Forgiveness.

Chapter 19 - The Matter of Us

The Matter of Us

It was weird when real-life horror existed in our dreams. It only showed how bad it had hurt us, regardless of how mature we act. It hurts when our parents point in public how bad we are or how uncultured we are according to them; their respective point of view.

Most of the time, it is not even our fault the way we are or that we cannot please them. Yeah, sure, we have flaws, and we suck at fixing them, but does it have to be a matter of public disappointment. At this very exact moment, Rafan was reliving in a paranormal state, where he was being humiliated the same way he was insulted when he was a kid by his father.

Being the good kid, he was, he never argued or defended himself by talking back. He would just smile at people politely and walk away. Sometimes he did cry in the corner of his bathroom to wash the pain out. By the time he was fifteen, Rafan was suppressing the ache. He refused to feel such things as he would smile and walk away with a bunch of Salam's too random uncles and aunties when his father will pull his desi right to insult or mock him.

"Uncle, I was wondering can Rafan bhai help me with this math problem." I could hear it from the other room where I was trying to break the firewall of a specific country to place the flag of Pakistan on 14 August because they poked us first, even though their independence day comes after us.

As if face palm needed a face for that. As if we won't figure that joke out.

"Ask Imtiaz. He can help you better, I do not think Rafan has the time, plus I highly doubt he remembers what he studied in inter." My eyebrows knitted hearing my father.

Was he serious? I could help, I think.

"You know how kids are these days. Instead of working hard, they just memorize it for the time being and forget it. Rafan is probably like that too." He did not even ask and decided on his own that I am one of those logicless morons who believe 'ratta' can get you anywhere.

"I do not think he would mind. Rafan is very good at math after computers." I heard Ami, and maybe that's why I loved her more. I have never hesitated to answer when someone has asked if you love your mom more or dad. For me, it was always Ami.

"Shazia, do you want the child to fail. It's his... it's your finals, right?" There was silence when my father laughed at what my mother said, and I huffed, looking back at the screen because it was always like that.

I am habitual to this now. I shoved the headphones in my ear and played, "ab to aadat si hai mujhko.", pun intended.

There was a slight tapping on my shoulder when I was about to press the enter key. I looked up, and Hammad was standing right there with a smile on his face and with a book in his hands, while my father was standing behind him. I was tall, but because I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, Abu looked like a giraffe. Maybe that's how everyone else felt around him.

"He insists on trying his luck with you. Don't get him failed." I could see the disapproving look my father had, considering how bad of an idea it was in his head.

It used to hurt, but not anymore. I do not like Abu that much either.

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After the guest had left, I could still hear Abu screaming at Ami for giving me the privilege of 'shay'. He kept on saying how it was her fault that I was so dumb and irresponsible. My mother, on the other hand, was different. She could figure me out, even the outcome of my actions. Maybe that is why if I would enter their scene, she would just give a look that will say 'do not interfere' because that would make things worse.