One Hundred and Twenty Two

As narrated by Sumayya:

“Urm.. jee,” I answer hesitantly, already dreading the bayaan I know is coming.

“But I was in my room the whole time,” I add quickly.

‘Lies, lies, lies!’ chants the voice inside my head.

It’s not entirely a lie..

But Abba seemingly doesn’t hear the second part of what I’ve said.

“Hayaa (modesty), Sumayya! How many times must I teach you?!” scolds Abba.

“Hamza!” reprimands Mummy. “You should have known better! How can you have all your friends over whilst Sumayya is at home.”

And seems like mummy didn’t hear it either!

“I was in my room! It’s not like I was sitting with them!” I argue.

Feeling highly annoyed, I walk away and head to my room, slamming the door behind me.

“Stupid bayaans!” I mutter irritably.

‘Well you were wrong, Sumayya,’ the voice inside my head speaks up again.

No, I was not! I didn’t even look more than once at any of them!!

‘Only because you didn’t have a chance to, right?’

Well I guess…

Actually no! I am not wrong! It’s all Hamza’s fault! If he didn’t take my pins..

My train of thought stops abruptly as I pull open my pedestal draw to get my laptop and instead, there, in all its glory, sits my pin cushion.

‘Well? Seems like Hamza didn’t take your pins, hey? What excuse are you going to make now?’

Annoyed and defeated, I ignore the stupid voice in my head, and boot my laptop.

My phone chimes as I wait. I pick it up.

Instagram: 2 new follower requests. 

I type in my password and hit the notification.

Faraaz Fakroodeen. 

Imtiaz Dokrat.

I stare at my screen for a while, debating what to do. Faraaz’s profile is private and his profile picture is a foot on a ball. His bio reads: MUFC || Soccer is life! || ’98.

Having no clue who he is, I request to follow him, but don’t approve or deny his request yet.

Just as I open Imtiaz’s profile, Hamza walks into my room.

I quickly switch of my phone and shove it under my pillow.

“Get the hell out of my room -” I start before he can say anything.

Mummy walks in at that exact moment, a murderous expression on her face.

Oh goodness!

“Sumayya! Is that the language we use in this house?!?” she shouts. “Abba is right! We giving you too much freedom, that’s why you behaving like this!”

Too much freedom?!?! Are you frikken kidding me?! 

“And you’re spending time in the wrong company! Those friends of yours are not good for your Imaan!” says mummy.

“Don’t bring my friends into this! Hamza’s friends were the problem, but you’re blaming my friends! You just like to shout me for nothing!!” I say back, feelings tears prick my eyes.

“Hamza’s friends are not the problem! You being around them is the problem!”

“But I wasn’t even around them!” I argue.

I get up and walk away, locking myself in the bathroom.

‘Why must my parents be so pious and make my life so difficult!’ I think vehemently.

Full of frustration, I sit down on the floor and cry.

I guess I am a crybaby. Too bad I don’t give a damn!!


As narrated by Faizy:

“SHAFEEQ, HOW MANY TIMES MUST I TELL YOU NOT TO LEAVE YOUR THINGS ON THE KITCHEN TABLE?”

I’m rudely awakened from my nap by the sound of my mother yelling.

“COME AND TAKE YOUR STUFF AWAY!” her shrill voice comes floating up to my room.

“OKAY, STOP NAGGING! I’M BUSY WITH SOMETHING IMPORTANT,” my father yells back.

“NOTHING I SAY IS IMPORTANT BUT EVERYTHING ELSE IS IMPORTANT!!”

Here we go again..

Swearing under my breath, I get up and splash cold water onto my face, before picking up my car keys and heading out.

My windows rolled down, music turned up, I floor the accelerator, anticipating the thrill that comes with the rush of speed.

The wind blows through my hair as I tap lightly on the breaks, taking the bend before hitting the gas again.

I had no intention of going anywhere specific when I left the house, but when Lubna’s name flashes on my screen a couple minutes later, that changes.

Pulling up outside her mansion, I give her a call.

The gates swing open and I drive in.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I adjust my hair before getting off.

The huge wooden door opens as I quickly climb the few stairs.

“Hey handsome!” Lubna greets, jumping onto me as I reach her.

“Hey gorgeous,” I greet back before dropping my lips to hers.

Wrapping my arms around her back, I kiss her again before putting her down.

“How come you’re here?” asks Lubna, closing the door behind her.

“I mean, you’re welcome, but it’s strange for you to.. you know, just pitch up at my house,” she adds, turning back to me.

“Why’s it strange?” I ask, giving her a lopsided smile as I pull her towards me again.

Giving me a ‘you know what I mean, stop acting dumb’ look, she removes herself from my grasp and motions for me to follow her in.

“There’s no one home, by the way,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder seductively.

“Now what would I need that bit of information for?” I ask, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

She stops, turns around, facing me entirely now.

My gaze travels the length of her body.

I step forward, but she steps back.

“Lubna.”

As our lips meet, her question plays in my mind.

And even though I didn’t give her an answer, I know all too well why I’m here.

Not because I wanted to be with her nor because I was thinking of her.

Heck, when I left she wasn’t even on my mind!

I am here only because I need to be anywhere but my own house.

I guess this is what happens when home becomes hell..

original.png
..Faizy..
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7 thoughts on “One Hundred and Twenty Two

  1. Very relatable. When u small you forever getting upset at the fact that t your parents are always scolding and not allowing u to do lots of things that ‘ everyone’s doing’ you only realise later on how much they saved you from.

    Http:// leakingoutsometears.wordpress.com

    Liked by 1 person

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