He Was A Skaterboy | COMPLETE

six

It was one of those quiet Saturday afternoons, where Kiara was already done with her practice with Mrs. Jones but continued with random plinks and plonks on the ivory keys. Her thick black hair was tied in a messy bun down her back while her gold rimmed round glasses sat on the edge of her nose as she busily scribbled on what looked like music sheet paper. Moussa stood by the door as he carefully studied his daughter who was lost in her own world, faint yellow marks marring her knuckles and released a deep sigh quietly.

Being the only child of immigrant parents was a huge burden to bear in any ethnicity, but he always felt the pressure to succeed was worse for Asians of any kind. He knew and saw firsthand the sacrifices that his parents had made for him as he grew up. The moment he had started working as a mechanic while in high school was the moment he knew that was where his passion was. With childlike innocence he had wanted to design the sleekest, the fastest, the sexiest of all cars. He'd saved up enough all through high school and university to be able to create a company that made spare parts for cars. They were doing relatively well. But his parents insisted on him marrying Salima to create better opportunities for him and his company, they said.

Not wanting to defy his parents and a selfish need for more success, he agreed to an arranged marriage. He had only met Salima on their nikaah day, after their vows were completed. He was blown away by her beauty; incredibly fair skin, copper coloured hair, hazel-green eyes. And slowly he found out - there was no warmth in Salima. As much as he tried to love her, to have her love him in return, he always fell short. And he tried, he really tried. He'd tried to thaw her iciness with his warmth, with the heat of his touches and gentle kisses; she melted just a little, but it became worse after they had Kiara.

He supposed it didn't help that Salima was hounded with questions of when she was having a boy from the others. When would she birth an heir for Moussa. Moussa didn't care really, and he tried to reassure her over and over again with sweet words and gentle touches, but Salima kept harping that he didn't really care about her, he didn't love her; that all he had ever wanted was a child out of her and that's it. Her words cut him so deep that he stopped trying. He never judged Salima nor punished her for her coldness, he didn't know how to. He had always found it ironic that his unrequited love was his own wife. He stopped thinking about other children and poured all his love into raising Kiara.

He remembered how they discovered Kiara's talents by chance. She had always responded to him singing with. Her soft coos, those great big eyes, and fluttery lashes. As she grew, even her babbles had a melodious lilt to it. Anytime, anywhere she heard music, it seemed as though her whole body would perk up, and her eyes would practically glow from enjoyment. It never mattered to that child what type of music it was, as long as it was simply music.

He remembered how excited he was when he finally purchased a keyboard for Kiara when she was three. Her excitement as she pressed each key and how she mimicked each note. It was then he saw how much she had loved the keyboard, how attached she was to it that he had decided to send her to piano classes. It was supposed to be something fun that Kiara could do as a hobby, not turn her into a mechanical machine that absolutely had to have the right posture and play all the right notes.

The moment Salima had gotten the call, where the instructor had gushed about Kiara's natural talent with the piano, everything had changed. The child that had been craving her mother's attention had finally gotten it but at a price. She had been put in camps, recitals, programs, anything and everything that Salima could think of to polish Kiara's gift. So much so, that Moussa often times wondered if Salima ever really saw their daughter Kiara behind the pianist. He would never say it out loud, but he knew that Salima viewed Kiara as an asset. Never as a member of the family but rather polished trophy set out for display. Sure, it gleamed and shined under the right lights without ever uttering a word in defiance, but the cracks were starting to form.