Excerpt: Behind the Veil

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 The moment Rashida and Shamim met, they felt an immediate attraction to each other. Shamim, Rashida noticed, was mature for his years. He couldn’t be more than 22 or 23, to her 31. She cautiously stole looks at him. His fair skin, slight figure, tapered hands, shapely mouth — she watched him and took it all in.

She was a surprise to him, as well. He had expected to meet an ugly, middle-aged woman when Nadim had twisted his arm to come to his house for lunch. Nadim was short, nearly bald, with a crooked face on a misshapen head. He was dressed in traditional Indian Muslim clothes — a long-sleeved shirt and baggy pants — but they were soiled and smelled.

If Shamim had met Nadim on the street, he would have taken him for a beggar. One of the straps on his worn sandals was torn and, to compensate for it, he had to walk with a shuffling limp. When he smiled, which Shamim sensed he did not do often, gaps and stained teeth negated the charm of his smile. 

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