The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

She did remember then. I wasn't sure what or how that made me feel. Was I excited? Partly, yes. Was I scared? Mostly, yes. I went around the counter and Shifa, on common human instinct moved a little on the back to give me more space in the kitchen. She stood behind me as I turned the gas on and put the pan on it. I could guess where she might be looking and the whole scenario seemed rather cliché. Too cliché for me to not flinch and grimace and scowl. But I did none of these unpleasant things and focused on making her something to eat. She did not need to see me making those horrible faces the first thing in the morning.

"Would an omelet do?"

Shifa hummed and added, "And could you please make some tea, too? I would but, uh, there's no space."

I couldn't contain the smile within and allowed myself to do exactly what my lips forced me to. She appeared so awkward asking me to make tea and the fact that she had the decency to ask rather than just tell me did it for me and my poor little heart. I smiled and tried to hide my face from her. She sounded a little off though and I wondered if I should ask. Would that be appropriate? Probably not, she didn't ask me questions, so by rule, I shouldn't either. Her voice was a little low and when she said something again about a movie she recently watched, I asked.

"Are you alright?"

The kitchen was silent except for the slow dripping water from the sink tap and I heard Shifa sniff, and I wished I had enough courage to turn around and see her face, but I kept myself busy with the tea leaves and after a beat, Shifa replied.

"Yes. Just really hungry", she took a moment and asked as if she suddenly remembered something important, "How are you?"

And that's when I knew, she was not alright. What was with the how are you? The eggs sizzled on the pan and tea almost came to a boil, I didn't reply. Something told me she didn't expect me to and when I announced that her breakfast – could it even be called breakfast? – was ready, she failed to act the same cheery and I saw a tiny glimpse of her eyes. Once again, they were red. Clumsily gesturing me to move out of her way, she picked up the tray and left without a word to her room. I watched her retreating to her room and as she shut the door, a small smile graced her lips toward me. I returned the movement. But I couldn't force myself to not care. She was definitely not okay. This was the second time I had seen her with bloodshot eyes, and it would have been easier to just ignore it if I didn't care for her. I was a master at ignoring things that did not concern me. But I couldn't fool myself—her condition did worry me. Her red eyes as if she had been crying all night instead of sleeping concerned me.

I had been so engrossed with my own self and the giddiness in my stomach, as soon as Shifa left me in the kitchen—I realized just how cold I was. Practically shivering, I pulled the corners of my shawl around me a bit tighter and with a heavy sigh and watching my breath converting into the fog and hovering around the air for a second, I walked inside my room. My eyes landed on the clock, and I still had at least an hour before I started getting ready for college. I would deny any allegations of thinking thoroughly and planning what might cheer Shifa up. I would say it just came to my mind. But it didn't. It really didn't. While I was in the middle of my thinking and planning did I release how little I knew about her? All I knew was that she had some weird obsession with watching movies and loved kheer and well, her brother. And that's it. So much for having a crush. A part of me wondered if I were conceited enough to like someone for their appearances. I probably was. that would explain my infatuation with Shifa. And previously Wahab. They were both good-looking and shared somewhat similar features—especially the eyes. They both had droopy eyelids as if they were always sleepy.

Deciding what little I could do for Shifa, I went to the washroom and did wazoo for namaz after putting the pot of milk on the gas and keeping a handful of rice to soak in warm water. She would at least have something nice to eat. Soon after I stood up and dusted my janamaz, my phone rang. The loud ringtone echoed inside the space, and I grabbed it before I had a headache. Ummy with emojis of red heart and earth started at me. In contempt. I let the phone vibrate in my hands. Just by her call, I started to imagine why she must be calling me in the morning. And so early. She seemed to be waiting for namaz and called me immediately after. She couldn't possibly know what I thought. No one can read minds. Not even my all-knowing ummy. I picked up her call on the last ring and answered.

"Ummy? Assalam'aleykum."

She made some noise, which I did not understand but still hummed.

"Did you hear? Did Wahab tell you?"

Pressing my phone between shoulder and ear, I walked out of the room and into the kitchen to check up on the rice and milk. Getting ready to make the kheer for Shifa, I asked my mother—what?

"Wahab's uncle called yesterday to invite us to Jihan's Rishta ceremony. You know him, don't you?"

"Shifa's brother? Yes, I know him. Obviously, ummy."

I heard my little brother shouting in the background, asking for something and then my mother scolded him and threatened to beat him. He no longer screamed in the background, and I internally thanked my mother for having such control over him. I hated his voice when he shouted. Like a hammer pounding on a solid metal wall. After I was sure, I had added all the dry food available in Shifa's kitchen into the kheer, I ambled toward the sofa and sat down, pulling the light blanket over my feet. And tried to be as comfortable as I could with freezing toes.

"Yes, yes. Tomorrow we're going to their home. All the extended family members are coming, too. Tomorrow."

I was not entirely sure why she thought of making it a bigger deal than it really was, but I went along with her enthusiasm and gasped.

"Tomorrow? What are you going to wear? Not your cream suit."

"Well. I like the colour cream. What else do you have in mind that I could wear?"

I took a minute to remember all the clothes my mother owned and before I could say the one, I liked, she spoke.

"What kind of girl is Shifa? Is she good? I don't think so. You know, her mother called her to invite her to Jihan's engagement and she refused. What girl refused to come to her own brother's engagement?"

I had been speechless a few times. Alright, many a time but hearing my mother talk about Shifa as if she was some kind of an antagonist or those women with dark lipsticks and wore short dresses in a Bollywood TV show made me feel different types of things. Not good things, either. My eyes shifted to her closed door, and I knew I couldn't talk to my mother there.

"Ummy. I would call you later. I am getting late for college."

I did not feel bad for lying—because it was not completely a lie. I was going to be late if I didn't start preparing myself soon and the kheer needed to be supervised until the very last minute. But my mother wasn't done.

"How nice would it be if you could also be there, no? A chance to meet all your future relatives at one place."

Oh. Oh, no wonder my mother could not wait to tell me all about the event. When Wahab asked my father about my further education and that too, somewhere away from my home, ummy was the first one to protest. She started with reasonable reasons which made my abbu ponder the questions and it led to a lengthy discussion with Wahab and his father. Then, Wahab, true to his words of sending me to turn my dream into reality, kept on the force of his authority over me. As a future wife of his, he absolutely had more right over me than my mother. Then, in my mother's words, I found a strange love-hate relationship with my engagement to Wahab. She was rather fond of him and his family background only strengthened her opinion but after seeing his views on some topics, such as my education, she definitely had doubts. From the plausible reasonings, she stooped down to just lame excuses. What about the household chores? A maid? No!

I thought for a moment about how to handle this, "Yes, ummy. I wish, too. I'll talk to Wahab first and then call you."

She didn't reply for a good five seconds, "Yes. You do that and call me. There's a lot of things I have to tell you. Take care, Adia jan."