Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola.
Hope all you beautiful people had a spiritually uplifting Ramadhaan, a splendid Eid, and are now back and ready for some fast paced drama, because I am officially back and posts will be up more often, Insha Allah.
Before you read this post, during Ramadhaan, two posts went up, so don’t forget to read those before you read this one.
This post is written in third person, has a mixture of tenses, and is super long. This is just a once off thing though -yes, particularly the super long post part!
Please don’t forget to drop me a comment to let me know what you’re thinking! 😉
“I need something stronger than this,” thought Meez, as he inhaled the cigarette between his lips.
His headphones sat against his ears, Eminem’s voice coming through at the maximum volume. It was one of his favourite songs -the one he listened to when he needed a boost of motivation; of confidence.
But today, it didn’t seem to work. The song had been playing on repeat for as long he had been sitting on the cold, hard bathroom floor -and he’d been sitting for a long time, yet still all Meez felt like doing was hiding away, in a deep, dark hole.
He didn’t understand why he felt so guilty, why he felt so much of regret..
He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he?
He’d done what his heart told him to…. so why did he still feel like this?
But the more Meez questioned himself, the worse he felt… He simply couldn’t understand how his confession to Deeyanah had made him feel so crap.
Feeling hopeless; worthless, Meez reached out to the compassion he yearned for.
“Yeah, can you come over?”
“Of course, be right there, love.”
Splashing cold water onto his teary face, Meez stares at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are red from crying, his lips dry and hard. He pushes his undone hair out of his face, ignoring the stubborn strands that fall back.
Pocketing his phone, Meez exits the bathroom.
He stands at top of the spiral staircase, trying to gauge his mother’s whereabouts. The house is quiet; Uncle Ismaeel is gone for Fajr Salaah.
“Mummy’s probably praying too,” thinks Meez, as he descends the stairs, silently.
He closes the front door as quietly as possible, then sits down on the well-kept lawn and waits for Nabeelah…
“Deeyanah? As in the chic with bright blue eyes?” asks Nabeelah, a small frown creasing her forehead.
“Same one,” Meez replies hesitantly.
“Oh…” says Nabeelah.
Meez suddenly remembers Dee’s words.
“So what if I have a girlfriend, huh?! That’s my business not yours!” I say, angrily.
“Yeah, Meez, you’re right. It really is none of our business,” starts Dee, the grin gone from her face now. “Too bad your stupid girlfriend made it our business.”
Silence settles between the two of them.. Meez unsure if he should go on telling Nabeelah why he feels so crap, now that he remembered Dee and Nabz have met, and Nabeelah trying to keep her thoughts about the girl she’d only met once, yet already hated, at bay.
“You should leave your hair like this more often, you know,” says Nabeelah, smiling down at Meez, whose head rests on her lap. “It feels so much softer without the gel.”
Meez lifts his eyes, meeting her gaze.
“It’s such a mess,” he says, managing a smile as Nabeelah’s fingers move through his hair.
“Like my life,” he adds softly.
It’s quiet between them again, the birds chirping enthusiastically as morning seeps in.
A new day has started and Meez finds himself slowly feeling better, the chaotic emotions he had felt earlier slowly fading away; but not going away fully just yet.
Meez rolls over onto his stomach and rests his chin in his hands.
“Thanks for coming over,” he whispers, looking up at Nabeelah.
Her midnight black eyes reflect the smile her lips lift into.
“That’s okay,” Nabeelah replies, moving Meez’s hair out of his face. “Feel any better?”
“Much,” answers Rameez.
But the feeling is short-lived..
The door handle moves.
Nabeelah notice; Meez has his back facing that way.
But neither of the two have time to react as the door opens and Aunty Aadila enters.
She stops short, just as startled as Meez and Nabeelah.
Mouths gape but no words come out.
“Shit, how could I have not locked the door!” thinks Meez.
Snapping out of the momentarily shock, Aunty Aadila breaks the silence.
“Yes?” replies her son, trying to sound casual, but she hears the shake in his voice.
And then everyone’s talking at once.
“Listen to me!” yells Rameez.
“Mummy, it’s not what it looks like, I swear-”
“Who is she and what is she doing here?” asks Aunty Aadila, cutting her son off.
“She’s.. urm she’s Dee’s… She’s Dee’s friend,” answers Meez, saying the first thing that comes to mind.
“Excuse me?!” demands Nabeelah, looking at Meez.
“I am not Deeyanah’s friend!” she says, now speaking to Aunty Aadila.
“I will not be associated in any way to that b*tch,” she adds hotly, addressing Meez again.
Nabeelah had barely finished her sentence when suddenly, something inside Meez snapped…
Later, when all earlier feelings of guilt and regret consumed his mind once again, Meez thought that maybe it was the sharpness of Nabeelah’s words that cut the leash holding down the beast inside him.
And even though it was just an excuse he used to try making himself feel better, it really wasn’t Meez – it was the turbulent emotions, spinning like a whirlpool, inside him. It was the uneasiness of his heart that craved contentment. It was the sadness that he usually drowned with music and other addictions, which once again resurfaced. It was the hate that possessed his mind since his father’s kidnapping. But predominantly, right at the core of the whirlpool, overpowering Meez with its strength… was anger.
