02.10.17

*Just thought I’d share this little something something I wrote earlier this month since today’s post was so short. Enjoy. 🌸


I will write about life. How ironic it is, that its greatest reality is death.

I will write about happiness. How it  will make you think you can conquer the world. How smiling will make your jaw pain, and laughing will make your stomach ache, yet you’d never want to stop.

I will write about sadness. How it can make you feel dead whilst you are alive. How it will drown you, despite you knowing how to swim.

I will write about contentment. How there is no feeling better than it. How it will allow even a broken heart to beat gratefully.

I will write about anger. How it will rise its untamed head within you, snatching away your self control.

I will write about betrayal. How it will repeatedly plunge its blade into your heart, twisting mercilessly. How it will pull you down into a dark, never-ending hole of anguish.

I will write about guilt. How it will consume every fiber of your being. How it will steal your sleep and trouble your mind endlessly.

I will write about pride. How it will make your heart feel like it’s going to burst. How it will make your eyes shine and your heart sing.

I will write about love. How it will flow through your veins like cool fire. How it will make you a vulnerable slave, willing to sell your soul.

I will write about trust. How it is more delicate than a piece of glass in a little child’s hand. How it can never be repaired once destroyed, no matter what.

I will write about disappointment. How its bitterness will pierce through you like a blunt dagger.

And, at the end, I will write about me. How I am a paradox, a fragile piece of steel. I will write about me, but I will be writing about you.

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One Hundred and Fifty Seven

A peek into the past – Ali:

“We have a proposal for you,” he says, towering over me.

“I’m not interested in marriage,” I reply, not looking up.

I yell in surprise as a hard object slams against the side of my side.

Swearing, I stand up and push him back.

He barely moves, whereas I, dizzy from the blow, am forced to sit back down.

I close my eyes in an attempt to still my spinning head.

But, it doesn’t help, for a second later, he strikes again.

This time, twice as hard.

For a moment, everything goes blur.

And then, the pain, in all its enormity, hits; collapsing on my head like a never ending pile of bricks.

Dropping my head, I cradle the spot, forcing myself not to yell out again.

But the pain doesn’t seem to cease; not even in the slightest.

Instead, my whole head is now pounding excruciatingly.

I clench my jaw and impel my body to use what little energy it has left to look up.

Somehow, I manage; just about.

My head involuntarily drops, but not before I see it.

The barrel of his gun…

…pointed directly at me.

*****

“This is Scar,” he says, indicating to the man that had clubbed me with his gun earlier. “His heart is soft compared to mine.”

“And this is Fang,” he continues, indicating to the other, younger looking man. “His heart is a f*@#&^! marshmallow.”

“I will not waste my time warning you against behaving in the same manner you did earlier with Scar, with me. Try it, and the consequences should suffice as a warning good enough.”

I don’t even need a warning. This man’s face tells me enough.

Covered in scars, it tells me a story; a nail-biting story.

A story of bravery and cowardice, a story of life and death, strung together with unfiltered words and raw emotion.

A story punctuated with gasps of air and pleas for help.

A story structured around a theme of pain and woe.

Covered in scars, it tells me clearly; crystal clearly, that he will waste no time in making my appearance worse than his… without hesitation.

“Now,” he says, sitting down in front of me. “Tell me your story.”

Despite the circumstances, I want to say something stupid, something smart.

I weigh the pros and cons in my head.

They’re armed.

I’m not.

They know what they doing.

I don’t.

I could just make a run for it…

The door is probably bolted.

It’s three against one.

Swallowing the bitter pill of pride, I take a deep breath.

“My name is Ali…” I begin, looking the boss straight in the eye.

I clear my throat dramatically before continuing.

“…and this is my story.”

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

I don’t know if I’m struggling to write or just struggling to find the time to write. Think it’s a little of both. I’m really sorry guys. I apologize for the short post but it’s all I could manage. Insha Allah I will put the next post earlier than usual to make up. 

Oh and hey, you guys guessed right!! 👏😉

Much Love,

Troubled Illusioner. ❤

One Hundred and Fifty Six

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

Hope you guys are well and warm!! 

Sooo, I actually wasn’t supposed to post today, but because I’m so lovely (Ego level 11 out of 10 😊😝), here’s One Hundred and Fifty Six. It’s shorter than usual, I know. But like I said, I didn’t plan for it to go up today. 

I suggest you guys reread this post before reading today’s one. 

