Ali's POV:
"Open the door, Anisa. Come on!" I knocked once again. I tapped my feet impatiently on the ground as I waited outside the room. "I'm not going to." Came her reply. She sounded so pissed it was almost scary.
That day had been the second day I spent outside my room. I managed to take a shower in Usman's room but he wasn't home that day. I tried speaking to Anisa but she avoided me every time. We even went to school in separate cars. She went with the driver while I drove myself.
I knew it was high time that I cleared up my part for whatever I did.
"Please!" I called out.
"I need to take a shower. I don't have my clothes with me either." I tried reasoning with her. "Take a shower in Usman's room like you were doing before!" she replied.
Honestly, I was surprised she knew how I was coping. It made me realize that she had her eye on me despite being upset.
"He's not at home today and he locked the room too!"
There was silence for a few minutes before the door knob clicked. A victorious smile spread on my face as the door opened, revealing Anisa with an aloof expression. "You're leaving after taking a shower." she ordered and I nodded. "Okay, ma'am."
Honestly, she looked so cute when she showed sass. Her half shut, unbothered eyes were faking it but it still looked so adorable.
"I'm closing the door if you don't want to come in." she shook me out of my thoughts and I quickly walked in. I went straight to the bathroom and took a shower as promised. I felt so relaxed being in my old setting again. When I was done, I walked out with a towel around my neck as water dripped from the ends of my hair.
Expecting Anisa to kick me out again, I stood there when I saw her talking on the phone.
"WA Alaikum us salam. Yes, this is Anisa Malik. Who are you, sir?" She asked. I guessed the call had just started. I went to sit on the comfy bed availing the opportunity and listening carefully to their conversation. It was a guy.
"What? What do you mean? Is he dead?" She asked, shocked. I could hear the guy say yes. Anisa nodded knowingly. When I heard her mention someone's death, I sat up. Anisa didn't know many people. And if it were one of her family members, she would've been shouting and crying by now. I quickly muttered a low prayer that everything would be alright.
I heard her sigh before she cut the call after a last "thank you". I turned to her, expecting answers. "It's dad's funeral. Please get ready. We're going to Asma Baji's house." She told me simply as if it were no deal.
My eyes widened. "Mr. Malik? Let's go!" My heart started beating with fear. Even though he wasn't my father, I was feeling very scared. Scared for Anisa. She wasn't responding like she was supposed to and her expression had become blank. Changing into some suitable clothes, I rushed to the car. Anisa followed when she had put on her Abaya and hijab.
After getting into the car, I kept my gaze glued to her. Her silence was scaring me and I didn't know how to react. I wasn't sure what to say to her that would help her feel better. Her father had passed away and it wasn't a small thing.
After a twenty minute ride, we reached. It didn't take us long to go inside the house. I saw a lot of cars parked outside. Stepping inside, Imran was the first person we met. Unlike Anisa, his face was speaking a thousand words. The dark pool in his eyes and his pale skin made it clear that he was depressed.
Despite that, he managed to greet us with a fake smile. He took us inside to where Asma baji was. As soon as I saw her, my heart ached. Tears were rolling down furiously and her face had turned a complete crimson red color just like Anisa. "Assalam u alaikum, Baji. I'm so sorry for your loss. May Allah bless him and grant him a high place in Jannah." I tried to sound as assuring as I could but nothing I did changed that helpless expression of hers. Anisa smiled at her and gave her a hug. Asma Baji put on a fake smile.
"Ameen." That was the only thing she was able to say. "Make yourself at home, dear." and she went off leaving the three of us alone. She looked like she wasn't in the position to attend to us and it was very understandable.
"So where do I go?" I asked Imran. He blinked like I had taken him out of his thoughts. "Oh. I'll take you to the men's side." he said and started walking when Anisa stopped him. "Meet me here after that, Imran." She told him. I looked at Anisa one last time. "Allah Hafiz." I said.
"Allah Hafiz." she replied and it looked like she didn't want me to go. I wanted to stay too but I didn't know what to do so I just went with Imran.
"I'll go from here. I need to inform Usman too so it'll take me a minute. You can go listen to Anisa." I said once we reached halfway. Imran nodded gratefully and walked off. After calling Usman and telling him about the incident, I went inside the room.
It was packed.
I noticed some of dad's workers as well but all I could think of was one thing.
Was Anisa alright? I didn't want her to cry. Or at least I wanted to be there for her when she did.
Anisa's POV:
I was in a battle with myself. I didn't know how to feel. Should I be happy or sad? If I was happy, Allah would not like it. After all, Father's case had already reached Allah's court.
