WrongSufferedAtHands

4.

The morning was bright and frosty with a cold and wet sensation. The instant she got out of bed, her entire body quivered with cold after abandoning her pleasant and cozy blanket.

She was quite upset and cranky when discovered her face was smeared with dried tears, the way she burst into tears like an infant, all night long.

She studied Sameer's tangled hair pointing in each and every direction as she stood in front of him; the slight swelling and puffiness beneath his eyes were dark, and his eyes were red and sore. He attempted to act normal, but as he talked, a scent of tobacco hit her face. Afiyah was too busy pondering until he stated something obvious.

"Would you like to discuss about what happened that night?"

"From all over the globe, I don't predict you to say that to me." She pointed, her attention set on the fading hues of bruises beneath his lips, as if he'd been pounded twice in that spot.

With a snap of his tongue, he drew Afiyah to the bed,

"There should be no incentive for people to argue; there should be no motive for them to do so. I believe in you, and Papa Jan believes in you too, but the rest of the world does not know you as well as we do. You're the blaze of my eyes, my pride, and I can't abide one individual to spit rubbish about you," he said, clutching her hand. "You did what you did, and you didn't do anything wrong, but others misinterpreted it."

Afiyah sighed audibly, her eyes burning with the scorching sensation of tears as a pulse pounding above her temple irritated her noticeably.

"Don't let anything reach Papa; you know how they'll romanticize it with lies and consequences. Maintain a distance from boys and men; I'm a man, and I'm well aware of how men perceive women. No one will defend you if that person is not your father, brother, son, or husband; the filthy gaze they shoot at passing females. Do not trust anyone, Afiyah."

Do not trust anyone, his words stayed in her mind.

Afiyah's thoughts would drift to the fact that Sameer's breath smelled like cigarettes and something else she couldn't recognize.

When Afiyah walked into her classroom that same day, she noticed that Hassan was absent for the day, which triggered her brain.

She stayed quiet in a corner throughout literature class, unable to ignore the way the literature instructor riveted his stare on her at every turn.

Afiyah honestly believed the tables were about to take a ruthless turn whilst she was strolling down the corridor together with her friends, Mr. Farooq ended up taking a halt in front of them. Her heart leapt typically by seeing his wretched footwear.

"Can you tell me what you're up to, girls?"

Ehsaal and Bushra attempted to steal a glimpse at her, but she had tightened her grasp on her books and was sweating profusely.

"We were about to sit at the playground, we need to get some work done." Eshaal remarked as her gaze remained focused on Afiyah.

"How about you?" He inquired, this time gesturing towards Afiyah.

"Eshaal already informed you, I reckon," Afiyah took a deep breath and sought to look at him in the eyes. "Try moving aside so that we may walk by you."

"Confident much," he sneered as he clasped his hands over his back, his rusty and unclean teeth evident.

"Good job girls," he contended, clearing his throat, "Any one of you trio neglect my topics from the literature guide, and I'll discipline you." He remarked this as he sought to walk by them. When the instructor's shoulder collided with Afiyah's, she stumbled a little.