Dare You To Love Me

«3» house of glass

There was no need to look for trouble today, or any day really, when it came to her father.

And so, even though every part of her protested against answering the summon, Yaseerah found herself minutes later, standing before the imposing mahogany door to her father's bedroom, her knuckles hovering inches away from the polished wood.

Time seemed to slow, the seconds ticking away in agonizing anticipation, as she steeled herself for what lay beyond.

It swung open before her hand could meet it, and she was immediately engulfed by the scent of bakhour incense, and the glorious sight of her father's wife standing behind him on a sofa, massaging his shoulder blades with a serene smile on her face.

His eyes were closed, while Lubna talked to him in a soft tone, that had his lips tilting up into a half-smile.

The sight of his smile-even though it wasn't a full one-was like a one-two punch to her gut. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen his smile.

And to see it being directed at the woman who not only hated her, but also everything that she stood for, it made her feel sick.

She stepped aside to let the maid who had opened the door to walk out, before she walked in with a salam.

"Ina kwana Baba," she greeted, ignoring her father's wife-like she always did, whenever they found themselves within the same vicinity-as she stopped her task, to gaze at her with a frown.

She might be scared of her father, and obeyed every single rule of his, but there was one thing she could absolutely not tolerate, and that was his wife number six.

There had been a steady stream of them, ever since she had been a kid. It took her a while to realize that they were not there to stay, and so she'd never formed any attachment to either of them, because they never lasted more than a year or two.

But Lubna had surpassed her expectations, as she was now hitting the four year mark of her marriage to Abdul-Aziz Bako.

They could have had a great relationship, seeing as they were both witnesses to her father's proclivities, but the woman abhorred her.

"Lafiya," he replied, cutting into her thoughts, as he rose from his reclined position, to meet her in the middle of the dimly lit room adorned with opulent furnishings and heavy velvet curtains, where she stood.

"You look just like her," he uttered, his tone reverent raising a hand to cup her chin but pausing halfway, his hand hovering in the space between them.

Yaseerah hadn't meant to flinch, when he had raised his hand to her chin. But it had been an instinctual action, more than an intentional one.

She sucked in her bottom lip into her mouth-a nervous habit of hers-as she waited with bated breath, wondering what he was going to do now.

She knew the 'she' he was talking about, but she dared not reply, even though she was burning with curiosity to know what had prompted him into acknowledging the fact that she looked like her deceased mother, when he had made sure not to speak of her, ever since wife number three.

Her eyes flicked to Lubna-who was now sitting on the sofa he had vacated from, a frown still etched on her face, as she cleaned her hands with a paper towel-before returning to her father.