A Mother's Discovery and the Cold London Morning
On a dreary Monday morning in early February, Maryam Ali entered her son's room to find his bed empty, the duvet neatly folded at the edge. Two pairs of trainers stood tidily against the wall, while his clothes—a red Nike T-shirt, a grey tracksuit hoodie with matching bottoms—hung alongside his brown leather satchel on the door hooks. The room still carried his scent, a lingering trace of deodorant and breath that made Maryam inhale sharply, trying to grasp the fading presence of her son who had been there just hours before.
The Unfriendly London Weather and Neighborhood Stillness
Outside, an overcast sky cast a dim, unfriendly light through persistent drizzle. The air retained winter's piercing sting, and a cold hush settled over Homecroft Street on Walthamstow's outer edges, refusing to lift throughout the day. Maryam's flat occupied one of eight units in a pale brick block constructed during the 1990s. Morning mist clung to the building, creating blue folds pinned against thresholds and ground-floor doors.
At the street's lower end, Tony—Maryam's oldest friend and neighborhood shopkeeper—absentmindedly ran a ragged mop across his glass storefront with one hand while clutching his first rollie cigarette of the day with the other. The scene reflected the neighborhood's subdued rhythm, soon to be disrupted by Maryam's growing concern.
Retracing a Seemingly Normal Weekend
Standing in her son Dil's doorway, Maryam closed her eyes and mentally revisited the weekend, searching for anything unusual or out of place. The days had followed their typical, uneventful pattern. Dil spent most of his time in his room, presumably working or playing on his computer, while Maryam completed household chores—grocery shopping, cooking two dishes, watching television, and doing laundry.
As usual, she waited for him to emerge in the evening so they could share dinner together—her only consistent wish and demand from him. She had long abandoned requests for him to go out more or reduce screen time, secretly relieved he remained home most hours. This arrangement spared her the anxiety of waiting for his safe return from nighttime city excursions with friends.
The Sisters' Intervention and Police Dilemma
Maryam reported her son missing two days later, prompted by her younger sisters Zarrine and Saffina who insisted on involving the police. Initially resistant, Maryam attempted to dismiss their concerns. "What is wrong with the two of you? He's done something silly, fought with his girlfriend and is embarrassed about it. That's all. I told him I don't ever want to see his face again if he's rude to her," she argued, aware her reasoning made little sense but using it to avoid confronting more troubling possibilities.
Zarrine responded in a single breath, "Baji, it's alright, we get it, we understand, but we can't keep it a secret, can we? When was the last time Dilly spent two full nights out? Night-spend with that smelly Andy doesn't count, innit? There's no one left to call now, I even rang Aunt Kulsum's, not that Dil's ever going to be found in the same postcode as tangy Taz..."
Saffina, one year older than Zarrine, added gently, "We've got to go down to the station, Baji. I spoke with Uncle Sharief too, and he said the same thing. I know it sounds scary, but it's the right thing to do. We have no way of finding him without their help, do we? I know you don't like the coppers much, nor do I, God knows what they'll think... but we must go."
London's February Melancholy and Shared Anxiety
The air hung thick with love, solidarity, and bottled-up anxiety as the sisters deliberated. Another cloudy day enveloped London, the cold air and muted light reflecting February's characteristic quiet sadness. The month revealed the city's bare form—its vast skeleton of endless terraces, housing estates, tower blocks, train stations, motorways, and aging streets.
By this time, many New Year's resolutions had crumbled beneath unavoidable worldly cares: jobs and credit card debts, mortgages and rents, overdue medical appointments and utility bills. For the three sisters, the puzzling, nerve-wracking disappearance of a young man added to this collective weight, weakening urban resolve.
Saffina exemplified this Londoner's struggle, having returned to her late-night gin and tonic habit the evening of her sister's frantic call, seeking temporary sleep relief. Maryam studied her sisters' faces, silently seeking confirmation of their continued support. "I am doing this for you, mind you. Once I go in, you know there's no going back? His name will be in the records," she cautioned.
Zarrine nodded to Saffina, responding, "But that's assuming the impossible, innit. I know, I know what you mean, hun. There's no way on earth Dil's going to have anything to do with them lot, is he!"
Literary Context and Narrative Development
This excerpt originates from Mirza Wahid's newly launched book Mariyam and Son, published with permission from Westland Publishers. Set in London, the fictional narrative follows Maryam Ali, a school chef and widow who discovers her son missing one morning. After waiting anxiously, she files a missing person report only to learn her son might be involved in something far more serious than she imagined.
Worried and desperate, Maryam retreats into the past seeking answers for present circumstances. Unexpectedly, she forms a connection with Julian, the young family liaison officer assigned to her case—a bond complicated by his role within the very system monitoring her son. The story explores maternal anxiety, urban isolation, and the complex dynamics between families and institutional authorities.
