51. In Which Ziyan Calls for Help

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❝Every star may be a sun to someone

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❝Every star may be a sun to someone.❞
-Carl Sagan


🌥ZIYAN🌥

A WEEK BEFORE

{ recap: set before the final chapter where it's revealed Ziyan has been arrested for selling an ounce of weed to a cop because of Wyatt Caldwell }

-unedited- [will edited soon]

When I applied to Richmond University, there were only two crucial things I wanted to accomplish: get the fuck out of my dad's house and drive as far away as possible from my parents. Strategically, I picked a private university that was on the other side of Texas.

I was closer to the state of Oklahoma than the overreaching stare of my father. This, quite honestly, helped me sleep better at night more than marijuana ever did.

Despite there being not one, but three major universities closer in proximity, I went a different route—or rather, a further route.

The act in itself was liberating, packing up my belongings and flipping off my neighbors for the last time. Not that they had done anything in particular that day, but merely as a farewell gesture for all the times they called the cops on me. I wouldn't be able to ruin their weekends on a more constant, consistent bases like I had for years. The position was open for new applicants, most likely being taken over by my little brother.

Here at my college, nearly sixty percent of the undergrad students lived on campus. For those who chose to live with their family, the percentage was even lower. They were smart to save on money, but I didn't have the luxury of having a choice. To me, living with my family was never an option—it was a punishment.

During my senior year, I was threatened on a daily basis, hearing from my dad that I'd be kicked out on to the streets any day. Things could be going smoothly, uneventful and calm, but the second my father heard my voice, he would be smacked by a wave of annoyance and squint at me to such an extreme extent that I couldn't see his pupils behind his circular frames. Pointing his finger at me, he'd wag it and tell me how easily he could throw my things into the street.

"What if you woke up and your video games were in the trash can? And your clothes were thrown around on the front lawn?" he'd threaten.

"You'd have the neighbors thinking you and Alma are fighting. Sounds like less of my problem and more so yours. Do you really want that image made public?" was what I'd usually say, insinuating further that his family would gossip about their marital disputes.

Some would argue that I was ungrateful.

Ungrateful would be staying at my parents' house, rent-free and contributing nothing to the daily expenses, and repaying them by taking over the entire attic to develop his failing app. My older brother had reached the pinnacle age thirty-five and all he could claim at that age was unemployment, sixteen thousand dollars of debt in unpaid student loans, an unwed status, and unfairly being prioritized over the other Khan kids. 

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