A Page Left Blank

Chapter 13: Crinkling emotions

"Jee Uncle," Ahmed finally replied, a hesitant smile playing at the corners of his lips, like a child whose secret deed was now out in the open, for the entire town to talk about it. "JazakAllahu Khair for coming," he thanked since he didn't have much to hide anymore. "Okay then, Uncle, see you again, in sha Allah."

"Okay, beta, Allah hafiz," Mubarak waved and with a very surprised Rufaida, he drove away.

Ahmed and Rufaida shared one last glance, one that lasted for less than a second, but which would go down in history as the moment that shifted the dynamics of their relationship. What just happened was nothing big, yet what occurred at that moment was the start of a new chapter in someone's story.

"Uncle?" Rufaida called, in need of a confirmation of what just happened.

"Yes?"

"Did he ask you to come to pick me?" She enquired.

"Who, Ahmed?"

A slight pause and Rufaida gulped, before proclaiming his name. "Yes, Ahmed."

"Yes, beta. I know Ahmed's family since a very long time, ma sha Allah, they are such generous people. My wife used to work at their place, Ahmed's mother is so nice, every time my wife went with a need, she ensured it was taken care of. In fact, Ibrahim Saab has sponsored my children's education, and Raiyyan baba even ensured my son got a good job after his degree. As for Ahmed, my wife has raised him since childhood, he is such a humble and well-mannered boy. So is his twin, Afreen. We consider ourselves blessed that Allah put them in our life," he went on and while Rufaida deduced Mubarak Uncle spoke a lot, she was also met with another realization.

Well, what do you know, the villain in one chapter could be a hero for the rest of the story.

When Rufaida finally reached home, she made an attempt to distract the debate of her mind as it desperately tried to categorize a familiar stranger. With her mum lecturing her on how she didn't have to take up extra work for additional income if it required staying away at odd timings, Rufaida decided to check the contents of the bag Saima gave her.

"What's this, Rufi?" Asma prodded, curious at the sight of the bag.

"Zara's mum gave this to me while leaving."

At the reply, Asma looked on as Rufaida brought out the stuff from the bag. It had a dress in it, a simple, decent embroidered dress with a chiffon dupatta, and when Rufaida realized that was the only thing in it, she was taken aback.

She wasn't the only one, because so was Asma.

"Did the lady hand over your payment for the project separately?" she inquired.

"No," Rufaida denied, "This is all that she gave me."

"Didn't she ask you to quote an amount?" Asma asked, unsure what to make out of this.

"She asked me, but I've been working with her and her daughter for the past ten days, and we developed such a personal bond, I told her she could pay me a suitable amount she thought was best," Rufaida replied, her mind unable to process why Saima, after acknowledging all her efforts, when it was time to pay, had given her just a dress.

"And what did she reply?" Asma asked, knowing where this was going.

"She said she'd take care of it," Rufaida answered, still in a trance.

"She was never willing to pay you, Rufi," Asma made known, and as a mother, felt her heart break when Rufaida's head jerked up, trying to make sense of it.

"I don't think so, Ammi," she denied. "She's such a nice lady, and they are extremely rich. More than me saying it, she kept acknowledging the work I was doing for them, she was the one reminding me to keep a tab on all the hours I worked and charge accordingly."

"I repeat what I said, Rufi," Asma emphasized. "She never intended to pay you. If she did, when you said she could pay you anything she wished, she would have immediately insisted you to still quote an amount, fearing that whatever she gave would be less. But she took advantage of your goodness, since you didn't specify a figure, she just gave you a little thank you gift, and turned her back on you."

Rufaida found her eyes turn glassy at her mum's analysis, a deep crack of ache filling her with dread.

"But why would she do that," Rufaida whispered. "I didn't expect anything fancy, and from the beginning, it was understood this is a paid project."

"People with deep pockets sometimes have the smallest hearts," Asma explained.

Rufaida couldn't believe it, absolutely could not. Forget about the work as such, the fact that she had trusted her and developed such a personal bond while all the time, Saima saw her as someone she could fool and take advantage of left her feeling torn. If she didn't want to pay her, she could have easily said it, Rufaida would rest the case, but the fact that she got played left her feeling betrayed.

She caught hold of the dress material she had gifted, and opened it completely, checking deep inside the bag as if something hidden would appear and prove her mum wrong. But nothing happened, and she let life teach her another reason.

"Never regret being good to someone, Rufaida, your reward lies with Allah. But this is a lesson for you, in the future, when you undertake any project, don't be shy about quoting a price for your work. This world is otherwise very selfish, when it's their turn to reciprocate goodness, they'll slyly and politely say thank you and get going." She paused, before questioning, "Will you be asking Saima about this?"

Rufaida shook her head at the question, all the nights she stayed up to do Zara's work, all those times she went hungry to their house after shifts, those extra hours she spent in buses flashing before her eyes. Saima was a wise lady, very wise actually, and Rufaida knew her move to compensate all this with a dress was not a misunderstanding, but indeed a choice.

"I rest my case with Allah, my reward is with Him."

She didn't utter a word after that, while she tried to absorb the scam she had just experienced.

If she could delete one word from her dictionary, it would be betrayal. It was an emotion she detested, a feeling that left you questioning your own worth. She didn't know how someone had the capacity to take so much without crumbling under the weight of it. It baffled her to know that while accepting the slightest help made her feel like she was being a burden, the rest of the world was so egoistic, they thought everyone else was obliged to sacrifice just to feed their desires. She hadn't received much from this world, yet Rufaida was always a giver, but today, for the first time, she wondered, didn't life ever get tired of taking so much from her?

Rufaida saw her life as a journal, each event becoming a scribbled page. As for this incident, she would call it ambiguous. After what Saima did, she would have titled it betrayal, but it was also the day a person who had once caused her emotions to crinkle by reminding her of her miseries earned a sincere dua from her heart.

Today someone had become her offender, and someone had earned her forgiveness.