Hana & Hanaan | ✓

Chapter 11

Don't you think Nashwa is broken, fragmented, shattered and scattered on the inside and that is what makes her so resentful, angry, catty and vehement to all those around her? She is chaos because chaos is all she knows.

I wonder if she wishes she had died and not her mother that night. Does that thought alone in her head not make you want to keep her close to you and tell her she is wanted, she is valued, she is cherished and needed?

It's not easy to love yourself, you know it too.

You battle with your body weight, I battle with my damaged brain, Nashwa battles with her survival. If you think as I do that I'm a walking tragedy with my CP, then you should know I am nothing compared to Nashwa's tragedy.

How do we learn to love ourselves despite our ugliness?

But we did, once upon a time. Do you remember and yes I know this is getting annoying, me bringing up old painful memories but this one is not painful, it's actually the happiest memory of us three when we were so proud of us, each one of us for our skills and talents, it was truly a moment we glowed.

You and Nashwa were in sixth grade, I was in third grade and we went to the same school and had a bake sale carnival so we set up a stall together with Dadi and we were the It stall of the day. The way these days you're the It Girl in the family.

We didn't want to be a conventional stall with fancy cupcakes, pizzas or donuts, we wanted to grab all the attention, all the spotlight, all the customers to ourselves only and we schemed it all with Dadi who found on Pinterest the perfect plan.

Fortune Cookies.

Of course the task was near to impossible but the seven year old girl who could bake a cake all by herself could surely now make fortune cookies too? So we set about it, I thought of happy fortunes people would like to read and Nashwa wrote them down. Dadi searched up Pinterest for ways we could decorate the stall and the perfect aesthetic for it too while you looked about for recipes.

It was tricky, the recipe, making a thin cookie, pulling it out while it was soft, putting the fortune paper slip in it and then folding it with a pinch before it hardened but you, Hana, you did it!

We baked some cupcakes too, together. You and Mama made the batter, Dadi, Nashwa and I decorated them with buttercream and sprinkles. We glazed our cookies pink and purple with white sprinkles on top.

They looked so pretty.

The house smelt lovely that day, as sweet as our correspondence. We dressed up Nashwa like a fortune teller, braiding the front strands of her red hair and putting beads in them, wrapping a handkerchief on her head so she looked like female Jack Sparrow with just the hat missing. We put purple nail paint on her fingers and robed her in a large purple dupatta that Haala Mami had with small coins attached to its borders. We added some blush to her cheeks, lined her eyes with kajal and put some glitter on her lids too. She did not need to be trained on how to act and call forth people, drama and theatrics are her expertise after all.

Come to the fortune teller! Let your fate be known!

Shall you pass this week's test or shall you fail miserably at love and life? Come to the fortune teller to let your fate be known!

Oye, little girl with so many lollipops! Is your destiny as sweet as these cupcakes that shall be sold? Come to the fortune teller to let your fate be known!

Girls and boys and parents and teachers they loved the sweetness of your treats, Hana, and yes they loved my fortune phrases too. They bit their lips like you do as they cracked the cookie and pulled out the slips reading with stars in their eyes: