rafiq never stopped saying it, though. Every night, before hanging up, he would whisper into the receiver, "Assalamualaikum, beta."
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