Dedicated to @sponge15 for being an awesome supporter and friend. You rock, divergent buddy! (For those of you who don’t know, I call her divergent buddy) You guys should check out her works, too. You won’t be disappointed!
Please read, vote and comment! Enjoy!
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””’”””””””
Chapter Three
Muhammad Hassan Ali
I opened the door of my bedroom, and stood still. My bag fell with a thud on the floor, and my mouth dropped open about as wide as the Grand Canyon.
Was it really my room? I stepped out and checked the corridor. There were only two rooms in this corridor, one mine and the other a guest room, and a bathroom which I did not have to use since my bedroom had an attached bathroom. This means that the room I am standing in front of is actually my bedroom. My bedroom?
But it has nothing in the way my bedroom had like how I left it in the morning. No magazines and books spilled over the tiger-skin rug, no bed sheet hanging down from the bed, no pillows under the bed instead of over it, no empty dressing table, no pile of clothes in the tiny corridor. Nothing of such sort.
Instead, everything was organized. In the type of order in which someone else might keep his room, but Muhammad Hassan Ali won’t. Every thing was neat and tidy. I’m not telling you that I am an untidy and disorderly boy, but I’m not the tidiest kid on earth either. And this tidiness was an irritating one. But more than irritating me, it made me furious.
Of course, the room didn’t just fold back on its own. Of course the bed sheet didn’t move upwards and arranged it self on my bed. Of course the pile of clothes did not move upwards and placed itself in the closet. Of course someone did it. Of course my Mom did it.
And she did it although she knows I hate people trespassing in my room, no matter who it is. I know I’m not a small ten year old any more that I have to put a ‘Keep Out and Do NOT Disturb’ board out side my bedroom door, but she knows that even though I have had that board removed, my rules are the same. And she still did it. Cleaned my room. Entered it.
“MOOOOM!” I bellowed at the top of my lungs. Then without waiting for another minute, I turned around and stomped down the stairs.
“MOM!” I shouted again, peeking in her bedroom. Empty. She’s not in the living room either. The lawn is clear as well.
I walked towards the kitchen. “MOM! You –” I stopped short when I saw a small figure at the sink rather than Mom. This small figure had black hair in a bun with white streaks and was dressed in a long blue gown, very clearly worn out due to its extensive use. She turned around on hearing my voice, her hands filled with dishwashing liquid, and smiled at me. Her black crinkled eyes smile too.
“Who are you and where did you come from?” I asked her, forgetting my fury.
“I’m Razia, your new maid, and I live in the servant quarters outside,” she told me pointing at the window that overlooked the lawn. Servant quarters? Well that’s news to me; I didn’t know we had one.
“Oh okay,” I said, and not knowing what else to say, brushed my hair with my hand.
“You must be Hassan,” she said as she turned her back to me and resumed with her washing. How old must she be? Maybe thirty five or something, I thought as I leaned on the door frame of the kitchen.
“Yes, I am. Where’s Mom?” I asked her suddenly remembering what I came here for.
“She went to your sister’s school. She told that it was her first day and she considered it important to pick her up on the first day, in this way she might also get to meet her teachers,” she kept talking as the water splashed around her. “Is Haris home?” she asked, still not looking at me.
What a question to ask. Of course he is home, he comes with me right? “Yes,” I tell her, “he’s in his room. Speaking of rooms, did you clean my bedroom?” I stood straight and asked her. But she did not listen to me, instead she quickly stopped washing and drying her hands on the towel, started talking of laying the table and stuff like that.
“Did you clean my bed room?” I ask her again, this time louder.
“Oh yes, bedrooms, I made sure I cleaned them properly. Why, are you not satisfied with the cleaning? I’m sorry but I did it properly I remember and –”
God, this woman speaks a lot! “DID YOU CLEAN MY BEDROOM?” I practically shout at her this time and she stops like she has been struck by a lightening.
“Which one is yours?” she asked me after a moments silence, the confusion and fear evident on her face. What? Did Mom tell her how beastly I am? That’s what I should expect from her.
“The one upstairs, that has a porch,” I reply, trying to stay calm. After all, she elder than me, I shouldn’t shout.
“No,” she shook her head quickly, “I didn’t. Your Mom did that one,” she informed me. The moment the words escaped her lips, something tingled in me. Anger.
