Working for Him...

Chap.12

OK, quick Author's Note (boohoo) 

How old are you??? Just comment your age because I'm curious and would like to know. I know almost all of you are gonna ignore this because you're all just so sweet like that. Buuuut if you comment, I'll give you cookies ^.^

K, enjoy <3

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Ramadan had passed incredibly quickly; it seemed to end as fast as it had started and we were now celebrating Eid, may Allah accept all the du’a we made though. I was proud of myself however; I’d managed to recite the whole Qur’an in the space of 29 days (excluding those when I had my days – wink wink).

Almost inevitably, Neha, Hafsa and I had all been invited to have breakfast at the Franklin’s household on the morning of Eid. It wasn’t a surprise, really, since we’d broken our fasts there two or three times and Dayyaan and Melissa had broken theirs at our house once or twice.

This was, of course, due to the fact that Melissa and I had become close, because Melissa was really keen on meeting a few Muslim sisters (as she had told me) since she became one herself a year ago.

One thing I had learned was that Eid became less and less exciting the older I got (but it was still exciting nonetheless) however this time I was genuinely thrilled to be spending time with Melissa and her family along with Neha and Hafsa.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, albeit I was happy, I couldn’t find it in me to smile. I recalled the time when I was 16, Neha was 20, and it was Eid when I had accidentally broken a plate when I went to get extra for the guests. My mother had become so angry with me that till this day it still brings tears to my eyes when I remember what she said to me.

After the glass plate had shattered on the marble floor almost everyone in the living room had quietened down. My mouth was ajar as I stared at the sight in front of me. The excitement had gotten to me; I couldn’t wait to get back to my sister and cousin that I tried to do everything so quickly. And this was the consequences of my mindless actions.

My mother appeared shortly after the wreck and the look on her face was enough to let me know that I was in trouble, deep trouble.

“Ya Allah, you foolish girl when will you ever do anything right?” my mother yelled in a hushed tone. I stared at the floor.”Why do you always make me regret it, Isra? Why do you make me regret taking you, calling you my child?”

“Ma...”Neha spoke with alarm, trying to get her little sister out of trouble, like always.

“Stay out of it!”

“Ma, I’m sorry.”

“Ma? No, I’m not your “ma”, Isra. You aren’t my child.”

My tears fell the same way tears had fallen from her eyes back then. I quickly wiped them away.

She didn’t mean it, I tell myself. The theory being that if I told myself that enough times I’ll believe it.

I somehow always managed to anger my mother. So it’s not surprising that the only reason Neha and I live alone was because my mother was fed up of me, because I needed “to grow up and take responsibility”.

My mother’s words not mine. It was always my mother’s words. My dad wasn’t like that; he was more patient with me. It was as easy to make my dad happy as it was making my mother angry.

With the help of my dad, and Neha who wouldn’t allow it to let me live by myself – so she decided to come with me even though our mother had disagreed at first – we managed to find a 3 bedroom flat in the capital city, London. And then due to Neha’s constant encouraging (or nagging), I landed myself the job with Marc Edson Franklin.