Zoya

Born 14 March 2025Lahore

Nine months of waiting, twelve of wonder, and one very determined little girl.

with love, Mahnoor & Fahad

A newborn's two tiny feet, soles turned up, in soft blue light

A letter to you

Dear Zoya, you are asleep on Abba's shoulder as I write this, and you have no idea how loudly the whole house is cheering for you. We waited a long time to meet you. Then you arrived, and everything we owned was suddenly yours. This is the story of your first year, kept so you can read it back to us one day, and laugh at how serious we all were.

Month by month

Your first year, one Polaroid at a time

From a flicker on a screen to seven wobbly steps. We kept all of it, so that one day you can read it back to us.

12 weeks
While we waited
The first scan
A flicker the size of a lime on the screen, and Abba, who never cries, asked the doctor to play the heartbeat again. We drove home the long way, past Liberty, smiling at every red light.
We told Dadi first.
30 weeks
The rattle we bought too early
Ammi's rule was nothing bought before the seventh month. Abba bought a rattle at week twenty and hid it in the glovebox. By now you kicked whenever the car radio played Nusrat, so he stopped hiding it.
Yes, it was always Nusrat.
38 weeks
Phuppo's tiny socks
A parcel came from Phuppo in Multan: two pairs of socks she had embroidered at night with roses and red tassels. They were the first thing we packed in the hospital bag, before anything of ours.
Day 1
The day you came
You came at dawn
Just as the fajr azaan ended, you arrived, loud and furious and perfect. Abba whispered the azaan into your ear, and Dada, who had waited outside for six hours, stood at the door with his hands raised and his eyes wet.
Zoya: the one who is alive.
Day 2
Abba measured you in thumbs
He held your foot against his thumb and counted: one thumb, and a little over. He has been measuring you ever since, and has never once gotten the same answer.
Day 7
Your aqiqah
The whole family crammed into Nani's lounge. Your hair was shaved, the goat was Dada's pride, and you slept through every dua and every plate of biryani. You held Abba's finger all evening and would not let go.
Sadqa, for a first week.
Month 3
As you grew
You found your feet
One afternoon on the blue dari you grabbed your own toes and studied them as if someone had slipped you a secret. You have been eating them ever since.
Best snack so far.
Month 10
Your first shoes
Dadi bought them in Anarkali, two sizes too big so you could grow into them, and you refused them for a week. Abba says we should bronze them. Ammi says wait until you have worn them out.
Month 12
Across Dada's courtyard
A month after your first word, which was "Abba" and which Ammi insists was a coincidence, you let go of the charpai, looked at Dada at the far end of the courtyard, and walked all seven steps into his arms. Nobody breathed. Then everybody did, loudly.
Seven steps. We counted.