Let’s see if you’ll can put two and two together! Eagerly awaiting your theories! 😉

Much Lov –

Oh wait, wait, wait!!! Before I go.. in case you haven’t noticed, WE HAVE A TAGLINE!!! 😀💃🎉🎈😀 (Sorry for yelling, it just makes me very excited. 🙈😂)  

Just want to say a quick JazaakAllah/Thanks to all of you who voted and sent your opinions. 🌸🌸🌸 Shout out to Sister A, whose suggestion won the most votes! 👏💕

Right, you can go read now. 

Much Love, 

Troubled Illusioner. ❤


A peek into the past – Ali:

“GET HER!” I roar.

Blinding rage courses through my blood as I lose sight of her.

I stand up again, punching the man yelling at me to calm down, hard.

With a grunt of pain he falls to the ground.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I scream, holding up my gun.

My face is red with rage, my body shakes and my eyes burn bright with a cold fire.

Despite my finger sitting on the trigger, someone dares to disobey.

It happens too quickly for me to register.

But, my body, full of adrenaline, tries to fight back.

I hear a gunshot amongst screams of sheer terror.

A blood chilling threat follows.

And then, darkness.

Silence.

*****

It’s cold. Unbearably cold.

My eyes flutter open, coming face to face with darkness. It is as if I didn’t open my eyes at all.

My teeth are chattering.

God. The cold.

I try to move my limbs closer together, seeking warmth.

But my legs refuse to fold and rise to my chest and my arms refuse to wrap around my torso.

That’s when I realize that I am tied.

I am tied, but I have no knowledge to what.

My mind is unable to figure out whether I am sitting up, or laying down.

A subtle feeling of panic creeps in…

I breathe deeply, a pungent smell reaching my nose.

Slowly it all comes back…

One slide at a time, my mind replays everything.

The cafè. Amaani. Perfect, beautiful Amaani. Our conversation. Two strange looking men. A moment of fear. Putting forth my offer. Amaani’s reaction. Watching her get away. Being tackled to the ground. Screaming, shouting, glass breaking. My fist connecting with solid bone. Shaking my gun, placing my finger on the trigger, daring someone to come forward. A daredevil doing just that. Then, a gunshot. And finally, darkness. 

It plays over once, twice, thrice, in my mind, each time revealing finer details.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, but all it uncovers is an empty room. After feeling around as much as my suppressed hands can, I deduce that I’m tied to a chair. A hard, uncomfortable chair.

Despite trying to ignore it, the subtle feeling of panic that had crept in, is rapidly growing, giving birth to fear, anxiety and nail biting nervousness.

Tied up alone in a dark room, my mind is free to play the game its way. And it takes full advantage, torturing me mercilessly for what feels like hours on end.

But it’s a strange torture, for I take it willingly, making no effort to retaliate, trying not even in the least to fight back.

My arms and legs feel dead, my blood circulation cut off by the thick, strong rope, yet I do not do anything about it. My body doesn’t even plead. It simply accepts, a feeling of tiredness never felt before commanding it.

Sighing, I turn my head to my shoulder and give in to sleep that calls me ever so gently, thinking of Amaani and how beautifully she’s grown.

*****

“I’ll ask you one more time. Tell me your story.”

“I’ll tell you one more time. You already know my story,” I drawl. “Tell me yours.”

The man pauses, cocking his head to side slightly.

I imitate his expression, raising my eyebrows.

He stands up wordlessly and leaves the room after being in it for not more than 10 minutes.

The man had untied me, then, not reveling a single detail about his identity, began questioning me.

I scoff, thinking about how he had been surprised at my boldness and sassy comments. Did he honestly think I would show him that I was afraid of him??

I know who he is. Of course I recognized his arm covered in tattoos from the day before… was it a day ago?? Besides, it’s pretty easy to recognize someone who makes their presence known so overwhelmingly.

Standing up, I stretch lazily.

I am in trouble.

That much I know.

But what Ali doesn’t yet know, is just how much trouble he is in..

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One Hundred and Fifty Five

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

Hope you all are well. 

This post went up last night, but my WordPress is playing up so I’m just re-uploading this post. It’s longer than usual to make up for the delay and it has now also been edited. Enjoy!

Much Love,

Troubled Illusioner. ❤


As narrated by Dee:

“So we have to make the number of ducks x,” says Amz.

“No,” argues Meez. “x will be the number of chickens, substitute the value of geese for y and then work out.”

“But how will we get the number of ducks then?” asks Amz.

“If one third are ducks… divide that by three… subtract two,” mumbles Zee, deep in concentration as he punches in digits on his calculator.

“Won’t it look like this?” Asks Sumayya, pointing to her page with her pen.

