Broken With Betrayal

Chapter Four : Farah Umair

Dedicated to @candysweet101 for being a totally cool person, and an awesome supporter!

Read, vote, comment and of course, enjoy!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Chapter Four

Farah Umair

 

I know I shouldn’t be here right now; I should be heading towards home. But still I’m not. I’m here in Mitchell Park. Reason? Because I’m furious. And I do not want to go home with that atrocious mood.

I have got most of my genes from my father. I’m tall like him. I have his black hair, and his pitch black eyes, and his fair complexion, and his thin slender nose, and his thin lips. I have his sense of humor (which actually sucks) and I have his interests. But the biggest thing of all, I have his anger.

My father’s anger is something people know him for. He can be usually very calm and quiet, and doesn’t get angry very easily. But when he does, even my mother doesn’t mess up with him. And the worst part of his anger is that he doesn’t shout or fight or scold. He just glares, and all that you are supposed to convey through your shouting and uproar, he conveys it through his intense black eyes. Second thing about his anger, it takes not as much of a time to catch on, but a long time to fade away. Which means it lingers on for as long as it can.

And I’ve got that anger from him. But that’s not all. I also have a habit of being straight forward. Where I got that from, I have no idea. But, these qualities, quiet but lingering anger and sudden straight forwardness blend together into something even I deride. Something that makes me angry on myself.

So here I am, at this pretty place filled with plants and trees and flowers and happy kids of primary school riding on swings and playing catching-catch, voices of ‘you’re it! No, I’m not, you’re it!’ booming everywhere even in this hot afternoon, and beautiful chaffinches singing in their tuneful voices, and bees buzzing their heads off, and fragrances of flowers enough to make a crying man smile, but I am scowling.

After school got over, I took the bus to home as Mariam was busy today. But instead of getting down near my house, I got off at the bus stop before the one I’m supposed to get off at, and walked to Mitchell Park to calm myself off. I walked over here, because firstly, it is very close to my house and I can walk back to my house in about five minutes. Secondly, it is one of those places I’ve known all my life, that holds a number of memories and that, I think, can help me calm down. Thirdly, more families visit it instead of bachelors, and when I’m somewhere around mothers and their kids, I feel completely safe.

I stood up from the bench I was seated on and started pacing back and forth. I have to get over this anger, and calm down, and go back home.

But how? Because from what I can figure out, I am more hurt than angry.

Sometimes when I cannot get the better of myself, I try to figure out what actually is making me so disturbed, for which I play all that has happened in my mind over and over again. So crossing my arms over my chest, and start re-playing the whole day in my mind.

*****

I found Rabiya in the common room in the morning along with Iris and Shreya. She was wearing a dark pink long shirt over black trousers, and had a black scarf loosely draped over her head. Attractive as usual.

After the usual greetings and why-did-you-not-come-school-yesterday and I-slept-late-at-night-and-couldn’t-wake-up-to-that-stupid-alarm-on-my-phone conversation, she lowered her voice and asked, “What am I hearing?”