My First Choice

misunderstanding

Don't hurt others because of you are going through a phase.

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Iman's room was a colorful and lively oasis, filled with the things she loved most. The walls were painted bright pink, and the furniture was a mix of vintage and modern pieces with bold patterns.

Her bed was a stylish haven, with a fluffy duvet and a canopy draped in flowing curtains. A cozy reading nook was set up in one corner, perfect for settling in with a fashion magazine or a cookbook.

A large wooden desk served as her crafting station, where she could often be found knitting scarves, hats, and other accessories. Balls of yarn and half-finished projects were scattered about, adding to the room's cozy charm.

The room was also filled with Iman's love of flowers, with vases and bouquets dotting every surface. A large sunny window was ideal for growing her own herbs and flowers, which she used in her cooking and crafting.

The room was a true reflection of Iman's personality—bright, cheerful, and full of creativity and joy.

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Sometimes, I just stare at the stars and wish I could join them.

Iman stood nervously in front of my door, her heart racing with anticipation. She took a deep breath, reached out, and knocked softly. The door opened, and I stood before her, a mix of anger and wariness on my face.

"Just leave me alone! You're always so perfect, always so obedient," I lashed out before she could even say a word. "I hate it! I hate being an Amira, I hate wearing these stupid dresses, I hate attending these boring banquets. I just want to be myself, but no one will let me."

Iman looked taken aback, her eyes widening in hurt. She took a step closer, her voice gentle. "Huuda, listen, I know you don't like this, but Ummi wants what's best for us."

I scoffed, my anger refusing to subside. "Of course, you'd say that. You don't have to put on a façade. You love the attention, and you watch as Mother lashes out at me. You hate me—everyone does."

Her eyes glistened, tears threatening to fall. "Huuda, I would never enjoy hurting you. You are my only sister, and I love you. Why would I ever want to hurt you? Is that truly what you think of me?"

The weight of her words hung in the air. Her voice cracked as she spoke, and it made my chest tighten. I refused to look at her, my gaze fixated on the floor. I couldn't bear to see the sadness I had caused her.

Silence filled the room. The heavy kind of silence that came after words that couldn't be taken back. I heard her footsteps as she quietly left the room, and a pang of guilt pierced through my anger. I wanted to call her back, but the words got stuck in my throat.

Instead, I turned away and let the tears fall. Why couldn't they understand me? Why couldn't they see that I was suffocating under all these expectations and responsibilities? I just wanted to be free, to be myself, without fear of judgment or rejection.

I sank onto my bed, feeling like a bird trapped in a cage, beating its wings against the bars in desperation. As I lay there, crying silently, I felt like I was losing myself.

After what felt like hours, I wiped my face, my eyes sore from crying. I needed to make things right. Iman didn't deserve my anger—she'd only ever tried to help me. I stood up, resolute, and left my room, heading towards my sister's chambers.

"Huuda?" Iman said when she saw me, her voice surprised. She wasn't used to me apologizing after a fight, and even I didn't fully understand why I was here. Maybe I was just tired of hurting the people I loved.

I lowered my gaze, my voice barely above a whisper. "I came to apologize, Iman. For my behavior, for the way I treated you earlier. I know I can't undo the hurt, but I want you to know I'm sorry."

Iman's expression softened, her eyes welling with unshed tears. "Huuda, it's okay. I knew you didn't mean it—you were angry. But it hurts me that you thought I'd want to hurt you."

Tears began to blur my vision again. "I was blinded by Ummi's favoritism, and I said things I didn't mean. I know you would never hurt me. I see that now, and I'm ashamed of how I acted. Please, can you forgive me?"

Her face crumpled, and she reached out, pulling me into a tight embrace. "I forgive you, Huuda. And I love you, no matter what."

As we hugged, tears streaming down our faces, the tension that had been building between us finally seemed to ease.

"You see," I said with a smile when we eventually pulled apart, "that's why you're Ummi's favorite—always so forgiving."

She shook her head, smiling back. "You're wrong, Huuda. Mother loves us equally. She just... treats me differently because my responsibilities are around the corner."

I sighed. "I just wish everyone would stop expecting me to be like you. It's hard."

"It's okay to feel that way," she said gently. "People have high expectations, and it's hard to live up to them. Don't strive for perfection—just be yourself. Live your life to the fullest, and don't let anyone else's expectations hold you back."

Her words filled me with hope, and I hugged her again, tighter this time.

We stayed like that for a while, and then I returned to my room.

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Hurt people are always the villain in the story.