Alia’s secret sketches and Jennifer the painter

Scenes written for The Rosewater Bookstore that did not make the final novel. Source: the author’s draft of 17 November 2025. The text is as drafted, unedited, except where noted.

From old Chapter Three. Before the photograph is found, Alia tells Kylie she dreams of running a bookstore in Egypt, and confesses to the sketches she hides in her shoe cupboard.

"Did you ask your father permission to visit me?"

"I am working on it, Kylie. Give me a chance," she said, moving her head side to side, knowing it would be almost impossible. "If I lived in any place other than here, I would be free to come and go as I please. Maybe I should live in Australia with you." Alia giggled and winked at her. Her eyes twinkled at the prospect of a life with her friend abroad.

"Am I your best friend?" asked Kylie.

"Yes, of course you are! And I better be yours!" Alia said

They both walked to the window and looked out. Alia could see the hustle and bustle in the street. It was her favorite time of day. The heat gave in a little and a kind breeze was present. The shops just opened, and busy streets welcomed the shoppers.

"I could even smoke a cigarette like in the picture," Alia continued dreamily.

"How about the short skirt?" Kylie teased.

"No, never for me. I would be satisfied walking down the street without the abaya, wearing something conservative." Alia said.

They both looked at each other, imagining what they would look like if they were walking down the street in Sydney, Australia.

Kylie turned and asked Alia, “What about Egypt? Don’t you have an aunt there?”

“Yes! Of course, Egypt is nearer.” Alia pictured herself amid Egyptians in Cairo and walking the street her father talked about midtown, she imagined visiting the most famous one, Gropy.

“This cafe that my father told me about in his many trips to Cairo serves the best ice cream in the world. I want to taste that, walk without an abaya, and not be so shy anymore!” Alia looked at her friend with piercing eyes shining from the fantasy of traveling.

“Well, with that attitude, you will probably be there by this afternoon!” Kylie laughed.

“I will live a life that many will envy, you'll see." With that thought liberating her mind and her imagination of life in Egypt, she continued. "You know, Kylie, I think I want to run a bookstore in Egypt, like my baba here," Alia said, looking out the classroom window. Kylie was leaning on the edge of the window frame opposite her.

Alia looked out the window, continuing her dream. "You know, the redaction painted over women's bodies in all the news and magazines is stupid. In Egypt my bookstore will have all the pictures intact of women, naked or not!”

Kylie smiled at her logic and nodded in agreement, cheering her friend on. They sat for a moment, looking out the classroom window, enduring the heat for a glimpse of shoppers down the street. Alia smiled sheepishly at Kylie.

“Well, until you move to Egypt, you must accept living here. I remember my father telling my mother when we first came to Saudi Arabia, and she felt constrained by all the rules, that it is not the place that dictates your happiness, but how you look at it. Perception is everything! That resonated with her because she is much better at accepting where she is now and doing what she loves." Kylie said.

Alia was staring out the window, processing the idea. She was quietly picking at the dry, loose skin around her thumbnail, a nervous habit she'd tried to break for a while.

"What is it that she loves?" Alia asked curiously, finally tearing her eyes from the street to look at her friend's hands.

Kylie reached out and gently pulled Alia’s hand away from her mouth. "Stop that! You'll make yourself bleed. I've seen you do that for months now."

Alia pulled her hand back, sheepish. “I wish I could do more outside of studying and learning cooking to be a wife.”

"What do you mean?" Kylie frowned.

Alia sighed, letting out a small gust of air. "I mean, I wish I had a proper hobby. Something I could focus on when I'm not studying." She paused, lowering her voice. "Sometimes, when I'm alone, I sketch."

Kylie's eyes widened. "Really? What do you draw?"

"Anything. Just things I see," Alia lied, the memory of her forbidden charcoal drawings of women figures naked, only because she was trying to perfect a body that she wanted. Of course, neither of her parents knew about this blasphemy. This was hers alone. She hid it well in her dress cupboard where the shoes were. "But your mother... what does she love?" Alia asked.

"Painting," Kylie finally revealed, her face lighting up. "She has a little studio space in the compound.”

Alia leaned in, her eyes shining from the sudden connection. Sketching is almost like painting, maybe she could make the transition and learn to paint. Maybe, just maybe, my father might agree to me taking lessons from Kylie's mother, she thought, the idea igniting a fresh, nervous energy in her chest.

In the past, Alia had become obsessed with sketching, and she started Another time, she found a beautiful drawing of an elephant in her father's bookstore and brought it back home with her. She went with her mother the next day and bought all shades of paint and even an easel to copy the painting. She worked on it after her classes for a week. She was halfway through when picking up the colors felt more like a chore to finish than the exciting creation it was meant to be. She used the paint to color the naked women she drew and made them more realistic. She was good at it, then she stopped. But she could pick it up again now.

Kylie closed the window as the other girls poured in, and Alia opened the door for them. Anyone who came in was ushered in immediately because of the heatwave that promised to come in and study with them.

At the end of the two-hour study hall, the Maghrib call for prayer at 7 p.m. was their cue to return home. The study hall was just for a few weeks to reinforce their studies before the exams.

The sky was still bright with faint sun rays. Her mother was waiting for her daughter at the entrance of the building, a bag of groceries in her hand. Alia welcomed the cool breeze instigated by the water that was thrown in front of the stores hourly. Drenched from the long day, her long dress felt like it clung tighter than normal. She covered her breasts and body tight so that her gown would not be revealed in her long strides.

Upon entering her home, she quickly unwrapped her headscarf from around her head, hung her abaya on a hook near the door, grabbed water from the clay-filled pot on the kitchen counter, and gulped like she was lost in the desert. She headed straight for her room. She saw her history book on her bed where she left it. She opened it in anticipation. She leafed through the pages, but nothing! She banged it face down, and nothing fell out! Alia slowly raised her head, eyes wide with fear.

Alia started to shake, and her heart was beating so fast. She ran to the cupboard and rampaged through the shoes to see if her sketches were also missing. Thank God, they were intact. Alia tore all four sketches quickly and into small pieces, jammed them into a bag, and planned to through them in a bin that was at the other end of the street, next to the tutor’s house. She contemplated what to say if her father confronted her. Thinking of her mother, she deemed her a lost cause. Nothing Alia complained about would make Fatma oppose her father or even defend her. She was on her own.