HALF HER DEEN

2. 𝑨𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑷𝒐𝒕𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒔

Halimah is a name of Arabic origin that means forebearing, gentle, mild-mannered, and generous.

I remember asking Baba why he chose that name. His eyes had softened as he recounted the moment in the hospital room when he first held me. He told me that, from that moment, he knew I would grow up to be a kind, gentle, and generous woman. I felt a lump in my throat, and a few tears welled up in my eyes. To be honest, I have a lot of growing to do before I fully embody those qualities, but In Shaa Allah, it's something to aspire to. Yet, right at this moment, those thoughts vanished as someone decided to irritate me this morning.

"Abu!" I shouted from the kitchen, my gaze lifting from the fridge where I expected to find my secret stash of grapes. Unfortunately, they were nowhere to be seen. Someone had clearly helped themselves, and there was only one culprit in my mind.

"Abubakr!" I screeched again, but there was no response.

That little...

I inhaled deeply, preparing to shout once more when my mother's voice echoed from her room upstairs, cutting me off, "Halimah, if you scream again, I will not be held accountable for my actions."

"But he-"

"GO UP TO HIS ROOM AND LET US SLEEP! IT'S EIGHT AM ON A SATURDAY, FISABILLILAH, HALIMAH SADIYAH!" she yelled back ironically, emphasizing my full name, singling her annoyance.

My mother is not a morning person, and I knew that well. I definitely don't want to face her wrath on a Saturday morning. Our shouting match ended as I reluctantly climbed the stairs to my little brother's room. I barged in and found him, partially covered by his blanket, his unruly curly hair turned away, snoring with a trail of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. Disgusting.

I picked up a pillow from the messy floor which no doubt fell off his bed during his sleep, I'd witnessed his erratic movements while asleep, and I began to whack him repeatedly.

"Wha-" he said groggily, abruptly woken from his slumber, squinting up at me.

"Did" whack "You" whack "Eat" whack "My" whack "Grapes?" whack.

I hissed my words at him, giving him an intense glare. He was the only one who could be responsible for this, and I was sure of it. My little brother seemed to think that the fridge's contents were there for him to devour at any time. He'd grab whatever he wanted and pretend not to be the culprit when asked.

"No," he replied, sitting up, confusion written across his face. This caught me off guard as I was about to hit him again.

"You didn't?" I asked, my glare softening. How could it not have been him?

"What are you even talking about, H?" he asked. Hmm. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn't taken them this time out of the countless times he had.

I stared at him for a few seconds before letting out a sigh and saying sheepishly, "Someone ate my grapes, and since you've done it before, I thought it was you."

"Well, I didn't," he yawned, getting up, and as he pushed the blanket to the floor, a light thud sounded as something fell from underneath. I quickly bent down to lift the blanket, and I saw him trying to hide the empty container, which should have been full of my juicy grapes, under the blanket again.