However it goes, it ends in pain.

Chapter 5

When I get home, it's a little after five pm. Still early. Now, I wish I'd accepted Amira's invite to sleepover at her place.

My house is quiet as usual, my father is at his usual spot in the living room, which used to be the right chair in the dinner room till he complained it wasn't comfortable, and my mom advised the couch he's occupying.

I greet him, and he answers me. Then I head for my mother's room, the maid on my trail. Zaliha is very sluggish, but I don't mind because, I take my time a lot as well. My mother hates it.

My mother. We climb a flight of circular staircase, walk straight down, and knock lightly on her door.

'Amra, come in!' I push my mother's heavy door open, her bright lights hit my eyes and I blink continuously to adjust to it.

My 50-year-old mother is in a corner surrounded by her bukhoor collection. She seems to be re-arranging it. I step into the room, Zaliha puts my bag down on my mother's matrass, which is on the right side of the room, very close to the door. I pass by her vanity adjacent her bed and her prayer area, that's stark in the middle of the room, to get to my mother, and her bukhoor shelf, which lines the entire wall, with the exception of where one of her windows is.

After 2 hours of re-arranging, I finally get to undress and shower. In the shower, I think, as I always do. My days are always packed with things to do because I can't afford time to just think. But the shower, that's the time my thoughts drift so far.

Usman. I want to trust him, but I can't. There is a constant conundrum in my head, tugs pulling, reason against emotion.  I am emotionally driven, naturally, but when it comes to men, I have to put my feeling aside and remember what they are capable of. That includes Usman.

As I get out of the shower and dry my skin, I think about just giving in, calling him. But I can't. Sometimes, I think, I must have imagined it all. No one person could cause so much hurt, or could they?

My phone is ringing as I put my braids in a loose bun, some of the braids escape my scrunchie and I let them frame my face and tickle my neck. I pick up the call.

The first thing I notice is his burst lip. I almost gasp. And worry over shadows the pain I was feeling a couple of moments ago.

'What happened?' I ask.

'My dad.' Usman says somberly. 'He was going to hit Adija- 'he winces

'I stopped him. We got into a fight.'  He summarizes in a rush. This time, I can't stop myself from gasping.

'I'm fine actually. Habeel cleaned it up for me' he moves his phone to show me Habeel, who is putting together a first aid kit.

I notice that Usman isn't in his house, he's at Habeel's place. I feel a nag at my chest at this realization and brush it aside.

'Oh.' Is all I can manage to say.

Usman nods. And we both are quiet as Habeel takes his leave.

'You left your house?'

'I got into a fight with the owner of the house.' He says, irritated.

'And... and... Umna?' I ask carefully, fear lacing my voice for his mother.

'I call you to tell you I fought with my father.' He Pauses, swallowing. Physically fought, and all you can do is ask about my mother? He's never hit her, at least I've never told you that' He sits up. 'So, I think she'll be fine.' When I open my mouth to say something, he starts laughing. A vibrating laugh that shakes his entirety.

'I don't to hear what you have to say.' He chuckles. 'Please Amra' I'm not in the mood for your BULLSHIT motivational speech right now. You're only going to piss me off.' I stare at Usman, as his laughter susides, not utterly dumbfounded as I remind my self that regardless of who Usman is to me, he is a man first. And to think one moment ago I actually wanted to give in and trust him completely.

'I don't think its me you're mad at—' I begin to say, an attempt at reason.

His eyes go feral. 'Shut the fuck up!' I startle. 'You don't get...' I end the call.

I don't like being disrespected.

.

I don't get angry immediately. It's not how I operate as a person, I figure that since Usman is a man, and I have always expected such behavior from men, I shouldn't feel mad at him.

I do my night time routine, and go to my bed. By 9pm, I have decided that I want to talk to three boys that I don't give a shit about.

I open the first of their messages in my Instagram dm's.

It's from a guy a don't know, he is called Ayman.

He texted me about 3 days ago, so it's not too late for me respond.

  'How are you?' him.

'I'm okay'

I exit Instagram and go to my WhatsApp

The next guy is called Adam. I have three missed calls from yesterday; he's made it a tradition to call me every Friday and like a ritual, I never pick. I call him.

He picks up immediately.

'Hello?' his voice echoes in my room.

'Hi, Adam'

And then he starts going on and on. About school, and home. He occasionally asks me some questions, that I answer.

I've spoken to Adam for over an hour and a half, when he makes a joke and I laugh. 'Adam I'm tired. I am going to bed'

'Okay. I enjoyed talking to you, can I call you on Monday?'

I groan internally.

'Sure' Before he can ask what time, I hang up.

It's just 10pm on a weekend. I can't sleep now.

I get up, light a charcoal and put it on my clay burner, while I wait for it to light up entirely, I scroll through Pinterest and look at things I could draw but sincerely don't feel like committing to.

Five minutes later I am adding a generous amount of dambu to my coal, I am instantly met with a cloud of scented smoke. I place the clay burner on my vanity desk and pick out a novel from my shelf. After cozying up in my reading nook, switching off the big light and putting on the warm lamps, lighting about 9 unscented candles, I put my phone on DND, start my playlist and read.

About three hours later, I am aware of my surroundings again; its raining. Pouring actually, very heavily. I smile, I love the rain.

I go back to reading. But I don't get lost in it like before. I find myself thinking again. It takes me back to before.

I haven't taken the time to acknowledge what happened. Every time my mind wondered towards that thing; I switch to feeling numb. It's a curse and blessing to be able to stop feeling when you know something is too much for you to handle.

That is what I do, and I am guessing it's what I am doing with what Usman did today. I will eventually feel the anger, the annoyance, and disrespect, but for now, I will push those feelings to the side.

I put my ruler into the novel, and adjust my pillow on the long couch that I am on.

I decide that I want to drink a cup of warm lemon honey tea, so I put the kettle on.

I take my time choosing a mug, and in the few minutes it takes the water to boil, I start thinking.

.

.

.

I am trying to work on my description of surroundings; a feedback i got from one you. It's hard because even as a person I am more in my head than anywhere else, so i think it kind of reflects in my writing, I put so much effort into explaining Amra's feelings.

I hope this chapter isn't too boring.

Nafisah