Thankyou @mominabatool75 for the cool chapter art! :)
Ahsan
The strangest feelings hung over my head for the past few hours and for once, I did not know how to deal with them. Even my vision was clouded by an immense fog of frustration.
Pulling off my balaclava, I sighed with relief that I was finally able to inhale air properly without hindrance. I ran a hand over my face as though that would wipe away all my distresses.
But, of course not.
Guilt was eating me from the inside out.
Remorse was filling up the void from within.
This guilt was a seal that was permanently engraved in my life. I cringed at the mere thought that I was beginning to feel immensely guilty and regretful.
Never before had I even had a second thought about someone I had killed. If I had to stab someone, I did it. If I had to suffocate someone, I did it. If I had to shoot someone, I did it. No questions asked, no looking back.
But now, I was having second and third thoughts of everything I had done and will do.
And why? All because a stupid girl had told me off.
Clenching my jaw at the thought of her, I wondered if there was any truth in her rambling. I scoffed to myself quietly as I leaned back in the teacher's chair, propping up my legs on the desk in one of the Sunday School classrooms.
Her rambling...
She was rather amusing when she was angry or embarrassed. While she had meant to sound serious, I had strongly fought the urge to crack up in her face whenever she had felt the need to lecture me. Her nostrils would flare up and she'd exasperatedly flail her arms in the air in an attempt to get me to see her point of view, particularly when she was mad or felt humiliated.
Especially the latter.
God, her face resembled a tomato the moment she stepped foot into the room after this morning's little natural incident. Poor thing. She tried her very hardest to avoid any sort of eye contact with me until I ticked her off. Perhaps I was being a jerk then, but I couldn't let such a golden opportunity slip by.
"No 'thank you's' this time?" I cocked an eyebrow in amusement.
"Shut up," she muttered, not enjoying my humor on her behalf.
"Oh, monthly mood swing mode, eh?" I was clearly entertained by her misery, a corner of my mouth curled up in a smirk. "I've only heard about that, never actually seen a girl go through it. How bad does it get? Do you throw around furniture and punch walls?"
"Do you want to die?"
I chuckled to myself and when the intensity of her words and facial expression actually hit me, the ripples of laughter morphed into great waves of hilarity, so much that I nearly fell off the chair.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" A booming voice echoed in the empty classroom. My glee instantly vanished and I froze in my spot, but then relaxed when I saw it was just Murtaza. He had taken off his head covering and pulled up a chair across from me.
"Nothing. I was just thinking of something," I told him, waving my hand nonchalantly.
"Let's hear it then," Murtaza insisted, pressing the matter to the next level. "I'm in need of a good laugh too."
While I can be a jerk, I wasn't that much of a jerk to just tell him the truth. At least, I didn't think I was.
"It's not even all that funny, really," I lied. "Anyways, what did you come here for?"
"Do you have food?" He asked abruptly, stretching in his seat. "I'm starving."
"Nah, sorry man. I gave it to-" Crap. I tried to shield my cover before he became suspicious. "-to myself."
What a horrible save.
"You gave food to yourself?" He repeated slowly in an interrogating manner.
"Yes. I gave it to myself. I ate it all." Now can you drop the issue!
"For an American, that's some shitty English right there." Murtaza rolled up his sleeves, crossed his arms, and eyed me strangely.
"I'm not Am-"
"Yeah, yeah. We all know you're not American, even though you were born there." He rolled his eyes at me.
"Whatever," I muttered, glaring at him. "It doesn't matter anymore-"
"-Now that you've burned every single document pertaining to your American citizenship."
"Hey, why don't you make yourself useful," I told him, attempting to divert the topic when I had just remembered something. "And bring me a Quran."
"A Quran?" Murtaza's eyebrows shot up. "Tell me why a Quran hafiz would need a Quran? Just recite everything out loud to yourself."
"Do as you're told," I demanded as he shrugged and walked towards the doorway.
"And where am I supposed to find a Quran on church premises?" He ran a hand through his hair before he pulled the balaclava down again.
"Check the library room or something. I heard they had books of other religions somewhere." Despite the fact that this was a church, the place was actually well-designed. In addition to the giant church, seminary, and dormitory, there was a magnificent courtyard with hanging gardens, a kitchen, a library, classrooms, and plenty of not-so-secret passageways underground.
There was also a convent for nuns opposite the seminary, but we demolished it some months back. Women stay in their own places, as Faizan would often tell us.
Of course, there are a few anomalies strutting around, like her. I scoffed again.
Hayat.
Nice name, but her parents should have called her Churail instead. It would have suited her more.
She was entirely too irritating most of the time, not to mention, extremely independent. She moved out of her parents' home at such a young age, can you imagine! And she raised her hand to slap me! Her independence meant nothing here. She was loud, stubborn and cried at almost every hour of the day, even in her sleep and she probably thought I wouldn't hear or notice.
But, could I blame her?
She was just twenty-one and was stripped away from her comfort zone and brought into a war zone. Moreover, she has seen the brutal torment and deaths of over five people, most of them children. And considering she had a thing for kids, why wouldn't she cry?
