As I listened to her, I realized she loved talking to herself about me. The way she insulted me, no one had ever dared to do it.
And she was actually cursing me for not drinking her coffee? "Yeh kaisi zabar dasti hai Uns?" I asked myself.
I was li...
But my happiness didn't last when he said his next sentence: "Do you have any idea what I have to go through when someone else sees you coming home this late?
Do you have any concern for my honor, Uns? If someone I know had seen you coming home at midnight like this?" He said those words so smoothly, as if it's normal to ask your daughter all this.
Enough, I can't bear it anymore. There is a limit to everything. Finally, I looked up and asked him back, "Which home are you talking about, Abbu?
The home that is nothing less than a nightmare, where I only shed tears, where I am questioned for everything I do. I've only received admonitions here, warning me about what people will say if I make a mistake.
Where my honor doesn't matter." I asked him the questions that suffocate me every time I come here. With tears still in my eyes, I didn't move my gaze from Abbu.
I couldn't see his expressions clearly due to the blurriness forming in my eyes. But one thing I know is, he is speechless now. I stood up, wiping my tears with the corner of my sleeves, took my bag, and headed to my room, without giving a single glancing at Abbu.
In the darkness, the air was thick with the scent of Paco Rabanne's Invictus, a fragrance that might have been pleasant in another context but now seemed to thicken the air, sparking a relentless headache.
The room felt wrong in every way; it was a mess, things thrown everywhere as if in a tantrum. I needed to scream, to let out the terror, but it was like my voice was stuck, muffled by an unseen force as if my mouth was sealed shut.
My hands were tied tight, the ropes cutting into my skin, making me feel trapped and helpless. I tried to move, to run away from this horror, but my legs wouldn't listen, rooted to the spot by some invisible power.
The sound of someone laughing broke through the stillness, a sound so cold and mocking it sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't see them; my eyes were covered, leaving me to imagine who-or what-was out there in the darkness.
Feeling completely powerless, the laughter seemed to wrap around me, making it hard to breathe. The footsteps got closer, each step echoing like a drumbeat in my chest, signaling something bad was about to happen.
I was caught in this nightmare, feeling more alone and scared than ever. Closer and closer they came, until I could almost feel the presence looming over me, and then-
I woke up with deep breaths, sweat drenching my face once again-it was the same nightmare. As I sensed someone else's presence in my room, Sahara came in and sat beside me, asking, "Appi, what happened?
Let me bring some water for you." She handed me the glass, and I drank it in one gulp, taking a deep breath. Sahara looked worried, and she hugged me.
I hugged her back tightly, afraid that if I let go, I would be trapped in the nightmare again. Sahara patted my head and asked if I had the nightmare again, to which I replied with a slow voice, "Yes."
Sahara reassured me, saying, "Don't worry, everything will be fine, Appi." But I doubted it. Having the same nightmare for ten years wasn't normal.
There was something, some connection-it kept me curious, craving answers. There was something I didn't understand, or perhaps something I knew but couldn't remember.
Lost in my thoughts, Sahara said, "Appi, there's still an hour until Sehri. Rest until then." I refused and said, "I'll offer Tahajjud Salah until then." With that, I headed to the washroom.
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