Under That Niqab

34. Unconscious.

"You dare touch my phone?" Adnan seethed at Haya who stood in the kitchen by the counter her face didn't reflect a single emotion albeit the whirl of her insides. "You seem to be forgetting your place, want me to show you?" He jerked her left wrist towards the very hot steamer, she instantaneously screamed a high pitch voice out of pain and pulled her hand back. Hot tears outflowing her eyes, she was crying with a straight face that too.

"Haya!?" Rabi who was out somewhere, hearing the screech came running to find Haya holding her wrist out, tears jamming her eyes and Adnan, upon seeing Rabi morphed a worried expression, "Oh my God Haya!" She yanked Haya's hand to examine the injury.

Her eyes blew out seeing the burnt skin, the pink flesh beneath her skin was visible since the upper layer got constricted, black. The wound reached from the side of her wrist to the thumb, it was a horrendous sight to see.

Haya chuckled upon hearing Rabi's perturbed yells to ease her growing anxiety, maybe she wanted to ease her own agitation simultaneously, "I'm fine, it's okay" She looked at the hand and sucked in a breath. It didn't look okay.

"Have you lost your mind? Your skin's peeled and you're telling me it's fine?"

"Take her to the living room. I'll get the first aid" Adnan disappeared from the kitchen door hurriedly.

°°°°

Closing the car door Shavez headed towards, what looked like an apartment bungalow, a huge one with lawn spread around four sides of the building. At the entrance there was a classic circular metal board which said 'Back Home again' with cursive bold font, the name of the old age home.

The entrance path had a series of woolen knitted items hung on a rod to display, bags, shrugs, gloves, crochets, small rugs and much more and vines, sheathed on the metal rods gave a plus one to the view. The items all were hand crafted with pretty imperfections, and that was because Shavez, being in the same industry, could tell.

The place seemed beautiful and homey unlike the stories buried behind it.

Shavez entered into the lobby where the receptionist bowed to greet him. "How may I help you, Sir?" She chimed.

"I've come to meet Mrs. Anees" He replied, trailing his eyes and taking in the interior of the place.

"Mrs. Anees Haider?" She seemed startled, "You sure, you got the right person?"

"I sure do" He replied, miffed.

Catching up with the displeased state of Shavez, the reception girl spoke "I'm sorry, it's just that nobody came to meet her since long"

Shavez just nodded watching the girl pull out a register for his entry and opened a half-filled page, dated, turning it towards him. The pen was already kept on the countertop which he grabbed filling in the details.

Relationship? with the person, it asked. Son, he scrawled.

The girl was watching him keenly and showed no reaction. It was probably given, that many people actually forget, their parents are still alive, living a life elsewhere when all they ever wanted was to be with the people, they spent their life bringing up, caring.

Heartless.

The only word which could possibly explain their actions and nothing more.

"Please be seated. We will inform her" she said reaching to the telephone on the desk.

Shavez sat on one of the black metal chairs rubbing his palms on his knees to ease the sweat starting to appear out of nervousness. He didn't act on impulse, coming here took him tons of thoughts of pros and cons. Scraping something hidden away for better, was not his quirk. Yet he did.