"Can people who hate you, ever love you?"
"People who hate you might specifically be the ones who love you."
Sequel of the book 'Under That Niqab' with a complete different story, but there will be few references.
-
The echoes are hidden,
Am I in a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
๑ 🥀 ๑
Daniyal lays flat on his stomach, pouring the exhaustion of the day into the few minutes of rest he was about to take. He had this habit of pushing himself to the edge, and at the very verge of his body breaking out, that's when he would call it a day. That way he made sure he wasn't slacking off.
Final exams were around the corner and he had to work hard, his result would prove him to be eligible for the scholarship and he desperately needed it. To fulfill the only dream he had since he had started to know what a dream is, he had decided to set the goal of his life and worked hard for it, and the result of all the hard work was to be decided within two months, more or less.
He wasn't so rich that he could afford the fees of the university he desired to study in- London College of Professional Studies, it was his only chance so he would give the best of him.
Life is granted only once; we live just once. And often, there are instances in that very life when a person gives up living even before death arrives.
It seemed to him as if his mother had already ceased living, even though she was still breathing. But because her breath continued, the sole aim of his life was crystal clear: he wished for his mother to live. He yearned to see her alive before her life's journey ended.
"Do you know you have these constant lines drawn on your forehead, ones of worry, What weighs heavy on your mind?"
"Nothing," he responds, his tone carrying lightness, as he momentarily elevates himself, taken aback by his mother's unexpected entry into their shared bedroom.
"Stay put," she insists, settling beside him. "Is it about the results?" Her question lingers in the air, tender concern woven into her words.
Yes," he confesses as he reclines, allowing his head to rest in the comforting cradle of her lap, where her fingers weave through his hair instantly coiling into the thick mild brown locks.
"And you shall attain that scholarship," she assures him, "A mother's prayers never go in vain"
He shakes his head "Maa, seriously, if that were totally true, we'd be living in a world filled with success stories, 'cause honestly, which mother hasn't crossed her fingers for her kids to rock it in life? I bet every mom's done that." He sighs, a touch of sadness creeping into his tone, then adds, "And you know what's even more interesting? A father's prayer doesn't don't bounce back. Do you know why? Because not every father is as soft as a mother, many of them see their sons as potential rivals or threats to their own ego. So, when a dad prays for his kid's success, it's got a different kind of weight to it, more than even a mom's."
"Where are you getting all those from?" she inquires, a bittersweet curve gracing her lips.
"Random things I read," he offers casually.
"You're missing him, aren't you?"
"More than words can say. I often wonder how deep your yearning must be, considering I can barely sit still. After all, he was my dad, but he was your husband."
