Fifty Nine

Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀

Hope all you beautiful people are doing good!

The story is now back in the present, so keep that in mind before you begin reading. 

Don’t forget to spread the word 😉

Enjoy, much love. ❤


As narrated by Sumayya:

My Saturday morning beauty sleep comes to an abrupt end as mummy noisily opens my door.

Man! Can’t a girl get her beauty sleep in peace, at least once a week?!

“Maaa, it’s Saturday,” I groan, as my mother proceeds to raise the blinds.

“It’s Saturday, yes. And it’s also time for you to get out of bed,” says mummy sternly.

Wait, hang on a sec…

Did mummy just say it’s Saturday?

Flinging my duvet aside, I jump out of bed.

Mummy turns around startled.

“Ya Allah, Sumayya!” she says, holding her hand to her chest. “You really need to start behaving more decently!”

Knowing I’m about to get a lecture on how I need to start behaving like a ‘young lady’ and if I don’t, no one will marry me, I quickly cut her off.

“Is it Saturday?!” I ask, excitedly.

“Imagine when you married you jump out of bed like that! What will your husband think?!” she carries on, completely ignoring my question.

I giggle, imaging just that.

My mother shakes her head, before telling me to hurry up and get done, then leaving my room.

With the thought that today is the day I finally get to bring my cat home, I have one of the quickest showers of my life, do my makeup faster than Hamza can finish a full plate of food, and then head to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Guess, who’s getting a cat, cat. I’m getting a cat, cat. And I’ll name him pat, pat. He’ll always wear a hat, hat,” I sing gleefully, as I pour cereal into my bowl.

“Is he going to be fat like Garfield?” asks Tayyibah, giggling at my little song.

“No, he’s going to be fat like Sumayya,” says Hamza, ruffling her hair and smirking at me.

“I am not fat!” I say indignantly.

I glare at him across the table, then continue singing.

“I don’t care what you say, say, because today is the day, day, me and my cat can finally play, play.”

“Owww,” groans Hamza, wincing.

“What is it?” asks mummy looking at him worriedly.

“My ears hurt,” he complains, trying to keep a straight face.

“Oh get out, you prick!” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Is everyone ready to go?” asks Abba (father), walking into the kitchen.

We all fall silent, hurriedly finishing up our breakfast.

Once we’ve all finished breakfast, I run to my room to grab my phone, doing a quick appearance check before leaving.

Outfit… Check.

Shoes… Check.

Makeup… Check.

Hair… Hmm, might need some more hairspray there.

“Sumayyaaaa!” calls mummy.

“I’m cooomiiiing,” I call back, patting my hair into place.

I hurry to the door and find Abba standing there, waiting for me so that he can lock up.

He looks at me and I rush out,quickly jumping into the car, knowing well that he’s going to ask me where is my scarf.  After going in Jamaat last year, Abba has become more strict with us when it comes to matters of Deen (religion). But hey, I didn’t spend so much time at the hairdresser getting my hair streaked, to then go and cover it up with a scarf!

After an hour drive, yeah when u live in Jo’burg you have to travel that far just to get a cat!, we arrive at the house of the current cat owner.

Exhilaration and ecstasy make it difficult to stand in a ‘young ladylike’ manner and I catch mummy shooting me the glare!

My lips curve upward, reflecting the happiness of my heart.


As narrated by Zee:

“Yes, Mr Varachia, how may I help you?” I greet, answering Meez’s call.

“Salaam, Zee, salaam,” he replies typically.

“Assalaamualaikum bro,” I greet, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see me.

“That’s better,” he says, after replying my greeting.

“You doing anything today?” asks Meez.

“Naah, just chilling out, home alone,” I say.

“Alright, I’m coming over,” says Meez.

Half an hour later Meez and I are comfortable on the sofa, FIFA loading, controllers connected.

A competitive 10 minutes and 1-0 score later, Meez says exactly what I was expecting.

“Bro, this whole me seeing Dayyanah story….” he begins.

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4 thoughts on “Fifty Nine

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