The Three Muslimahs ✔

Chapter Sixteen: The Abbas Elders

Mr. Abbas filled her plate up with the dish and Nida gave him a tight smile. If there's one thing she does not like, it has to be filling up the stomach. Eating so much and filling up her platter is not good for her! She will only become fat and unwanted, like her friend from her middle school years who was bullied for being overweight.

Shaking her head from resurfacing memories of her past, Nida sat back down and began robotically putting a spoonful of food in her mouth. She didn't want to sit here and watch her parents laugh and enjoy themselves while she suffered in silence. So she ate, her eyes trained to her plate the entire dinner, even as Husayn came in, took his food, and left. She was nearly finished with her food when her father suddenly spoke to her: "Nida, dear! Why so silent?"

"I believe it is because I wish to disappear as much as possible," Nida responded, her head tilted slightly as if curious. "Ask me why again, father."

Mr. Ahmed stared at his daughter, befuddled. "Why?"

"Oh, Daddy," Nida drawled, letting out a humorless laugh, "as if you do not know. I thought if I could just be more silent, perhaps I would become more . . . sensible." Her eyes flashed with anger as she glared at her father before standing up and exiting the room.

Her father's biting remark from earlier whirled around in her head: He has more sense than my daughter. At least, I hope he does. Of course her father would like his son more than her; she doesn't have any sense. Furiously wiping away her tears now, Nida went to her room and closed the door behind her.

Nida was tired of crying, tired of the salty tears running down her cheeks, tired of caring, just-tired! She did not want to deal with emotions anymore; she wanted to go and have some fun. She wanted to forget about her parents, like she used to back in England. She wanted to drown herself in fashion, style, parties, accessories, drinks, and anything else she could possibly think of to just forget, dammit!

The vase on her bedside table went flying and it crashed against the wall, breaking into a million pieces. Nida breathed furiously now, not even sure when her hand smacked against the vase. She sat down on her bed and brought her knees to her chest before bawling. Not having any friends or distractions was the worst feeling ever. Soon, however, her breathing slowed and returned to normal. Before she could immerse herself in social media websites to forget what just happened, a knock sounded from outside the door.

"Nida?" a soft, feminine voice called. "Can we come in?"

Nida groaned and rolled her eyes---what did Mr. and Mrs. Abbas want from her now? "Yes, you may enter." She sat back on her bed, her tears already dried and gone. In her hand was the Vogue magazine she had skimmed through before dinner.

Mr. and Mrs. Abbas walked with a look of caution and worry on their faces. Nida ignored their presence as she forced her eyes to stay glued to the pages of where to find the best outfits for the Spring Fashion Week. This did not last for long, as she was not saying anything and neither were the two elders in her room. Finally, she put her issue of Vogue down and sighed.

"Is there something you wish to discuss?" Nida said politely, though her only wish at the moment was that they leave her be.

"As a matter of fact, there is," Mrs. Abbas said hesitantly. Nida stared at her, waiting for her to go on.

"Yes?" Nida prompted when Mrs. Abbas could not gather her thoughts and speak.

"Nida, dear," the older woman began almost tenderly before saying in a rush, "we do not want you to get hurt."

"I beg your pardon?" Nida exclaimed, thoroughly confused and taken aback by her words. Was she in danger of some threat?

"What she means is," Mr. Abbas interrupted, "we have noticed the relationship between you and your parents," Nida stiffened immediately at his words, "and we can see that you are hurting inside."