I turned around quickly, but then stopped. Razia was still standing, staring at me. She hadn’t moved an inch. I walk forward a few steps. She still doesn’t move. Her small stout figure looks even smaller in front of my tall body.
“Now listen Razia,” I start calmly, with a deadly resonance in my voice, “I don’t want to be rude, but now that you know which room is mine, I might as well tell you that I do not like trespassers. My room is my territory, and the only thing that someone is allowed to do is to knock at the door. Okay?” This said, I smile my most beautiful smile, and march out of the kitchen, my smile lost now.
On reaching the bed room, I pick my bag and throw it on a side chair, then slamming the door shut I lock it and turn around to face it. She cleaned my room, only my room. In order to irritate me, purposely. I don’t like her, and I don’t like her arrangement.
Not wasting another thought, I moved towards my bed and pulled off the bed sheet, making it fall on the ground. I pull out the magazines from the book shelf and fling them at the rug. I walk over to my closet, pull open the doors and toss the clothes on the door, blindly, furiously. “There you go, I whisper to my night shirt, “And you too, and you too!”
Finally, I make my way to the center of my room and examine it. It’s in a mess. Beautiful mess. And I’m satisfied. Now I won’t be staying in a room that she cleaned. I was panting hard I realized and I was tired too. I pushed back my hair, wet with sweat now. Grabbing the AC remote from my side table, I switch it on, fix the temperature at 15 degrees Celsius, and toss my self on my un-made bed. “It’s hot”, I whisper to no one and unbutton my shirt drowsily as I yawn.
I don’t know when I fell asleep.
******
It’s dark, and cold. But I don’t stop walking. I know this path very well now. I’ve been here many times before. I walk on it in my dreams, though I don’t know where it leads me. I keep walking now also. There’s no one else, only me. A loud silence.
Then slowly, I start hearing it, hearing them, those foot steps. Someone’s walking, someone’s following me. I don’t turn around to see who it is, I start jogging.
The foot steps draw closer, and my throat tightens. I start running now. I am scared. I am picking up pace now, faster, faster.
The foot steps start running too, catching pace with me. I keep running, panic rising in my body. I can feel my heart throbbing, hear it over those foot steps. I have to run, faster, even faster.
Sweat pops out of my face and stings my eyes. It’s getting darker as I run, pitch darkness. I can’t stop now. The foot steps sound closer. I want to turn around, but I don’t. I want to stop too, but I don’t. I keep running. And then I hear a scream. “HASSAAAAN!”
My name, someone screams my name. An agonized scream. Someone in pain, someone who needs me. Some woman. I know that voice. Mama. I want to stop. I want to turn around. I want to help her. She needs me. She’s in pain. In danger. But I can’t do any of these. I can’t help my Mama because the moment I hear the scream, I wake up.
******
I’m breathing hard. Very hard. Sweat appears on my head even though the AC’s on. I gulp, but my throat is dry. I feel weak. I can’t move. Can’t bet out of bed. I’ve lost all energy. My heart is beating so fast, I can feel the pulse in my legs.
“Mama,” I whisper. A hoarse whisper I myself can’t hear. Tears start forming in my eyes. I clench my wrists in frustration and push them away. No., I won’t cry. I’m not a cry baby. In all these years, if I’ve learnt something, then that is how to hold back your tears. Because these salty droplets of water are completely useless. They only make you feel weaker. That’s what I believe in.
I clench my wrists tighter, till the nails hurt my flesh. Why? Why do I have that dream? Why do I see it? Why do I feel so weak when I see it? Why am I haunted in my dreams? Why can’t I ever sleep peacefully? Like every other normal boy of my age does.
I gulp again and force myself up. I’m feeling heavy. I shake my head to remove my heaviness and look around the room. It’s messed up. Nothing’s in its place. The AC’s is on full blast and I’m actually feeling very cold on my feet, in fact they’re freezing. My shirt is half opened. I tried to remember what happened here. Oh yeah, I did this. I didn’t mean to sleep, just take some rest. But I must’ve fallen asleep.
My head’s still foggy and heavy. I check the time in my phone. Half past five. I’ve been asleep for almost three hours? Too much for my routine. I’ve missed my Asr prayer as well.
And I am feeling awfully empty. I realize I haven’t had any thing since morning, except for that glass of orange juice. No wonder my tummy feels like someone just twisted it hard, like how you wrench the clothes after washing them. I need to eat something.
