In Lilia’s earliest memories of Mr. Pirzada, she watches Pakistan’s turmoil unfold across the TV screen during dinner:
On the screen I saw tanks rolling through dusty streets, and fallen buildings, and forests of unfamiliar trees into which East Pakistani refugees had fled, seeking safety over the Indian border. I saw boats with fan-shaped sails floating on wide coffee-colored rivers, a barricaded university, newspaper offices burnt to the ground.
The story, which otherwise avoids elaborate descriptions, leans into visual imagery here to underscore the scale and scope of the destruction. The deeply evocative details call attention to the terrifying, lived consequences of the conflict. Buildings have fallen or burned, families have fled into forests, and tanks patrol through the streets. The image of "coffee-colored rivers" vividly draws readers into the scene, and the sobering inventory of war startles Lilia out of her youthful obliviousness, summoning an immediacy of pain and loss that can’t be abstracted into history textbooks or comforting fantasies. The images “flash in miniature” in Mr. Pirzada’s eyes, and they expose to Lilia the first glimpses of his own desperation. He is thousands of miles from the tumult, unable to save his daughters or protect his home but forced to take in the violence nonetheless. The scenes playing on the TV are frighteningly visual reminders of war’s human toll and its impact on individual life.