I set my feet back down on the floor and placed my elbows on the desk, resting my chin on my clasped hands.
She was...entertaining, though. Her snide remarks were rather amusing. She was a rotting flower, withering away but adamant enough to stand tall for as long as she can last. And I had a feeling she wouldn't last a whole lot longer. A shame really; she had potential to have a good life, to have a decent career and all those other things girls spend time daydreaming of. But no, the idiot decided to come here, throw herself in a hole that she dug and now she was stuck. Whatever. Her loss, not mine.
As much as I tried to erase the day's events from memory, her words still harshly bit back at me.
"You will have a horribly brutal death because of your actions!"
Ouch.
"They deserve death!" I told her.
"Judging by your actions, so you do!"
She had said that with such hate and contempt; the tears that dripped down her face did nothing to hide her rage.
I felt the same way now as I would whenever something ticked me off, furious.
No, she was wrong and I was going to prove it!
Murtaza suddenly barged in and slammed a book down on the desk. I had not even noticed he came inside.
"Here's your Quran, Mister Hafiz," he said. "What do you need it for it again?"
"I just need to confirm something," I told him, hoping he wouldn't ask anything further. I bent over the desk, flipping through the Quran until I had reached the fourth chapter, An-Nisaa.
"You seem different," Murtaza said bluntly, eyeing me as though I had a contagious disease.
I rested my hand on the page I wanted and looked up at him, keeping my expression neutral. "Different how?"
"Just...I don't know," he admitted, narrowing his eyes at me. "It's weird."
I rolled my eyes. "Go get some work done before Faizan chops off your head."
Murtaza scowled at me before he left me in the room alone. That always did the trick. Technically, it wasn't even a joke. There were many times Faizan lashed out his anger on us. I gently rubbed the side of my face that bore a long, deep scar - courtesy of Faizan etching my cheek with a knife a few months back. Sometimes, it still hurt.
I shook my head, shooing away everything that diverted my focus on the particular verse I was looking for. Dragging my finger down the page, I stopped at verse 16. I knew the whole thing by heart already, but just in case my memory had become fogged, I wanted to read directly from the book.
Wa-alladhāni yatiyānihā [l-fāhishata] minkum faādhūhumā.
And the two men who commit it [the immorality] among you, then punish both of them.
There, I was right!
But what was the verse she brought up?
The ayah she spoke of came to me suddenly, and I flipped a few pages ahead to the fifth chapter and found verse 32.
Annahu man qatala nafsan bighayri nafsin aw fasādin fī l-ardi faka-annamā qatala l-nāsa jamīʿan.
That he who kills a soul other than for a soul or for spreading corruption in the earth, then it is as if he has killed all mankind.
She was right too. But who was more right?
Acting upon homosexual desires is indeed considered a grave sin, but killing an innocent was just as much as a sin. But did those men really deserve death? Moreover, was I of any authority to carry out the end of their lives? But the Quran said to...
I was confused out of my mind.
"Oye!" Murtaza's voice interjected my thought process. "How do you make this thing shut up?"
I sighed, closing the Quran, and stared at his frame standing in the doorway. "What thing?"
"This...this kid," he said, very much annoyed.
"Stop speaking incoherently!" I scolded, losing my patience with everything. "What kid?"
"This baby!" He held out a child I was all too familiar with.
"Saad?" I asked incredulously. This kid would unintentionally follow me no matter where I went. "Why is he here?"
"Oh, the creature has a name?" Murtaza glared at the brat with distaste. "I dunno, Faizan told me to watch him after he took the kid away from that girl."
"Oh," I let out, watching the brat squirm in Murtaza's hold, and muttered, "Might as well just give him back to her. What use would a kid be to us?"
Murtaza shrugged and seemed as though he wanted to do nothing more than to throw the kid out of the window. "He won't shut up. What the hell am I supposed to do? We weren't trained to become babysitters!"
"Sing to him," I smirked, leaning back on the chair and clasping my hands behind my head.
"Excuse me?" He looked mortified and ignored the baby's wailing.
"You heard me; sing to him. That's what that girl would always do to make him be quiet, and it seemed to work." I broke into a grin. "Now you try."
"You've got to be kidding."
"Oh no, I'm not." I was definitely enjoying this. "Come on, give him your best rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, or perhaps a traditional Urdu lullaby. Go on, don't be shy."
"I'm going to kill you."
"Faizan will kill you first if you don't make him shut up," I told him curtly over the kid's endless screeches.
Suddenly, the crying was cut short when the brat fully turned his head and gawked at me with the most inquisitive expression. He lazily wiped at his eyes and stretched out his little hands in my direction. "B-b-baba!"
"What the fu-"
Murtaza roared into laughter and could barely speak intelligently. "Y-your face right now! Th-this is exactly wha-what I needed!"
Then again, he wasn't one to speak intelligently any other day either.
