**Karachi, 1893 – The Night Before Departure**
The trunk lay open in Jinnah's room like a gaping wound, half-filled with starched shirts, leather-bound books, and a single framed photograph of the family. Fatima, barely five years old, sat on the edge of the bed, her small fingers tracing the embossed letters on his law volume.
*"Why can't I go with you?"* she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jinnah paused in folding a waistcoat. He turned, his sharp features softened by the lamplight. *"England is no place for a child,"* he said. *"Especially not a little sister who still forgets to tie her shoelaces."*
Fatima scowled, kicking her feet—one shoe neatly fastened, the other trailing its lace. *"I'll learn! And I'll read all your books before you come back!"*
A rare chuckle escaped him. *"I've no doubt of that."* He knelt before her, adjusting the loose lace with quick, precise movements. *"But you must look after Amma and Maryam while I'm gone. Can you do that?"*
She nodded fiercely, but her lower lip trembled.
Downstairs, their father's raised voice carried through the floorboards. *"—throwing away good money! A son should be building the family business, not chasing English ghosts!"*
Jinnah's jaw tightened. He placed a hand on Fatima's head. *"Never let anyone tell you what you cannot do. Not even me."*
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**The Port of Karachi – Dawn**
The steamship loomed like a floating fortress, its smokestacks belching soot into the pink-streaked sky. Fatima clung to Maryam's hand, watching as Jinnah shook their father's stiff embrace. When he turned to her, she launched forward, wrapping her arms around his legs.
*"You'll forget me,"* she accused into his trouser fabric.
Jinnah pried her loose, crouching to eye level. *"Impossible. I've left you a guardian."* From his pocket, he produced a small brass compass. *"This always finds its way north. When the needle points to England, know that I am thinking of you."*
The ship's horn blared. As he boarded, Fatima screamed over the noise, *"I'll write every day!"*
Whether he heard was lost to the wind and the widening gap of seawater.
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**Six Months Later – The Empty Study**
Fatima sat at Jinnah's abandoned desk, her tongue poking between her teeth as she copied Urdu letters onto a slate. The compass lay beside her, its needle stubbornly fixed on the north wall.
Maryam entered with a tray of chai. *"Still pretending to be a barrister?"*
*"Not pretending,"* Fatima corrected. *"Practicing."* She held up a crumpled letter—the third she'd received that month. *"Bhai says English judges wear white wigs like old sheep. I'm going to wear one too."*
Maryam sighed, smoothing the child's wild curls. *"Your place is—"*
*"—where I choose it to be,"* Fatima finished, parroting Jinnah's words with uncanny precision.
A knock interrupted them. Their father stood in the doorway, holding a ledger. *"Fatima, the tailor's daughter is waiting. You're late for stitching lessons."*
Fatima gripped the compass. *"I have to finish this chapter first."*
Poonja's face darkened. *"Enough of this foolishness! No daughter of mine will—"*
*"Jinnah Bhai said—"*
*"Your brother,"* Poonja snapped, *"is not here."*
The silence that followed was heavier than the monsoon air. Fatima's small shoulders slumped, but as she rose, she slipped the compass into her pocket—a secret rebellion.
---
**Winter, 1894 – The First Betrayal**
Fatima burst into Maryam's room, waving a letter. *"He's coming home! Next month!"*
Maryam paled. She took the letter, her eyes scanning the lines Fatima couldn't yet read. *"Oh, little one... He's only visiting Bombay for a case. Not Karachi."*
The compass clattered to the floor. *"But he promised—"*
*"Men's promises are like soap bubbles,"* Maryam said gently. *"Pretty, but they burst."*
That night, Fatima threw the compass into her trunk of treasures. For the first time, the needle felt like a liar.
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