Curry Munching with the French Boy

5

AN: MALIHA'S FATHER LOOKING LIKE A MEAN AS ASSHOLE ON THE SIDE...IF YOU'RE WONDERING HE'S THE BASTARD DETECTIVE FROM SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE.

The weekend lugged by slowly, with its usual disappointment of studying non-stop. My parents weren’t religious in any form so I didn’t have to go to a temple or church or anything like that. My family weren’t coming over either so that was quite a relief, although I did miss a few of my cousins.

On Sunday, however, the scariest thing happened.

The sound of the phone ringing bounded through the house and as per usual no one got off their lazy asses to get it, myself included. There was a phone in my father’s study though, and I briefly heard him answering it as I walked past the study door. A few moments later my father summoned me to his presence. I gulped nervously as I treaded down the hallway and into his study.

My father was seated behind his desk, the same damn scary expression on his face, but for some reason it was even scarier. His nostrils were flaring and his eyes pierced through my soul and I felt all confidence shrink within me.

“Why is a boy calling to talk to you?” He asked with so much untapped fury that I was scared to even reply. My heart dropped to my stomach and my legs felt as if they were about to give out beneath me. My palms were sweaty and all air escaped my lungs as I tried to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me, Maliha.” He pressed. His voice was threateningly low and it was scaring the hell out of me. I’d take his glass-shattering, ear-piercing, earth quaking, screaming over this calm, deadly persona.

“I-I honestly don’t know, Father.” And it was the truth. I didn’t know. The only person who had my house number was Avril; the rest of my friends all had my cell number. “Wh-who was it that called?” I stuttered.

“Some scumbag named Ryder.” 

All colour drained from my face and I dug my nails into my palm to keep from screaming. I was horrible at lying so that wasn’t an option, and if I said nothing at all that would make me look even more suspicious. My mouth open and shut and I wasn’t able to speak. I swear if Diya hadn’t burst into the study 10 seconds later I would have blacked out.

“It was for me.” She blurted, rushing into the room.

“What?” My Father asked, averting his cruel gaze to her.

“That boy Ryder, he was calling for me. When you answered the phone he got scared and didn’t want me to get in trouble so he asked for Mals instead. But I gave him the house number so that he could call me. Don’t punish Maliha; this wasn’t her fault at all.” 

I gaped at my younger sibling who was taking the blame for me. She was going to get in a shit ton of trouble, yet she burst in here confessing to something she hadn’t done! Her performance was convincing and my father believed every lie she told. I shook my head discreetly at her, but she just offered me a weak smile. I couldn’t let her do this. I couldn’t let her take the hit for me. And when I say hit, I meant literal hit. I stepped forward to protest but my father sent me a warning glance which instantly had me retreating. He rose from his desk and stalked slowly over to her. He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her violently.

“What are you doing talking to boys, huh? What teenage daughter of mine does such things? Look at your older sister, she gets good grades, she’s respectful and she doesn’t talk to boys. She’s going somewhere in life, and you are not!” He was yelling now, so loud I thought my eardrums might burst. I hated when he compared Diya to me. I knew that it made her feel like shit, but I couldn’t stop it. I was too scared to. Sometimes it felt like Diya was the older sibling and I wasn’t. I lacked the courage that she had, which is why I could never take a stand for myself against my father.