'Cry for me' - Twice
Unedited
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She thought breastfeeding would be a breeze. It looked so easy when she saw her mum, her cousins, her aunts and her sister doing it. She couldn't be more wrong. The first few days, her nipples cracked if she didn't express anything. It hurt sometimes but once she began to continuously feed him directly and by expressing it into a bottle, it went away. Her mother in law fussed about, giving her soups and not letting her lift a finger, also taking him for two hours everyday so Syra could rest. She insisted this because she had taken a lot of stress on her body. Syra, of course, didn't deny the offer.
Surprisingly, he didn't disturb her that much during the night. He would wake up like twice before Fajr, and then Zayn would change him if he needed to and give him his bottle after he prayed. Of course she didn't need to pray right now as she was bleeding. She remembered her sister saying over the phone to develop a routine so he would be asleep by eight thirty. Through the day he slept as he pleased. He was a newborn, so he slept a lot.
One thing she was terrified of was giving baths. She bathed him three times a week as he would get very sweaty in the humid weather, with the assistance of her mother in law.
Today was the day of the aqeeqah. They were going to reveal his name today. Also a goat was being slaughtered back home and the meat distributed. They were hosting a dinner to their family and friends. Syra just prayed her son wouldn't get evil eye.
Her son. Saying that felt so weird. She had never envisioned herself as a teen mum. She could not believe that she held her very own child in her arms. Motherhood was tough, but that love you have for your child, you won't ever find anyone loving him more.
She also came to appreciate her own parents even more, especially her mum. She never used to see her dad so much and it irked her, but seeing how Zayn fretted over income, how he tried to help out to the best of his ability to lessen her troubles made her realise why fathers have so much rights in Islam. And why a mother had three times more the right of a father.
Seeing Zayn with him was the most beautiful sight. He was an amazing father. He may not have much to offer right now, but the effort he was putting in was alot. He reassured her when she began crying that none of her bras fit her and would always get wet. And her hard-earned abs had gone. She never had a bump so she didn't really have a postpartum belly, just bloating. All she knew is that she would be going on birth control right after her bleeding ended. She would have more kids after she was done with college.
Syra had been in her pyjamas all week. She wanted to get ready. She had an occasion too as well.
She opted for a blue sharara and kamees, with silver and gold work all over it, finishing the look off with a pink dupatta which also had silver and gold work. For jewellery she settled for a matching gold earrings and tikka with blue beads. She knew she was going heavy, but after having no pregnancy celebrations, she wanted to go all out. And she rather that the gossips talk more about her clothes as to her being a teen mum. She put on a matching pink scarf and went on her way. Zayn had already taken the baby down so she could get ready. The laughter and chatter of the guests could be heard.
Gripping onto the bannister, she carefully made her way down both flight of stairs. The guests were spread out in the living room, the back room, the garden and the room at the end of the garden. Syra entered the kitchen, where Zayn was waiting for her. He wore a plain white jubbah and was rocking the baby in his arms. Locks of his wavy onyx hair resting against his forehead, silver-grey eyes twinkling. He ran his hand over the baby's similar but thick brown curls. He saw her and grinned.
"Shall we?" He asked, lifting her tikka and pecking her forehead, causing Syra to giggle at the gesture.
"Let's go," she replied.
The pair walked into the living room which was bustling with guests. Zayn cleared his throat and announced,
"His name is Imran. Imran Asher Ahmed,"
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Now the stress-free days could begin. She gave her last exam for the year. Garam girl summer begins. Jk. She had a son to take care of and a hoard of henna bookings. Bridal season you know. She would have a broken back. Well Zayn already broke it. Her mother insisted she get professional massages done. She didn't want her daughter to be plagued by back pain in her youth.
Imran was such a good baby. Barely disturbed her in the nights, he could stay with anyone for weeks on end - she had expressed so much milk and frozen it. She loved spending time with her darling son, but was kept from doing so because of sixth form and revision. Zayn had been busy too, also working for his father.
Syra begun buying her things herself. Zayn was putting all his money into his savings for the future and she was contributing too, so it felt wrong to use that money when she had her remaining money. And she knew if she kept money to the side, only she had a right to it. But if Zayn did the same, Syra also had the right to that money. So when it came to her skincare, makeup, clothes, toiletries, she purchased it with her own money. Even though Zayn gave her money. That she begun putting away for a Hajj trip. And that would be around £10k. It was expensive.
Zayn's eighteenth birthday was coming up in a few months. He would then start using his uncle's old car to do jobs for his brother-in-laws company which was a decent pay too. And with the birth of Imran, they had got some money too. So they were at 115k. She was sure by the time it came for them to buy a house, they would have accumulated most of the money, so they would sue their parents help for the remaining. So, she stopped worrying about money and focused on her family and studies.
Little did she know that she would soon enter one of the most toughest phases of her life.
