“Mmm.” “I mean it, Maira, you’re going to be twenty-five in just a few weeks. That’s the perfect age for marriage.” Maira sighed. Only her mother would have marked out a window of marriageable age for her daughters. She allowed her parent’s softly accented voice to flow over her while she effectively zoned out. There wasn’t much to distract herself with in the tiny cramped office she shared with other doctors. After she counted the babies in the poster someone had hung on the back of the door—and what sick person put babies in pots anyway?—she started to sort through the paper on her desk. “…turn your skin lighter!” She frowned and readjusted the phone between her shoulder and her ear. “What?” “I said, your aunt told me that your cousin used this cream that promises to turn your skin two shades lighter in a month. You know Rabiah got engaged last week.”
