The Shades of Spring

Behind The Pretences

"Papa, can you see it now?" Ayaan asked while waving stupidly at the phone's cam, which he'd propped up against a stack of books on the foldable table.

"No. Go back. I can see only below your collar."

He jogged back a few more steps and called out again, "Now?"

"Yeah-" a thoughtful silence later, Mas'ud spoke again. "Is that really your work?"

The artist proudly stood in front of the giant, neon coloured banner he had sewn by hand. Sewing was a pretty unusual talent for a boy in the present times, but before Areefa past away, she had already started teaching her son to be able to do his own work. Fast forward fourteen years after her death when Ayaan was eight and his sister thirteen, now both of them were proficient in needlework and had sewn plenty of wall hangers to decorate the family home. Not a bit ashamed of what his friends might say, Ayaan had eagerly signed up to make one banner for the carnival. Now, he presented his work to his father via phone, positively beaming with pride.

"Looks great considering how out of practice you were," Mas'ud remarked.

"Spoilsport," replied his son coming to flip the camera after showing the banner from every conceivable angle. "It looks amazing. Almost like it's designer."

"Okay, okay. You're great. As always. I'll mail you a trophy," the father chuckled.

"Send something edible. I hate the food here. Crest needs baking lessons from the great Moorefield bakers," Ayaan mused.

"Enough of the sweet talk. How are your library friends? And the ones from the Academy."

"Musa and Kevin and Josh are fine, Alhamdulillah. The Academy is still hung up on Mehcad's matter."

"Is the other kid any better?"

"Not that I know of-" Ayaan pulled up the pillow from behind him and hugged it to his chest "-but rumour says Mehcad was barbaric enough to almost snap his neck. By the way, Mehcad is suspended until they learn more."

"I see...how about the-"

"-Papa, Papa," Ayaan interrupted. "I want to talk about us. Leave the others. How are you?"

"Alhamdulillah. Missing you, though."

"I know," he replied almost sullenly, "I miss you too."

"Says the one who isn't coming home for the holidays."

"You know Finals? They glue your head to the books. Also I have the carnival in two days."

"Ayaan Ibrahim, your mouth is going to get you glued to something else if you aren't careful."

Ayaan let out a happy laugh. "Apologies, my sir. How's Sarah?"

"She has new pet," Mas'ud's voice was almost hesitant.

"She's twenty-eight Papa. The only pet she needs is a husband."

"I know. But she's grease. I can never catch her long enough to bring this up."

Ayaan sobered immediately, and in that transition, Mas'ud detected the same thoughtful expression his dear Areefa used to wear. "Papa, you're giving her too much freedom. You and I aren't going to live forever. She needs her own family to fall back on."

Mas'ud grew uncomfortable with the way the topic shifted but Ayaan had no option except to persist. "She lost faith in marriage after Mama died and then your second marriage broke because the lady didn't like us two. But it's high time you spoke some sense into her, Papa. She needs the talk."
His father exhaled without meeting his eyes; his expression was so conflicted, Ayaan wished he could somehow reach out and hug his old man. "Papa," he gently prompted.

"I think the cake's burning," Mas'ud answered off handedly and tried to maintain eye contact, "I better get going."

Something inside Ayaan broke again. For years after his second marriage broke and Sarah became estranged, Mas'ud was no longer the jovial man his children used to look up to. Once upon a time, he was sharp and witty and quick to address problems. But now, he shied away from difficult confrontations, didn't know how to address fragile topics and didn't have the first clue how to Dad for his young adult children. Areefa was the balance that he had depended on, her loss had damaged him from within. Ayaan and his father both knew this was one reason Sarah feared marriage. She was apprehensive about giving her heart to someone who would either depart this world and take all her strength with him, or someone who wouldn't love her back like Ilma hadn't loved Mas'ud.
Had Ayaan been older, he could've dealt it tactfully without Sarah telling him to remember his place and to never attempt to tell her what to do. Following his mother's untimely demise, his little family had drifted apart with Sarah going the farthest both physically and emotionally. She had opted for medicine knowing that would take the longest and give her sufficient time to make something of her life. Mas'ud had retreated into a shell that had barely enough space left for anything but his thoughts and basic communication with his offsprings. This in turn left Ayaan in the middle, holding onto two ropes until his palms bruised red.

Surprisingly, Ayaan had emerged from his early childhood tragedy as the carbon copy of Areefa in character. He couldn't bear long silences. He hated being glum. And for him, it was a boring world were it not for the sound of laughter and the presence of quality friendships. He wasn't one to wallow too long in self pity and threw love and life like confetti wherever he went.
When he arrived at Crest as a stranger, he almost immediately set about changing it, making friends in his college and the cornerstone, the library and the academy. Although he knew in his heart that none of those friendships were deep enough for a mind like his, he enjoyed the company and the moments that helped drive away solitude. Musa was the one exception so far who had given him a vibe nearly similar to his. But he didn't want to rush anything.

Grief was a part of life, he accepted it without qualms. But grief wasn't life itself. Life to Ayaan, was a nice yearbook of decades worth memories that reminded him that much like an ECG, the ups and downs meant he was alive and growing. He was shaken out of his thoughts by Mas'ud clearing his throat.
"Sorry. Lost my way inside the head. Need new markers, I guess."

"Get some then. I'll just...give you a call tonight. In Sha Allah."

"In Sha Allah," Ayaan repeated with a tender look in his eyes, expressing everything he felt for his old man. "I love you, Papa."

Mas'ud gave him a hesitant smile, "Me too," he said before hanging up.

Disappointment pricked at Ayaan's heart. For a long time now, he was hoping against hope that his father would say I love you to him. Mas'ud wasn't vocal about his feelings, Ayaan understood that. But sometimes the child in him still yearned that verbal admission of love from his one surviving parent. It was a little depressing how alike Sarah was to Mas'ud in that regard. Which was also why it was impossibly difficult for the father daughter duo to get closer. Both of them danced around important matters, afraid of upsetting the ill-balanced rope bridge which wouldn't last through the first storm.
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A/N
Didn't realise I'd typed a passage from a previous chapter into this one. So it's been removed.