Dada's Last Letter

On the morning of day four, the mosque courtyard was crowded.

The night's bulletin had come true: a red kite was tangled in the highest branch of the neem tree, and the whole neighbourhood had gathered to bring it down.

“I'll climb!” said Danish — the watchman Iqbal's son, Hashir's best friend. He wrapped himself around the trunk and shimmied up like a monkey. Below, everyone held their breath.

“Careful!” Mahnoor shouted.