"Here, take him." Murtaza ignored my defiantly crossed arms, set the brat down on the desk in front of me, and had the nerve to mimic me. "Sing him a lullaby while you're at it. Come on, don't be shy, you're his father."
Whenever Hayat left the dungeon room to go to the bath area, I had taken those opportunities to pull off my balaclava since only the brat was in the room. But now, he recognized me to the point of familiarity and concluded that I'm his baba.
Big and stupid mistake on my part.
I rubbed my temples and glared at the son-of-the-devil, who cheerfully reached out for me again.
"Murtaza," I said slowly. "Take him out of here right now."
"Oh, but why?" He feigned exasperation. "Don't you want to spend some valuable time with your son?"
"I'm giving you one minute."
"Come to think of it, are you sure you're not really the father? He looks an awful lot like you!"
I tightened my jaw. "Thirty seconds."
He rolled his eyes, picked up the brat and obediently exited the room.
Rubbing my eyes, I slipped my balaclava back on again and put my head down on the desk. It was dusk and I had a killer headache, thanks to the swarm of thoughts racing around my mind. A nap didn't sound like a bad idea...
A sudden sound of a swish of robes and a sharp echo of knuckles rapping on the door startled me enough to wake up.
Great, another nuisance.
She was standing in the doorway, chest heaving up and down with rapid, quickened breaths, and her eyes were bloodshot. Her disheveled, black hair cascaded down her shoulders and her eyes searched the room frantically for something. Finally, she settled her gaze on me and narrowed her eyes in fury. Her gaze was razor sharp, cutting through the edges, and she was full of mixed emotions. Her deep, brown orbs bore a sense of loneliness, suffering, and crisp attitude.
I did not have the energy to deal with a hyperactive woman right now.
"How the hell did you get here?" I snapped.
"How could you?" She wailed, evading my question. "How could you just let the dogs kill him? Have you completely lost every last bit of your heart or did you not have one to begin with?"
"Kill who?" I closed my eyes briefly, mucking up every last bit of patience to deal with this psycho. "And what dogs?"
"Oh! Now suddenly you have no idea what I'm talking about!" Her nostrils flared, saline dripped from her cheeks and her nose was cherry red.
"What kind of church would have dogs on the campus, Hayat?" I asked through gritted teeth and gripped the edge of the desk until my knuckles were white.
"One with Al-Tho'baan crawling all over the place!" She retorted, slamming her hand down on the desk.
"There are no dogs here."
"That's not what Faizan said!"
Allah, grant me five more minutes of patience before I totally lose it.
I tried to keep my tone controlled. "And what did Faizan say?"
"He said that he fed Saad to the dogs!" Her voice was shaky. I almost felt bad for her, but not quite.
"Since when did you think it was a brilliant idea to believe everything that comes out of his mouth?" I growled. "Unfortunately, the brat is very much alive."
"What! Where?" Her eyes brightened in awe as though she had just seen a two-headed unicorn next to a pot of gold. "Tell me please!"
"Murtaza!" I shouted, turning my head to the door. When I heard no movement, I pounded my fists on the table and she flinched at the sound. "Murtaza, bring that kid!"
Within a minute or so, Murtaza and the brat entered the room, and Hayat sported the biggest smile on her face.
"Oh my God! Saad!" She squealed and ran over to Murtaza to retrieve the child from him. Murtaza eyed me warily.
"Just hand the thing over," I told him, shrugging.
"But Faizan said-"
"I'll deal with him. Just give her the kid. He's useless to us anyways."
She gawked at me, obviously horrified that I called the brat useless. Nevertheless, Murtaza complied and I motioned for him to leave. Hayat turned back to me; the words 'thank you' were practically written across her forehand.
"You got what you wanted," I grumbled. "Now get lost."
She nodded happily, clutching the kid tightly, but hesitated at the doorway.
"Now what!"
"I have a question,' she mumbled softly.
"Well, spit it out. I don't have all day."
"How long have you known me?"
The girl was becoming more and more delusional by the minute.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"The attack at the school house in Umm Qais wasn't a random attack, right? You all were expecting me to be there." She watched me carefully. "I mean, for how long did you know I existed?"
Oh hell no.
"Don't worry about it," I muttered and stood up to leave the room.
"Excuse me?" She trailed behind me as I strode to the door. "This is about me and you expect me not to worry about it?"
In any other occasion, I would have simply ignored her and left. But, Murtaza had now hovered by the room's entrance and I could tell he was entirely too suspicious of everything. As a response, I shoved her into the door frame. She mumbled an 'ow' and rubbed her arm with her free hand as I exited the room, pushing past Murtaza.
While I stormed down the hallway, my insides rattled slightly as I replayed her question. I couldn't tell her the answer to that. She would shatter.
Glossary:
~Hafiz (Arabic)- A term used by Muslims for someone who has completely memorized the Quran. Hafiza is the female equivalent.
~Churail (Urdu)- Also spelled 'chudail'. A term used in the Indian subcontinent, meaning 'witch'.
~An-Nisaa (Arabic)- The fourth chapter in the Quran, translated as 'The Women'.