One hundred and twenty three days and I still wake up each morning, at 5:40 am, with the sound of her voice ringing in my ears. The sight of her tired black eyes, burning into my bright blue ones, silently begging me to think rationally. The image of her shaking hands as they try to grab me, to stop me, from doing what I was about to do..
And one hundred and twenty three days later, the sound of Daanyaal’s soft whimpers of fear, the sight of his eyes, shining with fear that no 11 year old should ever feel, still remains in my mind. But that’s the thing about our minds – They refuse to forget what we most want them to.
I flip over and bury my face deep into the pillows, wishing that things could be different. Wishing that my troubled illusions would become a carefree reality..
The shrill ringing of Amaani’s alarm clock, coming from the next room, forces me out of my daydream. I throw back my duvet, pull my hair into a high ponytail, and trudge grudgingly towards my en-suite bathroom. After brushing my teeth and making my wudhu, I perform my Fajr. I pray to my creator to help me through the day and to bestow me with His blessings.
Amaani’s alarm clock sets off for the fourth time. “Amaaniii, you’re going to miss Fajr,” I shout to her from my room. “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting up,” she calls back sleepily.
Amaani Ahmad is my flatmate. With her piercing green eyes, shoulder length brown hair and body of a Victoria Secret model, she’s hard to miss. Her confident yet down to Earth, caring nature and great sense of humour will have you wishing yourself to be her best friend. Step aside though, that’s my place. Yeah, me. Deeyanah Mahomed – The girl with a messy past and troubled illusions.