Aaban's father slapped his mother hard across the face, so she paid for a one-way bus ticket and disappeared forever. Afterwards, Aaban could no longer sleep at night... until the universe gave him Oscar.
Trudging home from after-school tuition, Aa...
Hello! I'm Jacob and I'm a 20 year old queer writer from the UK! This is me:
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*** ONE
Aaban's father had received the results of his failed French exam, so he taped his grade report across the kitchen fridge in a public display of shame. The underlined E stalked Aaban as he wolfed down his breakfast, and burned through his mind as he drifted to sleep. It wasn't so much the E that caused his chest to tighten, but more what the E represented. His father no longer attempted to conceal his disappointment in him. In the stern glances and painful silences expanding between them, Aaban had become deeply aware that, no matter how hard he fought, he'd continually fail to meet his impossible demands.
Music boomed from Aaban's headphones as he adjusted the straps of his backpack, pulled his woolly hat over his head of thick curls and hurried off the empty bus.
"Shit..." Aaban whispered, realising how cold it had become outside.
He had stayed late at school for the French tuition class his father had insisted on him attending. Madame Auch, the young, bouncy tuition teacher, was surprisingly friendly and didn't single Aaban out by probing him with questions in French. Aaban had always hated his French teachers, and had been certain that a French teacher with a soul was something of an impossibility. But Auch was different. She had hovered over him, peering down with her kind eyes and smiling reassuringly. After the lesson, Aaban had strode through the school gates believing he could actually pass French with Auch as his tutor. Maybe then, he thought, his father would smile at him as she did.
As his breath clouded in the frosty air, Aaban watched the snow materialise from the darkness above, falling through the lamplight and the stark branches of the trees, before settling at his feet. The icy wind funnelled up the legs of his trousers, while the frozen grass pressed against the soles of his cheap trainers, numbing his toes. Aaban didn't want to move just yet; instead, he decided to spend a minute longer with the night. As if in prayer, he lowered his head and absorbed the silence.
Aaban thought about how he had no one. He thought about the countless times he'd noticed other students in his class upload selfies at parties he'd never been invited too. He thought about how he'd always eavesdrop on banter in the changing rooms about kissing and sex, and how such things never crossed his mind. He thought about how his classmates would hiss bomber and terrorist because they found out he was Muslim. He thought about how much his father despised him. And he thought about his relatives, the many aunties and cousins who pursed their lips disdainfully, insisting he should study harder, find a girlfriend, leave his bedroom once in a while. Aaban exhaled slowly, thinking he would be eternally alone.
Afterwards, he scrolled through his social media as a distraction on the journey home. On the path winding towards his house, he tripped over a ridge in the pavement. It was the same ridge he had stumbled over a hundred times before; a root from a nearby tree thrusted upwards from beneath the concrete forming a small crest twisting across the path. Falling forwards, Aaban's trainers skidded over the snow. He grimaced, stretching out his flailing arms in an attempt to soften his landing, awaiting the impact of the path against his body. The impact never came.