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It was the end of August - the end of their summer holidays. It had whizzed by so fast, spent with Imran and Zayn and her family. Some of her family from Australia had visited, making Syra miss her birthplace and first home very badly. Australia was beautiful, she much preferred the weather over there to England, but there was a lot more diversity here in London so she felt more at home here. Wouldn't trade her life with anyone's.
Imran was two months. He had begun babbling too and he could tell if he was in the arms of someone familiar or a new person. His thick curls were growing rapidly, everyone was shocked to find out he was only two months with so much hair. She often referred to him as his middle name, Asher, which she shortened to Ash.
She remembered how straight after the aqeeqah she had to go back to the hospital and stay there for four weeks because Imran had got an infection. She had been so surprised they had let her off before because he was almost three months early but he did not have breathing problems and was a little over his expected weight so they let him. She guessed it was from the nazar as she had to go hospital while the guests were still leaving. Imran would just crying uncontrollably and they realised some parts of his body and turned blue.
"Ash! You poop as soon as I change you! What is this? You do these silly things just like your dad!" she jokingly scolded him, squishing his cheeks and laughing as he erupted into his fit of babbles.
He always said dada. She knew he was completely a daddy's boy. He played with him so much. Everyday she tried saying mama to him, hoping he would catch on. One day, Zayn would always laugh, he's only two months.
"When he does silly things he's my son and when he's a good little baby he's your son?" Zayn asked, amused.
He was sprawled on the bed, absolutely knackered from working all day in the humid heat. His parents and brother in law insisted he take a break or reduce his time but he was adamant. After much convincing from Syra he kept weekends free and is they planned anything on the weekdays, he would ditch work. One of the pros of working under family.
Syra looked over at him to find him looking back at her. Even after having a whole ass child with him, she got shy under that intense silver gaze. His beard had thickened as he didn't ever shave it and often forgot to shape it up everyday in the morning. So when he would come home she would sit him down and do jr for him.
He had cut his hair shorter now, tired of pushing his locks off his face. It looked amazing. She doubted there was a haircut he looked bad in. His narrow nose and sharp jaw. Her favourite thing was how he towered over her, him being a whole foot taller. And his well kept physique. That cocky expression of his, where his lips pulled up from one side and he raised one arched brow.
He was still her most used muse for her sketches. She hid most of them from him, especially that one she did when he was asleep, laying on his front and arms resting on either side of his head, only covered by a blanket on his lower half. But the fool discovered it. He knew every nook and cranny of his house. He reminded her of that sketch every time her ego got too big. She honestly never knew how she bagged such an attractive, well mannered, responsible and mature guy.
"Helllloooooo, Sia? I said something and you're looking at me with the artist expression. Thinking about that sketch, huh?" he asked, rolling over to her side of the bed as she folded up Imran's changing mat from the floor.
Her cheeks flamed up. He had taken that sketch from her and kept it with him, saying that she didn't need it as it was probably engraved into her mind. He wasn't wrong. But she would never admit it. Zayn reached out and began braiding her hair, something he did very often, claiming he was practicing for his future daughter. She had a suspicion that it was only partly the answer.
"Yes. I was. And what about it? I need to sketch another one as you nicked that from me!" she scoffed playfully. Bun being shy.
"I'm the one modelling. Don't you think you should have asked me before sketching my leng self?" he responded, pulling on her braid a little.
She whipped around, "Or could it have been me who drew you nicely. I always draw from memory so it's extremely possible that I got it wrong?" she retaliated with pushing his forehead with her index finger.
"Darlin that was wayyy too accurate for you to 'sketch it wrong'. You even got my rings, the positioning fo my chain, my hair, the blanket. I know I'm running laps in your head all the time -" he squeezed her cheeks "- and I can admit that you're on my mind twenty four seven,"
Syra just rolled her eyes, causing Zayn to let out a rumble of laughter. His gaze slid to Imran, who was practically trying to fly to his dad with his arms flapping like that.
"Toss my mini-me here," Zayn told Syra.
"Don't ever talk about tossing a baby! It gives me a heart attack," Syra scolded, only half serious.
"You don't mind when I throw you about -" Zayn started before Syra pinched his thigh, causing him to yelp and raise his hands in surrender, still snickering. Syra just raised her eyebrows and handed him Imran.
"Have fun, I'm going to do some much needed self-care,"
"I'll get you back!" he called out to her retreating figure.
He always did.
Kutta.
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I'm currently watching a Pakistani horror drama called Neeli Zinda hai and dangggg I recommend you lot to watch it.
I'm aware there are many typos and errors, plz bare wit me right now. I don't have time to go back and check over what I wrote atm, I'm just writing to finish the book before Monday. I know I've been saying imma delete Wattpad but ik it won't very long. Maybe I'll stick to editing instead of starting book two right now. That would be very distracting tho.
2230 words.