It was an anger that Meez felt toward himself. An anger at the unfairness of life… An anger that Meez never allowed himself to express. That is why, when it rose inside him, its unfamiliarity startled Meez.
It reared so powerfully that it knocked aside Meez’s common sense, destroying his ability to think straight. It breathed so ferociously, that Meez’s eyes blinded, leaving only a vision of red – a vision of rage. A rage as destructive as a crashing wave at high tide.
Meez tried, he tried so hard to fight it; to overthrow it, but the harder he tried, the more the feeling intensified.
First it crushed him, then, it controlled him.
Meez’s tightened fists lashed out blindly. The rage got worse when all he hit was the empty air. He moved, then lunged, as Nabeelah tried moving out of the line of fire. But the adrenaline surging through Meez gave him an advantage; it gave him speed… It gave him power.
Meez found his target, his fist connecting with Nabeelah’s shoulder-blade.
But Nabeelah was suddenly just as angry as Meez.
A sharp stab of betrayal pierced her heart causing her to do the last thing she should have done.
Nabeelah fought back.
Aunty Aadila’s screams did nothing to slow down her son, forget stop him. Her screams fell on ears deafened by the sound of a heart beating too furiously.
The chaos didn’t last long though…
Uncle Ismaeel returned from Fajr Salaah, entering his home to the sound of screaming and vulgar words.
He rushed up the stairs, his lips moving with prayers for safety of his wife and son.
Uncle Ismaeel walked into a scene he least expected, a situation he never thought he’d witness in his home.
He acted fast, and he acted the right way; the way Nabeelah should have acted.
He knew that the last thing you should do to an angry person is fight back, because fighting back only fuels the fire. And thank goodness he knew this, because God knows how much more terribly things would have went had he fought anger with anger.
Uncle Ismaeel’s strong arms wrapped around his sons’ destructive ones, restraining them.
But Meez did not want to be restrained. The anger inside him did not want to be pushed down as it had been done many a time prior to this moment.
It wanted to overpower and did not want to be overpowered.
Meez fought – the rage inside him fought, against Uncle Ismaeel’s subduing hold. He kicked, thrashed, and yelled until his voice grew hoarse. He bit down hard, on his father’s hand when it covered his mouth, attempting to stop the terrible words that flowed from it.
Finally, after what felt like eternity, the raging storm inside Meez grew calm. His arms relaxed. His legs lay still. His mouth was silent. His mind cleared.
The room was as quiet as a graveyard for a long time. The silence was filled with shock, pain and fear. But more suffocating than all those emotions, Meez’s regret thickened the air so much that he found it difficult to breathe.
Realization hit Meez full force. Horror, which reflected in his hazel brown eyes as vividly as the shadow of a wolves face turned towards the full moon, filled his entire being.
But it was too late.
Meez could not take back his actions, for they had already engraved themselves in the minds of those that witnessed it as brutally as a blade can engrave scars on skin.
And when Meez lifted his gaze to his mother’s face and she turned away, unable to meet his eye, an involuntary cry escaped the deep abyss of his aching heart.
A cry so painful, so heart wrenching… a cry so loud that with it, the tiny inkling of energy left in Meez left him too, causing his knees to give away beneath him as he crumbled to the floor.
Later that evening, Meez lay in his hammock on the balcony.. staring up at the stars, alone.
The night was still, quiet, and dark.
Meez’s hands did not hold a cigarette.
His ears were not covered with headphones.
And his heart… his heart felt nonexistent; dead- like the night.
But his mind was alive, for the mind does not rest. It tormented him mercilessly, but he did not try to stop it. Meez knew, that even if he tried, he would be unsuccessful.
It was only when the door opened did Meez’s attention divert.
Meez sat up as his mother entered the balcony.
No words passed between them for a long time. Both mother and son sat next to each other in silence… ear-splitting silence.
Then, eventually, Aunty Aadila spoke.
“You know, Rameez, when a baby is born… when a baby enters this huge, bright world, after spending nine months in a dark, enclosed womb… it needs comfort. It needs to feel the sense of security it felt in the womb. The baby needs to be held, to be fed. But it can’t just be fed anything, no. The baby needs milk – preferably the mother’s milk. And yes, you can give it something other than the milk, which it might, or might not accept. But even if the baby accepts whatever you give it, it will not have the same effect as if you give the baby its mother’s milk. Rameez, our hearts are the same, son. Our hearts are that newborn baby. And what our hearts need, is Allah (s.w.t) -the love of Allah (s.w.t). And in the same way that a newborn baby can be given something other than the mother’s milk, so too can our hearts be given love other than the love of Allah (s.w.t). We can fill our hearts with love for this Dunya (World), love for materialistic things, love for a human, love for a pet -whatever it is, but the heart will be restless. And this restlessness will not cease, until the heart is filled with the love it yearns for -the love it needs. Until the heart is not beating with the love of Allah (s.w.t), it will not be content.”
Getting no acknowledgement from her silent son, Aunty Aadila got up and headed to the dining room where her husband sat.
Sensing her presence, Uncle Ismaeel rose.
With tired footsteps she walked into her husband’s comforting embrace.
And then, finally, came the tears.