The Shades of Spring

Scrawled Between The Lines

The weather had been unusually droll the last few days and it didn't help Sidra's mood in the slightest. She was caught between work and home that her sister's first anniversary had entirely slipped her mind.
Now Thahani was ignoring her. And Sidra in turn pleading for her forgiveness.

The bus jerked to a sudden halt nearly throwing her off balance. Startled, she discovered that they'd hit a parked taxi in an attempt to swerve the traffic. The commuters grumbled and groaned, filing out with barely concealed annoyance.
Sidra followed the example.

Once she was safely across the street, she checked her purse. A sad smiled crossed her face when she realised she didn't have enough money to flag down a taxi.
She wasn't new to rough edges. She had infact grown up in a lower middle class family and been introduced to the world of scarce money at an early age. That is why she strived to pull Hamza out of it. That is why she expended herself to great lengths.
When highschool had failed to boost her into college - or rather, she had failed to get into college - her hopes of studying medicine had crashed down, pulling her future plans with it. She didn't know where she went wrong.

She took extra classes and cut herself off from fun activities. The sacrifices hadn't gone unnoticed. Which was a curse too. Every relative knew how hard she worked and had pumped her hopes high. But when she didn't get through, they didn't hesitate to shun her from star to trash. She had gone from the embodiment of hardwork to embodiment of sore defeat overnight. Her parents couldn't afford to send her into private college, so she sucked it up and faced life on her own.

Sidra attempted in vain to quell the thoughts and push them back. But every time she slipped into that abyss, it took a little longer to come back.
The good thing about being familiar with defeat, is that she learnt not to dwell in it too long; at least not technically. She detached her heart from her body and while the former suffered, the latter moved onto newer avenues in search of a cure for the broken heart.

She found a job at the library. She was introduced and accepted into Wisdom by a former colleague and was constantly moving to put distance between herself and her past. But try as you may, the past has a way of catching up.

"Sidra!"
Jesse bounded over to her old friend and wrapped her in a bear hug. Sidra laughed and hugged back, mentally preparing for the string of questions which would follow.

"Sid, it's been ages, girl. How are you?"
"Grand. Doing better everyday. I see the Australian air's done you some good."
"Tell me about it," she laughed. "Swinburne is amazing. Eats money like a monster but still amazing," she lowered her voice, "I'm engaged," she squealed.

"Congrats Jesse!! God, this is amazing! Tell me, tell me who is the lucky chap??"

"Rafael. He's Jamaican. You should come to the wedding."

"Of course," she assured though she knew she wouldn't be going. "That's a must."

"So what have you been up to?"
The rest of the conversation didn't sound so lively to Sidra though she made it as upbeat as possible. But she played her cards behind Jesse's back and diverted the topic back to the wedding.
When they parted ways, Sidra wasn't in the best of moods.

__________

The cold war was still on in Myrethorne, between Musa Malik and Hafsa Mahdi. There really was no reason except brittle ego, but no one interfered, the drama was affordable entertainment.

Sidra brushed past a colleague on her way to the third floor and was pleasantly surprised to meet Hammad and his mother.
The little boy smiled at her shyly and hid himself behind the lady.

"Assalamu alaikum Hammad, what a surprise."

He mumbled his reply to her. She patted his back and struck up a conversation with his mother. Turned out Hammad wanted to read about aeroplanes because of the story of a pilot Sidra had cooked up for the class. It warmed her heart to see the boy out of his uniform and making an effort to establish a relationship with his teacher.
She took his hand and led him to the shelf, describing books to him and showing him pictures of the best aeroplanes in operation. When Hafsa saw Sidra on the way to the washroom, Sidra was squatting in her haunches, a hand on Hammad's shoulder while the other slid a book into the shelf.

And that was the first bridge fully constructed. Hammad found a better way to pass his time than fuelling the resentment in his free time. Soon, he reading extensively on varied topics and opening up to Sidra.

__________

Life alternated between various aspects, never settling long enough to ease into a solitary role.
But a void Sidra hadn't noticed inside her began to grow deeper and deeper. Her standard response was to ignore it, because feeding it hope was useless. And the response wasn't ideal.

Her days grew restless, her nights sleepless; lost in thoughts of a future she had lost. Just to show her toughness, she turned her back on the unease and started immersing herself into work, not willing to confront the pleas of her heart. She worked herself within an inch of her life, all the while assuring her mother that she was just doing her level best to keep up the reputation.

One day, Hafsa cornered her about it.
"Why are you hogging all the work yourself?"

"Because it's what I do," she had smirked, "Working equals happy."

"Happy or worried?" her friend challenged. "You can lie to all of us, but you can't lie to yourself. Go easy on that body, it's an Amanah from Allah."

Sidra bopped her friend's forehead, "You read too much Haffi. There isn't always stuff scrawled between the lines."

Even as she walked away, Sidra knew she was lying to herself. She wasn't happy. She was worried. Worried whether this all she was going to be. Worried if she'd never become anything more than a librarian and a primary teacher.
She pushed the thought aside and sat at her computer, pointlessly re-reading the inventory.
Her mind was far away from her body, questioning itself and lamenting over the meeting with Jesse.
Oh Jesse, why did we meet?