Shaking my head as if to brush away the thoughts of my dream, I get out of the bed and make my way towards the door.
There’s complete silence outside. I look out for Razia, but no one’s around. Every one must be asleep. I tiptoe across the corridor, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Hmm, what to eat?
I don’t have to think much when I spot the empty box of doughnuts on the table. I scurry over to the fridge, take hold of a plate from the counter, and pick two chocolate doughnuts. Then I take out a carton of milk and pour it in a glass. I hear my stomach rumble softly. Patience dear, I tell him. Then I pick up an apple and put it beside the other food items and shut the refrigerator. Any thing else that could do for me?
My eye catches the sight of a packet of Oreo at the corner of a cabinet. I don’t give myself a second thought, and grab hold of it as well.
And balancing all this food in my hands, I grab a bottle of water and make way to my bed room.
It is then that I realize, I am ravenous.
*****
Before taking in any of the food items, I take a quick ten-minute shower and dress into my casual T-shirt and trousers. Then I quickly pray for Asr.
Once done with the important works, I make sure my door is locked and settle myself on my bed, my school bag on one side and the tray of food on the other. Homework time!
The day at school was very busy, and tiring, but enjoyable too. It took me some time to find out my class, and a lot of time to understand the system of common-rooms. But the rest was really great! I found out that I wasn’t missing much of the syllabus, just a few topics that I hadn’t studied in my previous school. And my new friends Saaim and Ahmik have already promised to explain those to me. Plus the teachers were as co-operative as the students. So this school would be fun, I think.
I took a bite of the chocolate doughnut and zipped open my bag. There was lots of homework to do. Especially in Mathematics. I had a whole chapter and a half to understand. I looked at a few solved questions, hoping to understand them, but in vain. Then I shut the bulky book and kept it aside.
Time ticked by as I got engrossed in my homework. And when I looked up at the screen door of the porch, the sun was already setting behind the Washington buildings. It was a breath-taking scene. I dropped my study and sat straight to have a good look at the scenery.
The scarlet shade was spread out across the sky like crimson blood smeared smoothly over a large canvass, as the golden sun slowly sank behind the epic landscape. The ball of fire was partially cloaked by the hanging clouds, which were all splashed with the random colors of hot pinks, reds and even hints of purples and blues. It was a scene worth gazing at for hours; only, you couldn’t gaze at it for hours because it got over in a few minutes.
I smile spread across my face. This scene brought back to me a few lines that I’d read in English Literature last year. The lines were written by Markus Zusak in one of his works, and included in our syllabus. They were so beautiful; I couldn’t help learning them by heart.
People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it’s quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darknesses. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.
That man might not be a scientist. He might not have invented any machine, any rocket or some other strange think like that. But he does have a brain that knows how to read nature in its true sense. A mind that can leave you gaping in awe.
Nature truly is a wonder. A wonder that leaves you stunned and fascinated. I have many times tried to copy this amazing and spectacular scene on a canvas, but never succeeded in giving that touch of awe-inspiring-ness to it. A number of times in my life I have picked up a paint brush, and splashed color on the paper, but I always end up in a disappointment.
The sun, that had turned a blood red color by now, slowly sank down behind the sky scrapers, bidding farewell to the Washington people, and beginning the start of a new day for some other human beings on Earth, bringing new happiness in their lives, or maybe blessing them with a few tears and pains.
********
Someone knocked on my door by eight o’clock. I opened my mouth to ask for it, but decided to open it myself. After all, I’ve imprisoned my self in this room for hours now.
Huda stood outside, a huge smile spread on her face. “Hassan Bhai!” she shrieked and flung herself on me, and I staggered backwards clutching her tightly.
“Huda! How are you sweetheart?” I asked her as she pulled herself back. But Huda never answers us to us. She says what she wants to, just like me. Only, her words are sweet and filled with love, while mine are coated with hatred and agony.
“Where were you? I have been waiting for you to come out of your room since for ever,” she said and pushing me to a side walked over to my bed. She flopped down and folded her arms in front of her chest, pouting her lower lip as far as she could.
“Had you forgotten us? You know I was so excited when I came home from school; I called out frantically for you. But you? You were lost in the world of dreams, with the door locked! I got angry, you know? Really angry!”
