said it was a lake

that formed into a tear –

drop when the White Giant saw

the Fairy Queen, bathing in Ansoo

with the Prince. I found it romantic. I find this

romantic too, hiking in the moonlight, hands grasped

tight, blood dripping down my leg- Grazed by the crops I

helped my mother plant. Running through corn, our hometown

disappears from view. I see our reflections in Ansoo. I am

the fairy, you are my prince. They are the giants. They are

jealous of our ecstasy. Breaths quicken and our hair is matted

by the rain. It is the start of monsoon. This memory will last in

my mind forever. How we were in love. How we ran away,

and how I looked back, wet, tired and breathless

And saw my honour, my izzat, reflected

in tear drops from your



Aqsa Shaheen Ahmed is a third year English student at King’s College, London

Image: Serpentrouge.co