Death was a small day of judgement. People who did bad were held accountable for it in front of Allah. No matter how sad I wanted to feel, I was just outright scared. Terrified.
I was a little irritated too by all those people crying for him. But I wouldn't blame anyone. It wasn't their fault they didn't know anything about my father's dirty deeds. At moments like this, I wished that I never saw what happened that day. I wished I had forgotten everything but instead, that day came to me every night in my nightmares.
I saw Imran returning. He had the same look on his face as Asma Baji's. He was on the verge of tears, I could tell. He came to me and wrapped his arms around me. "Khala." He said. I returned the hug.
I could feel him crying softly and silently. "He... Passed away." He said through sniffs. That was the first time I saw a man crying in front of me. I tried to console him, despite the fact I was so mentally unstable myself. Even though father never gave Imran even as little as a look of love or affection, Imran was still crying for him.
Father hated him and usually called him "The unfortunate child" . My father was a cruel and selfish man. But, all those people still loved him despite that. Imran loved him. Asma Baji loved him. All his workers loved him. Even Ali, who didn't know him properly, was sad.
But, why was I the only one who wasn't affected by the fact that my own father by blood had just passed away?
But I had a good reason. He was too much of a bad person to be loved. People might think that the worst crime he might've committed was forcing me to get married at a young age. But that wasn't true. Something like wasn't enough for a daughter to despise her father.
Breaking the hug, I rubbed Imran's tears away. "You don't want to go in front of people like that. Just be brave. Everything is alright." I assured him. Even though Imran and I were the same age, I would usually feel as if he was a small kid because of our relationship. I was his aunt and it made me feel that he was sort of my responsibility. Besides, he had always been more immature than me.
He nodded. "Your mother was calling you." I told him. He nodded again and went off. I searched the house for the Ladies side. Finally finding it, I walked inside. The room was huge and it was crowded with people. It was all white. The walls were white and all the women were sitting on the ground which had white sheets spread on it.
I sat beside a lady who was crying her eyes out. She turned to look at me. "You're his daughter?" She questioned. I nodded. "Younger one." I told her. She hugged me. "Your father was a good man." she started. "He helped me when I was in need. It's because of him I'm able to walk now. May Allah grant him mercy and give him the reward of helping me."
I couldn't say that I wasn't surprised. I didn't know my father could be kind to anyone. The woman pulled away and wiped her nose with a handkerchief. Her eyes were bloodshot red. "Can you tell me how it happened?" I asked her. She nodded. "He got into an accident."
Nodding my head knowingly, I turned to face the front. Every single woman there was either weeping or sitting quietly praying for him. Except for the little children who had no idea what was happening. A little girl came up to me. She was about six or seven years old. Smiling at her, I told her to sit down beside me. She was such a beautiful girl. Her round black eyes looked like two buttons and her cheeks were red like a cherry.
"Why is everyone crying?" She asked me which was adorable. "Well, that's because someone died. All of these people are sad because of that." I replied, pulling her cheeks. She laughed at my little gesture. "Do they all know the person who died? Even my mommy?" She questioned.
I nodded. "Well, if they are crying for him, of course they know him. If your mommy is crying, she must also know him then." I told her. "Do you know him?" She asked. I smiled at her.
She sure asked a lot of questions.
"He was my daddy." I told her. Her eyes widened in shock. "Then why aren't you crying?! If my daddy died, I would be crying!" She looked so horrified by my reply and started rubbing my back as if to console me. I got quiet. I didn't have an answer to that. Well, I did. But to say all that to a little girl wouldn't be appropriate.
"I've cried already. Now I am out of tears." I lied to her. Before she could ask anything else, her mother called her. She went away, waving at me. I waved back at her.
Suddenly, news spread that they were going to bring in the dead body. Everyone sat on the sides, leaving space in the middle. First, they brought a small bed which had bars around it. Like a baby's cradle but for a grown up man.
They brought in the dead body. Sniffs were heard loudly in the room. The body was covered in a white cloth. We couldn't see the face, until the men placed it down on the bed. They removed the cloth over his face and the three men left.
I stared down at my, now dead, father's face. I saw that it was handsome despite his old age. But, what good would his good looks give him? I didn't notice but suddenly a tear ran down my cheek. Not because I was sad about his death. But because, he might be experiencing hardships right then. Maybe his soul was walking here and there, in that very room.
But, we didn't know. At that point, I prayed to Allah to make everything easy for him and to grant him Jannah despite everything. I prayed with my whole heart. He was a Muslim. He used to pray, I know. And he made me pray too. But All his bad deeds scared me.