Guilt suddenly seeped through me as realization hit me. Here I’d been, busy in my homework and enjoying the sunset scene, and there was my eleven year old sister, waiting for me to ask how her first day in school was. She needed me, and I, being there for her, still wasn’t there. I sat down next to her on the bed and hugged her tightly.
“I’m sorry Huda,” I whispered. Maybe I didn’t want any one to hear me apologize. “I’m really sorry, I ...” what was I supposed to say? That I’d forgotten her? Forgotten my eleven year old sister? The only sister I’ve got? I am cruel, and wicked too. I really am!
“It’s okay,” she said and struggled free from my hug. I knew she was sad, but Huda has a large heart. She grinned widely at me, and I tousled her hair playfully.
“So how was your day?” I asked her. But as usual, instead of answering me, she looked around my room and gasped.
“What did you do to your room? It looks like an earthquake occurred here!” she said and waved her hands in the direction of the mess.
I rubbed my hand and the back of my neck and shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe yes. Maybe a tornado came here when I was asleep.”
“Yeah, and that tornado didn’t pick you along with itself!” she exclaimed and laughed at her own joke. She was so pretty, and her laugh only made her look prettier. I gazed at her for a few seconds. I never laughed like that at her age. My life at the age of eleven was just like now, very quiet, and mysterious, miles away from happiness and carefree-ness.
“What?” she suddenly asked me clicking her fingers in front of my eyes. “Why are you staring at me?”
I take a deep breath in, then grinning widely I stooped forward and kissed her fore head. “You know what Huda? If you were not my sister, you’d be my girlfriend!” I told her winking.
She opened her eyes wide, wrinkled her nose and said, “Then I’m glad I’m your sister!”
Both of us broke out laughing.
“You didn’t tell me about your day,” I asked her again.
“Oh, it was just terrific! I made lots of new friends. You know I sat next to a girl named Areebah, she is also a Pakistani. And she was just AWESOME” she said and drew air-quotes around the word ‘awesome’.
“Okay that’s really great,” I tell her smilingly. Mom’s voice called Huda from downstairs.
“Oh oh! I forgot that I came here to call you for dinner, come on come on!” she said and taking hold of my finger dragged me outside the room.
“Whoa what a minute,” I exclaimed but then, Huda never listens, right? I was just in time to slam the door shut behind me, as my sister practically flew down the stairs, dragging me behind her.
*******
An appetizing aroma welcomed me as I took my seat the dining table. Haris was already seated, and he smiled at me as I sat next to him.
“I thought you would ever get out of your room,” he snickered. I smiled at him, not knowing what else to say.
“What were you doing by the way?” he asked again.
“Just homework and stuff,” I answered. Just then Papa came inside, followed with Mom, who held a huge dish in her hands. The sight of her prickled me, like someone just replaced the blood in my blood vessels with lead. But I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on something else. The food. The scent. I could tell by the smell that whatever it is, it is something Pakistani.
We greeted them as they both sat down. Papa beamed at me. “Seems like you had LOTS of homework today, huh?” he asked me teasingly and poured some water in a glass.
“Yeah, I did get lots of homework,” I replied to him. “What’s there for dinner?” I asked to no one in particular.
“Guess?” Mom asked me, her lips parted into a smile. Okay now, I haven’t forgotten that you cleaned my room without my permission, so don’t try to be so cheesy, okay? I could hear my self say. But I just shrugged my shoulders.
“I’m not so good at guessing,” I made an excuse, and lifted the lid of the tray. Chicken Biryani. Something I just love like anything. Great!
Mom started filling the plates and distributing them to every one on the table, but I picked my plate and filled it on my own. I have two hands to work, and I don’t need someone else to do any thing for me. The smell made my mouth water. I wondered who made it, as I took a spoon in. Even though I had eaten that enormous evening meal, but I was still hungry I realized. What do you expect from a boy who’s been living on nothing but little bit of water and juice from the past three days. Yeah, I was on strike. To bring Pastry along. But no one listened to me, so my strike was useless. I should also add ‘as usual’.
“It’s delicious!” Huda exclaimed and Haris nodded his head in agreement. “It really is!” he said as he wolfed down another spoon of rice.
“Now Haris, one spoon at a time! Where are your manners?” Mom scolded him and he smiled sheepishly at her.
