Something Different Something More (ON HOLD)

Chapter Three

The next day I finally met Baba. I made sure I slept early yesterday night so as to wake up and see him before he goes off to work.

I miss my old man. He wasn't always like this. Mama's death took a great toll on him. But that doesn't mean he should neglect us as his kids.

It was 7:00am when I got out of bed and rushed down the stairs. I was still in my pyjamas and my hair was a total mess. I didn't care. I just wanted to see him.

I was out of breath as I reached the door as he was about to go out.

"Baba!" I called.

He turned. His face was blank. The mask he perfected since mama left us. His beard had grown more bushy and the streaks of white hair were undoubtedly noticeable. He pulled down his glasses a bit maybe trying to figure out if I was really the one.

I was cautious around him. It took all my willpower not to run over and give him a hug. I missed my carefree Baba. This one was looking at me like stranger. He hadn't seen his daughter for five good years and he was acting indifferent.

"Yasmeen. You're back. I see you're already done with school." He said it as if I just came back from a boarding school for three months.

"Yes Baba. I'm done." I said not knowing what else to say. I never knew there'd come a day when conversations with my dad would be awkward. That talking to my dad would be like talking to a stranger.

He nodded. "That's good. Congratulations. I'll see you when I get back from work." He said and turned to leave when I stopped him.

"Ehrm..Baba..about the fashion house I want to open. I need some capital to start my business."

"Talk to my secretary later. Amir has his number."

He left without another word.

I went to the nearest sofa and sat down. My thoughts drifted to yazeed once again. Last night was the same. I didn't know why he had that strong effect on me. I needed to get him out of my system. I know I'd never see him again. That's if he doesn't call me but the chances were low.

I stood up and went to my room. My room was something you'd call multi colour. The colours ranged from pastel to beige to violet to pink. I get my inspirations sometimes through colours. My room back at Paris was almost the same.

I wouldn't call myself girlish. Colours reflect and relate to my life in ways other people and things around me didn't.

Usually, when I'm upset or bothered about something, I sketch or write poetry. They were an escape for me. I'd either get lost in designs or in words.

I grabbed my hand luggage and brought out a purple notebook. And no it's not a diary. I didn't do diaries. I had a book of poetry.

Y.A.G was scribbled with gold on the cover of the book. I had it custom made in Paris.

I opened the first page and words I had written a long time ago was there. It was a reminder on why I loved to write.

I write because it makes me feel safe,
An escape from the world
A safe haven
I get lost in my words
Closing my eyes as I admire how all the letters form words
And words form sentences
I like the feeling of satisfaction when I drop the pen and scan what I write
Then a sigh of relief escapes me.

-Y.A.G (23/09/2012)

I flipped through the pages and my eyes fell on a particular one.

The place that feels like hell
I feel myself suffocating
I feel like I'm drowning
Clawing my way in the waters
Trying to get a breath
Just one breath
I feel like a quick sand is sinking with me
I shout and scream for help
But there's no one that listens
I struggle looking for something to hold on to
And as I gave up
Allowing the water to drown me and the quicksand to sink me
I realized I was truly alone
Then I let the darkness take me.