Not able to take it anymore, I just walked out. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be at home, laughing at Ali's stupid jokes. Or pulling pranks on him. Maybe even have a delicious dinner with Usman and Ali both. Walking down to the men's side, my head collided with a man's chest on the way.
I suddenly took a step back. "I am so sorry." I apologized, my voice almost cracking. I looked at the ground because I couldn't face anyone in the state that I was.
"Anisa?" I heard a familiar voice which made me look up. Just the image of him standing there and in front of me gave me a feeling of relief. I exhaled the breath I had been holding in. "Ali…" his name rolled off my tongue and I knew that I needed him.
I knew that he was the only one who could help me feel better. I needed Ali. I didn't know what came over me or why I did what I did, but I just jumped at him and threw my hands around his neck.
The scent of jasmine and soap engulfed me as I buried my nose into his warm and strong chest. I knew he was taken aback but he recovered quickly. His hands reached my back and he pulled me even closer to him. "Take me home, Ali." I pleaded to him. He nodded, hardly understanding the situation. The only thing in my mind was that my father might be suffering. I just prayed to Allah to save him from the hellfire.
"We're going home. Don't worry." His soothing voice calmed my nerves and I felt my shoulders relax. He took my hand and pulled away because I wasn't. As much as I wanted to feel his presence, I knew I had to let go. I tightened my grip in his big hands that were warm.
We both walked to the car and I quickly sat inside. He got into the driver's seat and I grabbed his hand again. He was a bit startled but I didn't let it go even then. It was the one thing that was giving me the support I needed. Starting the car, I felt him staring at me. For the first few minutes of the drive, it was silent when he suddenly spoke.
"You can tell me what's bothering you, Anisa." His voice was helping me calm down and I felt like I could pour out myself to him. I wanted to tell him everything.
"I don't know, Ali." I told him, my voice cracking. "I don't know how to feel or what to feel. My father… Wasn't a good man…" he looked at me when he heard that but stayed quiet.
"I hate my father. Not because he forced me to marry you. Because he did something much worse than that. My father was a psychopath. His ego made him blind. He left everything just to quench his pride's thirst." I started, feeling much better. I was about to tell Ali something I had never told anyone.
Something I had buried in my heart years ago.
"Before I was born, my sister fell in love with a man. She wanted to marry him, but my dad disapproved of him because his mother was a prostitute.
My sister couldn't take it so with the help of my mother and my granny, she married him secretly without telling my father. Everyone attended the wedding except for him. When my father got to know, he disowned my sister.
Imran was born a month after my own birth but my father didn't care. He said that he wasn't his grandchild but who could deny the facts? By then, my father started to hate Salman bhai so much that he started despising my sister as well. He told my mother to file a false case against them. I don't know what he demanded from my mother because I was too young.
My mother didn't agree to it.
Fights started every single day. From fights, abusive language started and my father started abusing my mom, forcing her to do something she never wanted to. And then, there was that ONE day." I paused, remembering everything like it was yesterday.
*Flashback*
THIRD PERSON'S POV:
As her parents argued, little Anisa peeked through the door of the hall. She quietly stood there used to it by then, watching her father grab her mother by the hair. "You just have to! It's an order!" He yelled at her.
Suddenly, her mother got free from her husband's grip and rushed to the kitchen from the other door. She came back moments later, with a knife. "One step closer and I'll hurt you!" She warned. Anisa started crying. She held in her hiccups so no one could hear her. She wanted to call the security uncle but he was on a holiday that day. Wiping her tears away, she stopped crying. It wasn't going to do her any good, she knew.
"Husna, listen to me. Leave these things out of the fight." Malik talked sweetly, coming closer. As he walked closer, Husna took some steps back, shaking her head. "Enough is enough! I've had enough of you abusing me! What happened to that love you showed me before? You would die without me, right? Where is all that dedication now?!" She screamed at him, her bottled up emotions exploded.
She had enough. She couldn't let that man hurt her children. The man she had once loved. But then, she wasn't sure if she even hated him or not.
"Just listen to me!" Malik snatched the knife from Husna and shouted at her. She was scared to death now, but she had to do something. She was aware of her husband's temper. He would do anything. Husna tried to grab the knife back from him. But he was much stronger. As she struggled to get it out of his hand, he did it. Little Anisa covered her eyes with her tiny hands.
She didn't understand what had happened but she knew her mother was in pain as she let out a scream.
Her father had done it. He had stabbed her right in the chest…