I wanted to know who cooked it. I was sure, like one hundred and ninety nine percent sure that Mom didn’t. When it comes to cooking, Mom can cook everything from Continental to Chinese, but not Pakistani. I don’t blame her for this. She’s from Qatar, and was brought up in Baltimore, so she never had any experience with Southeast-Asian food. Even after she got married, she tried to learn a few Pakistani recipes, but no one ate the food she cooked, so she resumed with her Qatari foods and we rarely got to eat Pakistani dishes.
“Who cooked it?” I asked suddenly. Of course not you, Mom! Though I didn’t say the other part aloud. I’m in no mood for a scolding from Papa.
“Razia cooked it,” Mom informed me, her black eyes piercing my hazel brown.
“It’s really amazing,” I say and ignore her stares. Wow, Razia was Pakistani, and I didn’t know it. She doesn’t look like one, though.
Papa started talking about the hospital, and the other doctors he was working with, and then the conversation shifted to our schools. Haris and Huda started talking all at once. They do like this when they get excited. Both speak together, and you can’t get a word of what either of them is actually speaking.
Meals at our house are very noisy. Every one speaks a lot. Okay, every one but me. When it comes to speaking, I’m not very good at it. Either I am not capable of expressing my thoughts in words, or even if I am, I don’t think it sensible to waste my precious words over people who don’t deserve them, or people who I know are just going to look over them considering them some trash or junk.
And when I’m not interested in speaking, I show small, or no interest in listening to others as well. So it’s my usual habit to zone out during meal times. And what do I think about? Any thing that helps me eases my pains and burdens. But nothing helps, so I always end up torturing myself with nerve-racking and tormenting thoughts. And like all other times, right now I wondered what Pastry would be doing right now. I see his green-cat like eyes staring at me from the plate. I hear his meaow amongst the noisy clatter of spoons and the chitter-chatter around me. I stare at the bones of chicken on my plate, who would I give them to? I always gave these bones to Pastry, and he’d go crazy with delight. But today, they’ll go to the dustbin. I thought how would Pastry be? Where would he be? Will someone have fed him or not? No answer. No answer.
When you keep thinking of questions that have no answers, you get frustrated, and even the tastiest and the most lip-smacking meal doesn’t look any tastier. So, yeah, you’re right. I make an excuse of having lots of homework, and get up to leave.
But before I get up to leave, Papa informs us that the local mosques isn’t far away, and we’ll be leaving for Isha prayer in some time, and he’s expecting me to be at the gate on time. And he also explains that no more prayers in the house. All the prayers are to be offered in the mosque. I nod my head, and escape to the isolation of my room, my territory.
******
The mosque isn’t really far from our house. It takes five minutes on foot, if we walk quickly. At first it’s just the three of us walking down the busy streets, but as we move closer to the mosque, groups of Muslim men join us on our way. It’s a pretty feeling, all the people from different places, all heading in one direction. To bow down in front of one God.
The mosque itself is pretty enough to stare at it for long. Its tall minaret rises across the star-filled night sky. The architecture is just marvelous. The scenario inside is completely different from what you just experience outside it. Since there are still five minutes for the Jama’at, most of the men are seated on the mats, talking in hushed whispers. The atmosphere is heavy, but calm and quiet. The air is rich with the smell of the traditional Arabic Bukhoor.
We sit down in the closest row behind the Imam, and while Papa is busy sharing some information about the mosque and its history, I stare wide-eyed at the inscriptions on the walls, the pillars, the ceiling. There are different Quranic verses inscribed in Arabic calligraphic writing. And they leave me awe-inspired. It’s not that I’m looking at them for the first time. It’s just the beauty of them that leaves me stunned and staring. They, being simple, still have a quiet and serene feeling about them that leaves my heart in a tranquil mood.
The Imam calls out for the Jama’at. All the men stand up, and align in rows. Shoulders touched with shoulders. No matter whether you are a billionaire, or a simple office clerk, every one stands together. There’s no distinguishing on the basis of your status. Every one is the same in the eyes of Allah, whether you are black or white, rich or poor.
After the prayer, we say the Dua’a and stand up to leave. Papa stops to talk to certain men, introducing himself. I slip away quietly and walk towards the door when someone suddenly slaps me hard on my back.
“Ow!” I exclaim and turn around, only to find the monkey-grinning face I wasn’t expecting here. “Saaim?” I ask as he shakes hands with me. After the preliminary greetings, he turns me around and pats me slightly on the back.