I sip my coffee silently, watching as they fervently try to solve the mathematical problem.

If there’s one thing I dislike it’s definitely school. But you know what’s worse than that? Maths. And worse than that? Exam period. But nothing is worse than a maths exam!

Reaching for a pen, I try a few calculations but a couple minutes later I find myself absent mindedly doodling.

“Got it!” exclaims Amz, smiling triumphantly.

We listen carefully as she explains the reasoning and sighs of “oohhhh” echo from all of us.

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We decide to have a break before moving on and Meez gets up first to refill his bottle of water.

Zee stretches, yawning tiredly.

He catches me watching him and grins.

I smile, shaking my head at him before getting up and casually following Meez to the kitchen.

He pushes the tap close and lifts his bottle to drink.

“Why, if it’s not Iblees himself!” I say in mock horror, putting my hand to heart.

Meez chokes on his water as he tries not to laugh.

“That’s what happens when you stand and drink!” I say smirking.

“Well at least I’m not getting the cold shoulder anymore,” he says, ignoring my statement.

It’s his turn to smirk as I scowl slightly.

Turning around I reach for the fruit bowl atop the fridge and take out few apples.

“Oh, you’re not done giving me the cold shoulder?” asks Meez.

I can hear the hint of humuor in his voice and know that he is purposely probing me.

“I don’t know,” I say, looking at him over my shoulder. “Depends if you’re ready to answer my questions.”

“I’m always ready to answer your questions, darling,” he says, grinning.

“Don’t piss me off,” I say, glaring at him.

“You’re already pissed off,” he laughs, enjoying himself very much.

I wash the apples and move to leave the kitchen, but he steps in front of me.

“Meez,” I warn, my voice sharp and clearly irritated.

I try to move past him but he doesn’t allow me.

“I thought you have questions,” he says.

“Meez! Just move, dammit!” I say, my voice rising a little.

“But I’m ready to answer your questions,” he drawls.

Very much irritated I move to his right. He steps to the side to block me. Swiftly I duck and shoot past him on the left.

“Hey!” I hear him exclaim.

I hurry out of the kitchen only to run straight into Zee.

“Move!” I all but yell, as I push him aside.

“Wh- huh?” A look of confusion covers his face as he hurriedly moves out of my way.

I take the stairs two at a time, not turning back for the apple that falls out of my hand and rolls away.

Once safely in my room, I shut the door and collapse onto my bed, letting go of the apples.

“Silly idiot!” I mutter, burying my head into my pillow. “Silly maths! Silly exams! Silly hormones!”

“Silly Amz?” comes a soft a voice.

A second later I feel my bed dip slightly and then a hand rubbing my back gently.

“How do you come in so quietly?” I mumble, pushing my head further into my pillow.

“Hmm??” asks Amz, having not heard my muffled voice.

“How do you come in so quietly?” I ask again, turning ny face to the side so that she can hear me clearly.

“Who’s troubling you?” She answers my question with one of her own.

“Meez,” I grumble like a small child. “Maths. My womb.”

Her hand leaves my back and I sense her exiting the room.

My mind drifts to the impending maths exam and a sense of panic overtakes me as I realize that I haven’t studied enough.

The sound of cutlery falling down onto my wooden floor breaks through my thoughts.

“Oops,” comes Amz’s voice a second later.

I sit up slowly, turning around to lean against the headboard.

“Guess you aren’t always – oh my god!” I breathe, spotting the tub in Amz’s arms. “Is that ice cream?!”

She grins, passing it to me.

“I bloody love you,” I moan, my mouth already full.

“I know,” laughs Amz.

I glance up at her, eyebrow raised.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” I say. “I was talking to the ice cream.”

“Oh, get out!” laughs Amz, digging in with her spoon.

“Hey!” I complain, pouting.

“Sharing is caring,” says Amz.

I roll my eyes, sucking at a spoonful of ice cream.

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“Amz!!” calls Zee. “Amz!!”

“Yeah??” she shouts. “I’m in Dee’s room.”

“Do you guys not have apples?” he asks, his voice getting louder as he climbs the stairs.

“It’s on top of the fridge,” says Amz.

“I checked -” he stops abruptly as he enters the room. “Oh my word, you guys better not be eating ice cream alone!”

I look at the tub of ice cream, then at him, then back at the ice cream.

Quickly shoving it behind my back, I clear my throat.

“Urm, well, of course not!” I say, smiling innocently.

“How dare you!” he gasps lunging for the tub.

“No! No! Not my ice cream! Get off!” I shout as he tries to tackle the tub out of hands.

