CHAPTER 50

32 13 0

CHAPTER 50

Fifteen months down the parenting road, things couldn't get any crazier and tiring and more frustrating and more fulfilling. Ahmad had managed to clear his name but lost a lot of money in doing so. Job-hunting was not fruitful, nevertheless, he still sent out his cv and constantly checked his mail for an interview invite. He had somehow found peace and comfort in his workshop; he took online mechanical engineering classes and was ever busy.

Zinar had resumed work less than two months ago, she ran shorter shifts with less pay but she couldn't complain. Their kids were toddlers and as accepted devilish. It was impossible to get things done, Badil dismantled everything she saw; she was always trying to climb over things while Bilal helped her out. They tempered with everything they could lay their hands on. Basmat was another case, her sibling gave their parent hell in the day and her job was to do it at night. She was a deranged suckle, a lighter sleeper and almost as destructive as her siblings and also very chatty.

Zainab had been pregnant for about thirteen weeks. Finally, after all the wait and patience her long craving dream was coming true. Sadiq was just as ecstatic to learn he was going to be a father, though the wait was tough with all the doctors, both herbal and modern medicine. At least her in-laws had stopped calling her amarya and had paused on taunting Sadiq on getting a woman that could give him a real home. But regardless things always happened in God's time. And somehow it didn't break them.

Zinar sat on the floor leaning against the couch, her hand supporting her tired head. She stared at her kids as they played; Bilal and Basmat were building Legos while Badil constantly wrecked it with her leg. She watched as Bilal told her to stop but she didn't, the next time she did it Basmat stood up with a small frown and smacked her leg. Badil let out a loud screech as tears started streaming down her face, Zinar quickly turned away. She didn't have the strength to give a talk and she was well aware of how Badil got more dramatic with an audience. Just in time Ahmad sprint into the living room and squatted beside his kids. Soon enough Basmat was also crying, "Aww! What's making my princesses cry?" he asked as he held them each by his arm.

"She beat me," Badil pointed at Basmat with her toddler finger. Her tiny voiced beamed. Basmat pouted,

"She started it". He asked what had happened and they gave him an ineloquent, tongue tide narration. Zinar just watched them like a zombie while Bilal finally looked like he had gotten the space to build his Lego.

"You've solved the case," Zinar said as Ahmad sat opposite her.

"It was not an easy one," he said with an air of confidence, he looked back at the kids that looked like they were getting along. "You look dead," he looked at his wife closely.

"Why thank you kind sir" she sarcastically said lightly bowed her head dramatically like she was in an English theatre. "This is all you," she said looking back at the kids. He wiggled his brow cockily, "That wasn't a compliment" she shot and he pursed his lips. She heaved and rubbed her face. "I wish I could lock myself in the bathroom, get in a tub, scream my lungs out then lay back and sleep" she whined before slumping on his thigh.

"Is it that bad?" he played with her locks.

"No" she shook her head, "Not even close" she smiled at her kid's direction. "But am TIRED" she yelped dramatically and he chuckled. "How naughty were we when we were kids because I think this is karma" she whined.

"Um! You were the naughty one" he said as a matter of fact.

"Not as a toddler I was not, this is all you, all you. God, I miss the days the only thing they did was sleep." She closed her eyes, she felt a pang as they jumped on her excited, showing her and Ahmad what they had made. Ahmad chuckled at her wincing and she glared at him. The kids ranted about what they made and they both paid attention to the messy, non-fluent explanation. Amid all the caterings, Basmat claimed on top of her mother and Zinar already knew the drill.

Something lived, Something feltWhere stories live. Discover now