“What are you doing now?” I ask surprised.
“Oh, just checking if all your organs are still in place. The way you screamed when I beat you, I though your heart fell to your knees,” he said and I turned around rolling my eyes.
“Ha-ha, very funny! Well, maybe it really did,” I said, unable to stop my smile. Saaim opens his eyes wide. “Well, okay then the first thing I’m going to do tomorrow is to check out with a stethoscope, in case your heart really did slip to your knees!” he said and we started laughing.
This guy is amazing! He can make you laugh in your saddest moments. He’s a superb with jokes, he really is! I couldn’t help making friends with him today.
“So, what are you doing here?” he asked me when we’d stopped laughing.
“Of course, I came here to pray. Why, what did you come here for?” I ask him jokingly. He raised his right brow and grins mischievously.
“See?” he said, “I’m infectious. You start joking when I’m around,” he praised himself while I grinned at him. “So now, serious. Tell me, do you live nearby?”
“Actually yes I do. We moved in 546/13, Columbia Road, NW,” I informed him pointing in the direction that leads to our house.
“That’s great” he said, his gold-ish brown eyes sparkling with excitement, “I live in 732/8, that means at a walking distance of ten minutes from your house!”
“Really? Hey, then I can come over to your house any time.”
“Un-hun yup! You alone here?”
“No,” I said and pointed towards Papa and Haris who were walking towards me now. “He’s my father,” I told him.
Papa came closer and Saaim greeted him. Then I introduced him to Papa.
“He lives quiet close to our house,” I told Papa while Saaim nodded his head, the goofy grin faded from his face and his eyes filled with utmost innocence. Wow! No one would believe that he’s a joker actually!
“Are you alone?” Papa asked him. He nodded his head again.
“My father had to go to the hospital with my brother. He had an appointment. I came here with my mother; she’s in the ladies section. In fact, I was just waiting for her to come out.” He informed us.
Then we said farewell and started walking back home. “Looks like a good boy to me,” Papa commented on our way back.
*******
The common room is bustling with students as I entered it. For a second, I just stared at the row of lockers. Now, which one was mine? I spotted Saaim at one end, sitting with Ahmik and a few other boys I didn’t know the names of. Saaim stands up and walks towards me when he sees me.
“AssalamuAlaikum,” he greeted me with his trademark grin and we shook hands.
“Looking for your locker, I suppose?” he asked and I nodded my head.
“It’s 10023,” I told him and he took me to the corner of the class. Great! My locker is the last one in a row, which means I’ll have people standing only on one side of me, which also means fewer crowds. This implies to lesser people around me.
I pulled out the key from my pocket and opened it. Then checked out my timetable. First class is Biology. Taking hold of the bulky Biology book I keep the rest of my belongings in the locker and shut it. Saaim is still standing next to me, but his eyes are fixed on someone else. I follow his stare, it ends in a group of girls sitting together, chattering busily.
“So, which one is her?” I asked him shoving my free hand in the pocket of my jeans and leaning on the locker.
“Huh? Who her?” Saaim asked, suddenly snapping out of his gaze.
“Okay now, don’t act like that okay? I know it’s someone of them,” I tilted my head in the direction of the girls. “So you better tell me who that girl is!” I teased him.
“Nonsense!” Saaim said and shook his head as we started walking towards the group of boys. No body is studying today, I notice, that means we’re having no test.
“You can’t hide it from me, okay Saaim?” I tease him again, and his cheeks turn pink. God, the way he blushes is just terrific. I never saw any boy blush like that before. He stopped immediately, and then tilted his head to his right, so that he would be facing me completely.
“You really think I would be interested in one of those girls?” he asked me with raised eyebrows.
I turn around to see the girls. There were about five girls seated together. I knew two of them. One was Iris, the monitor of our class, while the other I knew was Farah, the Head Girl. The other two, I didn’t know there names, while the fifth one, I am sure I didn’t see her yesterday in class. Maybe she was absent.
“Okay, then what were you staring at?” I asked turning around to face him.
He sighed. “Fine, you want to know? I was trying to find out how many of them have already developed crushes on you, and believe me, other than the girl with that black head scarf, she’s Rabiya, every one has!” He said and broke into laughter.