Amz! Tickle him!” I yell, despite knowing he isn’t very ticklish.

“He isn’t ticklish,” laughs Amz, trying to pull him away.

“I don’t care – give it back! Tickle him, Amz! Zeeee!”

Ice cream in his hands now, Zee jumps up and moves to get off the bed.

But, not seeing the apples, he places his foot directly on one, and slides right off the bed!

The ice cream tub flies out of his hand and lands upside on the floor.

Amz hurriedly gets up to pick it up but the mess is made.

The three of us look at each other.

And then, we burst out laughing.

*****

The maths paper goes a little better than expected. Happy knowing that I’ll score a B at least, I sit down at our spot in the cafeteria and wait for the others.

Meez joins me first.

“How was the paper?” he asks, sitting down across me.

“Not too bad,” I reply. “For you?”

“Same. That geometry figure got me.”

“Oh my god, it got me too!” exclaims Sumayya, plopping down next to me on the bench.

Amz and Zee join us a couple minutes later and we discuss the paper, groaning at where we went wrong.

“Okay, okay, everyone shush!” Sumayya says eventually. “This is giving me too much stress! Let’s eat!”

We eat, sharing lunch and chatting away, lighthearted banter going back and forth.

The shrill ringing of the bell indicates the end of break.

We gather our things and head back to our classroom for the study session before the next paper.

Meez, Zee and I walk a little behind Sumayya and Amz.

“So, have you two sorted out your issues?” asks Zee.

“We not have issues!” we say at the same time, in the same clipped tone.

“Well, clearly you’ll haven’t!” Zee laughs as I glare at him.

“Just shut up please,” Meez says irritably.

“Oh jeez, even you pms-ing now!” says Zee.

He ducks as Meez throws a punch his way.

Laughing he joins Amz and Sumayya, leaving Meez and I to walk together.

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“He’s such an ass,” mutters Meez.

“You’re the same,” I mutter back.

“I know. But at least I’m a charming ass,” smirks Meez.

“Egoistic much!” I laugh, shoving him lightly.

“So,” he says after a short moment of silence. “Explain to me the saga.”

“Now?” I ask, a little surprised.

“Sure,” shrugs Meez. “Why not?”

“There’s so many people….” I say, trailing off.

“Come over to mines after school then,” he offers.

“I have to study,” I say. “After gym??”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” replies Meez.

Our conversation ends as we enter the classroom full of students, some studying, some messing around.

*****

“So basically, some girl named Nuwaylah answered. Said she doesn’t know of any Dayyanah, and she’s gonna report me if I call her again,” I explain to Meez.

“I honestly have no idea who Nuwaylah is. But the number I gave you is Dayyanah’s, I swear.”

“Here, look,” he says, reaching for his phone.

I briefly read through their WhatsApp chats.

“So you guys met up more than once?” I ask, frowning.

“Only twice. The first time we didn’t really meet up, like, we didn’t plan -“

“The first time you saw her in a club?” I ask, cutting him off.

“Yeah,” he replies, avoiding my gaze.

I frown.

“But she’s a kid. How did she get in?” I ask. “Even you. Don’t you have to be a certain age or something?”

“Look, don’t ask too many questions. I don’t know about her, but I have my ways,” Meez replies curtly, his mood changing slightly.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “So the second time -“

“The second time I met her to tell her about… about your dad’s passing.”

I inhale sharply.

“She knows?” I ask watching Meez intently.

“Yeah, I told her,” replies Meez.

“What did she say?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He doesn’t reply immediately.

“Meez?” I probe.

“She didn’t say anything… I don’t think… I don’t think,” he says eventually. “I don’t know, never mind.”

I watch him silently for a long time.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask finally.

He’s quiet for a long time.

“Please, Meez,” I plead with him, hoping he speaks.

He takes a deep breath, pauses, then says..

“She’s not who you remember, Dee. She’s not Dayyanah with the same hair length and bracelet on her wrist as you. She’s no longer the sister you ran from. I know you want to make up for your mistakes and rebuild your bond with her, but you must understand, she’s changed. In every single way, Dee. You’re not going to get the Dayyanah you know back. It might sound like unfeeling advice, but mine is, stay away. Stay away from her rather, Dee. Because the more you get to know the new her, the more your heart will break.”

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One Hundred and Fifty Four

As narrated by Dee:

“Hello.”

Shocked into silence, I’m unable to say anything.

“Hello,” the voice says again.

Speak, you idiot! yells the voice inside my head.

“H.. he.. hello?” I stammer nervously. “Dayy.. Dayyanah?”

