Thousand splendid suns (page 44)

Mariam cherished having guests at the kolba. The town arbab and his blessings, Bibi jo and her throbbing hip and unending tattling, and, obviously, Mullah Faizullah. Be that as it may, there was nobody, nobody, that Mariam yearned to see more than Jalil.

The tension set in on Tuesday evenings. Mariam would rest ineffectively, worrying that some business snare would keep Jalil from going ahead Thursday, that she would need to hold up an entire other week to see him. On Wednesdays, she paced outside, around the kolba, hurled chicken nourish absentmindedly into the coop. She went for erratic strolls, picking petals from blooms and batting at the mosquitoes snacking on her arms.