TRIALS (Completed)

Nineteen

Barakah hadn’t mentioned this to Kauthar, but since Sumayya Aliyu Manga’s arrival, she had been dreaming of her mother. 

Not that this was the first time, she had dreamed of Salsabil the first time Kauthar mentioned her. She was twelve years old then. But the memory Kauthar had placed in her head was still as vivid, her mother, still as real.

From then, Barakah only dreamed of her mother whenever she was lonely, sad or angry at either Kauthar or the world in general. Especially that day Kauthar had scolded her about her makeup.

Barakah only looked scared to make Kauthar feel superior and perhaps, lenient in punishing her. She didn't reveal that the only reason why she had agreed to put on makeup was because she had seen an old picture of her mother: young, in a frilly gown, face shining with powder, lips gleaming with gloss. 

Lately, she had been feeling suffocated by Kauthar, always telling her not to do the things she wanted—like wear trousers, put on shorter hijabs and visit her friends, and making her do the things she didn't want.

The one time she asked Kauthar for the reason, Kauthar gave her the look—where her eyes dimmed and a corner of her lips tilted up, which Barakah found frustrating. "It's for your own good." 

How? She wondered, but didn't ask anymore. 

Perhaps this was what she was talking about. Barakah thought, eyes closed tightly, knowing that if she opened her eyes, she won't see Hoor's wet face beaming over her, or hear Kauthar calling from her room, or even, see her mother smiling, asking, what's wrong?

Barakah knew it was morning, for she could hear the chirps of birds in the trees surrounding the house she was being kept in, she could feel the warm tingle of the sun rays on her cheeks, she could taste the dryness of her tongue, moving, rolling around her mouth, seeking for the moistness she had denied it by refusing to drink the table water Aunty had given her since Friday. 

Aunty. Her mind roared in anger. How could she? How could she lie to Barakah that she wanted an escort to their Barakah's house, when she had been there during Hoor's naming ceremony? 

Barakah sighed loudly and turned her face away from the sun. It wasn't really her fault though. It wasn’t as though the Aunty tried hard to convince her. Barakah had been eager to get home on time so she could get ready before Aunty Sumayya arrived. She had been looking forward to showing her off at the mosque, saying "See my Aunty who looks like my mother."

The door creaked open. Barakah stilled, eyes still closed. She already knew who it was. 

" Good morning dear," a deep sing-song voice sang, closing the door with a click. 

As Barakah listened for the soft flap of Aunty's slippers against the rough cement floor, she remembered to breath and move a little, placing both hands under her cheek. 

She heard the low moan of the table beside her bed, the dropping of a tray of food, then a shuffle of clothes, before the bed dipped, slowly, creaking loudly. Barakah rolled her eyes. Of course the bed would creak, Aunty was an elephant of a woman. 

"My dear, " she heard again, dreading what would come next: Aunty's large hand shaking her awake. 

" Wake up." Barakah didn't stir. After two more shakes, Aunty sighed. She peeled one eye open to see Aunty staring at the window behind her.

Barakah hoped she was feeling guilty enough to let her escape, since her 3-day hunger strike hadn't worked. 
I know you're awake." Autry said, eyes still on the window. 

Sighing loudly, Barakah sat up and folded her arms. She flicked a glance at the food: one covered bowl with a spoon on top. She scrunched her face, "I'm not hungry."