Unapologetically

chapter two

"Seriously Marwa? Damakh kahan hota hai tumhara? You totally forgot to add the salt! Take this back, it's disgusting. Pata nahi kab kaam seekho ghi."

(Seriously Marwa? Where's your head at? You totally forgot to add the salt! Take this back, it's disgusting. I wonder when you'll finally learn.)

Marwa blinked. She had added the salt, two teaspoons of it as instructed in the dish. "I did add the salt, just the way you like it, 2-!"

"Bus karo! Ab main kya jhoot bholoon ghi? Yeh baat yaad rakhon ke main nokron se zyada zuban  darazi nahi bardasht karongi! Apni aukat main raho!" The elderly woman slammed a hand down on the table, her husband and children sharing looks with one another. The husband, Mr. Ali, had commented on how tasty the dish was just a few minutes ago, prompting this explosion.

(Shut up! I'm not going to lie now am I? Remember that I won't tolerate talking back from the help! Remain in your limits.)

Marwa zipped her mouth shut, swallowing her pride. She leaned over to grab the dish, pulling her dupatta closer to her face, tears stinging her eyes as she took it back to the kitchen.

"Amina, this isn't how I wanted it! You were supposed to pour the milk over it, not add it first!" Marwa whined, pushing the bowl towards the older woman who smiled politely. 

"I'm sorry Marwa bibi, I'll fix it right away."

Marwa's mother, Lubna walked in with a sneer. "After all, it's our food you're wasting. Who cares if you mess up right? God, I should fire you and your pathetic excuse of a daughter."

Ayesha peaked up from the corner of the kitchen, her mouth settling into a hard line as she closed her eyes.

Marwa felt bad. She hadn't meant to bring upon Lubna Hameed's rage on the mother and daughter. But what was done was done.

After the storm had passed, Ayesha angrily walked up to Marwa. "Have you no shame? Are you so privileged that even the pouring of milk affects you? Do you not care about what my mother has to go through at all?"

Marwa's eyes stung. She gripped the edges of the marble counter tightly, biting down on her lip to keep the sob from ripping past her mouth. She took a deep breath, wiping away the few stray tears and proceeding to remake the food.

///

"When will you get married beta? When you're an old man? Scratch that, you're already an old man." Afia began, pouring tea from the pot into the cup, her grey eyes locked onto the matching pair that belonged to her grandson.

"Dadi, I'm 27. I'm not an old man." Rohail groaned, sipping his chai as his eyes scanned the medical magazine he was annotating for his upcoming class syllabus. 

Afia raised a perfectly done eyebrow. "When your Dada was 27-!"

"Yes, yes, my dad had already been born and was 8 years old and so on and so forth." Rohail rolled his eyes.

Afia glared. "Badtameez. You definitely need a wife to keep you well-mannered."

"I need a wife, not a behavioral therapist."

"I beg to differ. You need both."

An image of Marwa Kafeel flashed beyond Rohail's eyes, her nose wrinkling in disgust as he pretended not to look at the small nose pin glinting in the sunlight. The way she pulled her dupatta closer to her face. How she ignored every taunt he threw her way and continued to arrive at the same time every single day. How she held her breath when he reached past her during their planning sessions.