Usman settled in bed with his shoulder taut against the soft headboard. It was an annoyance, as he rolled his eyes sassily at his own father. The cusp of his lips burnt into an ever growing frown at the missing frame of his mother. He had exams at school, and in the midst of them his mother had went to his grandparents home — with his younger brothers. Not only was it unfair ; she had also lied about continuing the next night. Now, under the rumpled sheets he gripped the fluffy pillow on his mother's side, teasing it with his hands. He gripped the feathers, throwing it in the direction of his father — who could only chuckle in delight.
"Tsk! She left you!" Aryan cackled, no one could believe he was the father of the ten year old.
"You should start acting like you're my father!" He rolled his eyes — oh yes those sassy animated cartoons were showing their effect.
"Uhuh— and what is it that you want from me?"
Aryan jumped on the bed, bouncing over the spring mattress. His hands tickled the sides of his son, the spurts of well spun laughter brought the room to a wild light. He dropped feather light kisses all over his face — alternating in between with forceful, bruising ones. Pinching the soft flesh of his hipbone, he pulled his son into his arms and over his lap. Aryan's lips pressed a soft kiss on the coarse hair, that like his wife's fluffed up in the humid heat of the city.
"She was supposed to tell me the next part of your story. She left! She lied to me!"
Usman's eyes pricked with hot tears, his rosy cheeks perched. He crossed the short stubby arms across his chest, sniffling under his breath at the open betrayal of his family. How dare they?
"Tension nahi leni jaan. Mein sunata hun na agla hisa is daastan ka." Aryan said.
[Don't take any tension my life. I'll tell you the next part of the story.]
"Pakka kisi part ko skip tou nahi karein gai aap?"
[Promise you won't skip any part?]
Peeping from behind his hands, his eyes reeled in the sincere smile upon his father's face. With a nod from his side, Usman perked up once more, his legs crossed and head leaned on to his father's chest. The two breathed in silence for a few moments before he began his tale, the excitement coursing through both of their veins.
📜
Fifteen Years Ago.
Aryan was struck hard with the guilt that brushed his olive toned skin. The ring of gold on his pinky finger weighed it down, crushing him with the responsibility of carrying the name that he did. In a nervous respite he sunk on the iron wrought garden chairs inside the university's gardens. The polo fitted him to a t, kept his toned muscles and rigid back the cause of everyone's attention. The centre of it. He was the one the ladies fawned over ; the men cursing him over reasons unknown to even him. His eyes brown — mocha in a deep coffee steeped with hot water, Aryan crushed his wrists together. His fingers twisted in anxiousness, the streams of his veins and hearts — froze on his stupidity.
"Tum kha letay na maar bag sai meray tou yeh din na dekhna parta mujhe!" He slammed his palm on his sweaty forehead, glaring at his best friend.
[If you had let my bag hit you I would not have had to see this day!]
"Tou tum nahi martay na!"
[Then you should not have hit me!]
"Oh fuck off! We have a council meeting in a bit. I probably have her a concussion too — shit." He groaned in disappointment, he could imagine the frown on his father's face if he found out. Sighing, Aryan sipped his tea, clenching his teeth, "if she reports me they'll take away my status as the student council president!"
