El-Rokba
by J.P. Apruzzese
for Nahla
“What will you look like when you turn thirty?” baba says. He’s sitting at the table, his face turned toward a plate of ful medames and a steaming glass of black tea. A narrow white beard dips along his angular jawline toward a rigid under-bite. Determined to exit the apartment before he spots her lipstick, Rasha says nothing. But at the door she notices him shaking his head. “You’re lying to yourself, Rasha.”