I stared at him for a few seconds, and then smirked. This wasn’t new for me. In my previous school as well boys would tease me about girls falling for me the moment they see me. I just tell them I can’t help it. Shaking my head, I turn around to see the girl who ‘hadn’t developed a crush on me yet’. She was the same girl who I hadn’t seen yesterday.
“Now what are you staring at?” Saaim asked mischievously, edging his shoulder into mine.
“Oh, I was wondering why the fifth girl hasn’t developed a crush on me yet,” I joked and he raised his hand to hi-five me. But I couldn’t hi-five him back because just then someone turned me around.
“Oh hi, Jess,” I exclaimed startled by her sudden appearance. And even more startled by her ‘appearance’. Was she dressed up for prom-night? Well, if you see a girl wearing a strapless shocking blue top over white tight fitting Capri (so tight that it was hard to tell the cloth from her skin), her eyes drowned in that heavy eye-shade, lips sparkling with glossy lip-gloss, and her hair, I’m sure she had it done by some great hair-dresser, that’s what you would think.
“Hey Hassan, what’s up?” she chirped in her crisp but sweet singer-like voice, flashing her eye-lashes, which I noticed were blue today to match with her dress. Artificial.
“Umm, nothing much,” I replied and tried in vain to free my arm from her firm grip. Although girls fall for me, I never fall for them, and even though I flirt, but I have my limits. And she was getting too close.
“I hope you’re getting along well with the kids, you know, I mean the boys. I bet they’ll be jealous of you,” she went on ranting.
“Jealous? Why?” I asked her, tugging my arm slowly. She let go of it to brush back her blonde hair and I backed away quickly before she could get hold of it again, stepping on Saaim’s foot accidently. I saw her hand reaching for my arm again, but I raised it up and pretended to wave to some boy I’d just seen. She finally dropped the idea of holding my arm, thankfully.
“Oh, simply,” she answered curtly; clearly not happy with the dis-interest I was showing in her. “Anyways, I was just thinking that if you need any help regarding any thing, you can just call me, okay?” she continued and then without asking my permission, seized my Biology book from my hand and flipping over the first page she scribbled her mobile number. “There,” she said and flashed a big smile at me.
“Umm, thanks,” I replied. Then she sopped there, and kept smiling at me. What? Why doesn’t this girl leave? Saaim moved forward and whispered in my ear, “Give her your number, dumb-head!”
“Oh!” I said, “You, you’re waiting for my number, right? Umm, I’m really sorry, but I haven’t memorized it yet,” I lied, and seeing her hand move forward, I quickly lifted my hand and brushed my hair.
“No problem hun,” she smiled at me again, dropping her hand. Hun?
“When you call me, I’ll get your number alright.” Just then her eyes fell on a spiky haired boy crossing the corridor from outside. Her eyes lit up like Christmas lights. Shoving my book in my hands, she said, “Excuse me, I gotta go now. See you later,” and hurried out of the common room.
I let out a deep breath. Saaim was already red with laughter. He raised his hand for hi-five again.
“Seriously boy, you should’ve heard the comments when you left yesterday. I bet others will ask for your mobile number today. You’re having an ever-increasing demand,” he exclaimed as I slapped him a hi-five and we started walking towards the boys, him, telling me how many girls have actually asked him about me, and me, smirking. Could I do any thing else? I don’t think so!
******
I sat down on the same seat I’d sat yesterday in biology class, when this girl with a black scarf, slammed her biology book on the desk even before I could keep mine on it.
“Hello!” she exclaimed, glaring at me with her chocolate brown eyes. She was short and plump, and dressed in a long pink full-sleeved shirt over black trousers. A lock of black hair fell on her forehead, and she brushed it aside, stuffing it in her scarf. One thing that was very noticeable about her, her long luscious eyelashes.
“Umm hi,” I said smilingly.
“Seems like you’re new here. So you don’t know it but this is my seat, and I would be glad if you get up,” she told frostily, her eye brows elevated. So yeah, I guessed it. She’s the type of girl who likes to fight with boys. Not every girl likes to do that, but there are some girls who like to fight even in the cases when the problem can be solved without a fight. She’s one of them.
But, I’m one of those boys who don’t give up too easily. Should I say I’m stubborn? Maybe yes.
“Oh, but Ms. Carly made me sit here yesterday,” I informed her. She snorted, and I realized she is pretty.