“This is Nuwaylah.”

Huh?!?

“Nuwaylah??” I say stupidly.

“Yes,” comes the curt the reply, the voice growing impatient.

“Ohh.. I urrr, oh. Urm, Nuwaylah, can I urm, speak to, urm, Dayyanah?” I mumble incoherently.

Jeez, speak clearly!

I sit up slowly, as if moving too suddenly will cause me to lose the person on the other end.

“I don’t know of any Dayyanah. I think you called the wrong number,” says Nuwaylah, irritation lacing her words. “Please stop calling me or I will report you!”

I gasp.

“I.. I’m sorry,” I say before hurriedly cutting the call.

I stare at my phone in my sweaty hand, my heart still thundering inside my chest.

For a couple of seconds, I simply sit, looking fixedly at my phone in distress, willing it ring.

Perhaps she’s just tricking you and she’ll call back..

Hopefully clinging onto unlikely scenarios, I keep my phone in hand and lay back down.

And when my phone rings a couple of minutes later, that little spark of hope explodes into a huge fireball.

“Hello,” I breathe, answering on the first ring.

“Yo, that was the fastest you ever answered your phone!”

For once I can’t say I’m happy to hear Zee’s cheerful voice coming through.

“Oh, it’s you…” I say, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

But my disappointment, too raw to be hidden, rolls off my words like a lullaby without rhythm. It adapts each letter and punctuates each word.

“What’s up?” he asks immediately, his voice turning serious, turning softer, gentler, warmer.

It’s a new feeling; the one I feel when he says that.

It’s a fusion.

A fusion of complete bafflement.

Bafflement at how he. just. knows.

A fusion of complete bafflement, and a hint of happiness, and a giddy sensation in my stomach, and a tingle of warmth that comes from feeling cared for.

“Nothing,” I reply automatically. “Just thought it’d be someone else. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Zee. “Dayy, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah,” I confirm.

“What happened?” asks Zee.

“Well, I don’t know. Meez gave me the wrong number,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“What do you mean he gave you the wrong number?” Zee asks, confused.

I briefly explain to him the conversation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Zee!” I snap, a little irritated. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Of course I do,” he reassures me immediately. “It just doesn’t make sense for Meez to give you the wrong number. There’s no reason for him to do that.”

“He was hesitant from the beginning whenever we spoke about her,” I point out bitterly.

“Maybe he just feels that the less you know, the less it will hurt,” says Zee.

“It hurts more that way,” I mutter.

“And maybe Dayyanah told him not to tell you anything,” says Zee, not commenting on my previous statement.

“Obviously she did!” I exclaim, my voice rising. “But who’s more closer to him?! He barely even knows her! Why should she even concern him, anyway?! I bet he…”

“Dee,” Zee’s voice comes through.

“…purposely gave me the wrong number,” I continue, ignoring him.

“Dee, you’re just..” says Zee, trying to cut me off again.

“…just so that -”

“Deeyanah!”

I stop, a little startled at the sudden sharpness in his voice.

“Dee,” says Zee.  “Take a deep breath.”

Frustrated and close to tears, I clench my jaw instead.

“Dee,” he says again, a little more softly this time. “Please take a deep breath.”

I close my eyes.. don’t listen to him. don’t. listen. to. him ..and take a deep breath.

“I know you have anger, and frustration, and anguish, and whole lot more emotions, each strong as a hurricane, whirling inside you. I know you’re upset, but listen, don’t assume,” he says calmly.

“Blaming Meez and assuming he did wrong is not going to harm him in any way. It’s going to only harm you. Think about it, you going to fill yourself with negative thoughts towards him, but he won’t even know. It won’t affect him. But all that negativity is going to affect you. Don’t spoil your friendship over something so trivial. If you really think he gave you the wrong number, speak to him.”

I sigh, knowing that Zee is right.

It’s so stupid, how we just assume things, how we spoil relationships simply because we can’t communicate, how we think ill of others but can’t say it to their face because we’re too cowardly.

The more I think about it, the more I realize just how right Zee is.

Assuming bad about someone else doesn’t harm that person in any way.

It only harms you.

Zee and I speak on the phone for quite a while longer until I’m struggling to keep my eyes open.

“Alright, I’m going to sleep now,” I say, stifling a yawn.

“Okay, sleep tight,” replies Zee.

I can hear his smile, see the shine in his eyes, and feel the warmth in his voice.

And as my heavy eyelids gently fall close, I get that feeling again.

It’s subtle, but it’s so new, that I feel it clearly.