My ear still burned from Ammi's slap. The word "motherfucker" tasted like betrayal now—Shery's laughter ringing in my head every time I remembered how stupid I'd been. I kicked a pebble across the empty plot, the same place where we'd smashed Richard's tiles like idiots. The heat pressed down like a fist, and my shirt stuck to my back. I just wanted to punch something. That's when I saw it. A shadow twitching in the dirt. At first, I thought it was a piece of trash—maybe a plastic bag caught in the wind. But then it moved. A black kite. Not flying. Not circling like they always did over Karachi. Just… there. One wing bent wrong, its chest heaving like it couldn't remember how to breathe. I crouched down. Its eye locked onto mine—black, sharp, pissed off.
"Hey," I whispered. It didn't try to fly. Just hissed, beak snapping at the air between us.
The Cage in My Hands
I didn't think. Just scooped it up, ignoring the way its talons scraped my arms. It was lighter than I expected. Like the heat had burned half of it away.
Shery's house was closest.
I barged in, the kite thrashing in my grip. Shery took one look and grinned.
"Finally," he said, "you found something worth breaking."
I wanted to shove him. But the kite made the decision for me—it twisted and bit my thumb.
"YAHH—" I dropped it.
Shery laughed. "Yeah. That's a wild thing."
Shery's Test
He dragged out an old chicken-wire cage from his grandfather's shed. The kite flapped once, then just… stopped. Like it had given up.
Shery nudged the cage with his foot. "Your call, motherfucker. Keep it or fix it?"
I glared at him. "I'm not you."
He shrugged. "Then prove it."
We sat there for an hour, watching. The kite didn't move. Just stared at us like we were the ones in a cage. Finally, Shery stood. "It's not drinking."
"So?"
"So it's choosing death over us." Something twisted in my gut.
The Letting Go
We took it to the railway tracks at dusk—where the city couldn't see. Shery pried open the cage. The kite didn't move.
I crouched down. "Stupid bird," I muttered. "Just fly."
And then— a shudder. A rustle of feathers. One beat of its wings. Then another. It didn't soar. Not at first. Just tumbled into the dirt, like it had forgotten how to be free.
Shery snorted. "Told you. It's broken."
But then— a gust of hot wind. The kite lunged upward, wings clawing at the sky. For a second, it faltered. Then it remembered. We watched until it vanished into the smog.
The Bite That Stayed
Shery clapped me on the back. "See? Better than tiles."
I didn't answer. My thumb still stung where the kite had bitten me. That night, I lay awake, replaying it—the way it had looked at me. Not scared. Not grateful.
Just alive.
Ammi yelled at me for missing dinner. I barely heard her. Somewhere out there, the kite was flying and for the first time, I wondered— what else have we caged without realizing?