“Yes, that was because I was absent yesterday. But I am present today and I want to sit here.” She stormed at me. A number of students had piled in the class by now. I looked at Saaim, but he was grinning at me. As if trying to say: Lets see how you tackle this tough girl!
I sat straight, then putting on the flirtiest smiles I’ve got, I pointed at the other chairs in the class and said, “Thank you for telling me but you can always sit on one of these chairs.”
Her expression didn’t change, rather it became even angrier. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why don’t you sit on any one of those chairs?” she asked, folding her arms in front of her chest.
I shrugged my shoulders. “For the same reason you won’t sit on them,” I told her. I heard Saaim chuckle.
“Listen Mister --,” she started but I interrupted her.
“Hassan, Muhammad Hassan Ali,” I exclaimed.
“Fine Hassan, I don’t want to fight --,”
I interrupted her again. “So what was this you were doing? You certainly were not requesting me,” I told her resting my hands on the desk.
Her eyes grew wide, with anger I suppose, “It’s my seat, and you want me to request you to get up from my seat?” she asked. I rolled my eyes. “I don’t see your name written any where,” I told her.
She took a deep breath in, then let it out, stood straight, then looked across me to Farah.
“Farah! You are the Head. And a stupid boy over here is sitting on my seat, and won’t budge even when I request him,” she told her. Did she just say ‘request’? And did she just call me ‘stupid’?
I turned around to look at Farah too. She was dresses in the same out fit like yesterday. A skirt over a long shirt, and a scarf wrapped tightly around her head. Farah moved her eyes from me to her, then from her to me. Her eyes were pitch black too, like Mom. But they were a peaceful pitch black. Not that dangerous pitch black I see in Mom’s eyes.
“Hmm, so what am I supposed to do Rabiya?” she asked innocently and I sneered. I knew she was going to take my side.
“Huh? You’re the Head. Ask him to move himself, and his belongings to some other place,” Rabiya said tapping her foot impatiently. Almost all the students had filed in by now. And every one was looking at Farah for the next step.
“But he’s right. You used to sit on the chair, but nothing over here is permanent right? I remember you sat on that chair this Saturday and on that one last Monday,” she told Rabiya and pointed to two other chairs nearby.
“Ms. Carly is at the stairs,” some kid informed her. I realized it was Saaim.
Rabiya just stared at Farah for a few seconds, and then her stare shifted to me. I smiled triumphantly at her, but suddenly leaned back because she stooped forward. “You think you can win the hearts of all the girls over here because you are handsome, but let me tell you that I haven’t fallen for you, yet. And I never will. And, I’m not going to forget this,” she whispered it all in a single breath and taking hold of her book walked over to another chair nearby.
I sat straight after she’d gone away, and glanced at Saaim. He made a thumbs-up and grinned his goofy grin again. I didn’t smile at him though.
The chair was not the problem. I would have got up quietly without making any noise if she’d requested me kindly. It was the way she had addressed me that made me change my mind. She was trying to give the impression that I had little or no value, and that since she’s studying here from a greater time than I am, she wanted me to obey her. Because she was pretty and had long, thick eye-lashes, she wanted me to get up from the seat like any other boy would’ve done. But then, I’m not ‘any other boy’.
Speaking the truth, I didn’t want to fight with her. I just fulfilled her wish.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()(())()()()()()()()()()()()
Glossary:
1-Asr: evening prayer, third of the five daily obligatory prayers of the Muslims.
2-The lines mentioned, are written by Markus Zusak in his book ‘The Book Thief’.
3- Bhai: Urdu word for ‘brother’.
4- Chicken Biryani: A South-east Asian dish of rice and spices, and of course, chicken!
5- Isha: Night prayer. Last of the daily obligatory prayers of the Muslims.
6-Bukhoor:In most Arab countries, bukhoor is the name given to scented bricks. These scented chips/bricks are burned in incense burners to perfume the home and clothing with a rich thick smoke.
7-Jama’at : Congregation.
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}
I hope you enjoyed it. I know it’s a bit smooth, and there’s no action or so much fun, but then the story’s just begun yet. Please vote and comment. And yes, I had a mall request. Any of you guys lives in Washington DC? Or has been over there? Or has some friends over there. Then I would be glad to talk to you. Although I try my best to take all the help I need from the internet, but it doesn’t help much sometimes. I’d be glad to have your support. Thank you!
Lots of love and cupcakes,
Your dear sis,
Silver !