ONISM (rewriting)

chap 36

• Y A W A R •

The other day, I opened my eyes to a slight throbing at the side of my head. I grunted and sat up in the bed until I jolted with a sudden not-so-gentle knock.

I may be woke up at first place due to it.

I dismounted from the bed and lurched to the door, my heart suddenly drawing in the realisation that it wasn't my bedroom. The walls screamed at me to leave this place and go back.

I opened the door and Uncle Yahya smiled at me. "You didn't accompany me to the Masjid for prayer so I guess you offered it at home." He suspiciously looked at my dishevelled state and I cleared my throat, embarrassed.

"No, uncle I just woke up."

His eyes widened, "you haven't prayed?"

"I am about to. Sun hasn't dawned yet. Has it?"

"No. You have got a few minutes. Offer prayer I will send juice in here for you."

"Uncle, its alrig-"

"Offer your prayer!"

And he was gone. Okay.

I closed the door, a bit astonished and walked into the washroom to rinse my face off and perform ablution.

I performed my prayer, someone knocked again whilst I was still on the mussalah. This time it was aunty with a glass of juice in a tray.

I instantly stood up, "Aunty please, ap muje yu sharminda na karain."

"You are like my own son." She placed the glass on the side table and retreated to the door.

I had a gulp or two and Wallah it tasted so fresh. A prayer flew up from my heart to the sky for Aunty. How can someone be so gentle with a practical stranger? She was adoring my late mother when she herself was a descended angel from heaven.

There home was suspiciously quiet. May be they had no kids and may be it was why they were showering so much love at me. And then I remembered Uncle's words from last night when he said that his daughter painted that masterpiece.

No Yawar! Don't make assumptions. My subconscious self scolded me.

I walked to my laptop bag, the one which had my Quran and mac with in.

I withdrew the Quran Pak. I had brought it with myself from Pakistan because I had this connection with it for I had been reciting it since I was very little. I know in between I gave up but Alhamdulillah I was back on practicing my religion.

Last year after Riya and I had ended everything between us and she got engaged to Hambal, I got hell disappointed with my life. It took me days to just get out of bed and do some work. Haroon was managing everything at that time like he is doing now.

I didn't go to office for days in a stretch.

It was those days I had a dream, a dream in which I saw my father. A young man who looked somewhat like me but taller than me. It looked as if he was in his early thirties.

This is how I saw him because this was his picture I had from memories. He left in a young age and I couldn't imagine him old either.

My heart swollen up at the sight of him. I knew he will fade away soon. Even in my dream, I knew I was dreaming.

"Papa." I desperately called him. I wanted him to look at me and call me by my name. I so wanted that.

When his eyes fell on me, he grimaced. His expressions changed from relaxed to a bothered one and then he frowned angrily before his eyes moved away from me to somewhere else.