Tawakkul

Chapter 6

"Assalamu alaikum"

Malik Hussain sang at the top of his lungs as he came back from work.

"Wa alaikum assalam!" Responded Aaliyah, smiling at her father. He placed his hand on her head and she ran to prepare chai for him.

"Where's your mother?"

"She's in your room baba"

He smiled and made his way to the room one hand stayed hidden behind his back. He knocked on the wooden door. A few seconds later Amina opened the door.

"You're home, what would you like to eat?"

Amina fixed her husband's hair as she spoke.

"We can talk about food later".

He brought forward his hand. In it were a multitude of flowers, a bouquet of garden flowers. Aaliyah brought her dad his chai and saw the scene presented in front of her. She repressed her laughter knowing exactly what was going to happen next. Amina hit Malik Hussain soft on the shoulder.

"How many times have I told you not to bring the flowers from your journey back? they're other people's property!"

Aaliyah placed the chai down, turning away stifling a giggle.

Her dad acted hurt.

"Begam, I've brought them with so much love, I won't do it again. At least accept them today".

He said this every other day and every time he'd bring the flowers again.

"Acha ill take them, now tell me what should I make you?" Amina took the flowers smiling and took them to the kitchen. She would find the best looking cup to place the flowers in, every single time.

***********

The air felt different. The sky looked different. Sultan felt as though he were dreaming, stepping into a different world altogether. The UK looked exactly how he'd imagined it, the rain felt fresh and he thought he couldn't get bored of it. He toured the city with enjoyment, trying various foods and living like the tourist he was. He sketched every scene to make it last forever. He stayed with a friend for a few weeks then moved to a different apartment. The seasons changed and Sultan found himself liking London more than he was expecting. He sat on the side of the water fountain of Trafalgar square, the sun shone and crowds settled. A mixture of sounds filled his ears. He wore a v-neck sweater on top of a pair of black dress pants, his sleeves were rolled and he wore a silver watch on his left arm. His dark hair sat in curls and he looked ahead through his black metal frames. In his hands he clasped his sketchbook and a pencil. He drew the scene in front of him and then proceeded to draw the faces of passers-by.

This was his way of passing time, whenever he was free he'd add a new sketch to his book or add colour to an old one. He had a passion to create , an urge to cherish the beautiful and this was his way of doing both. Then he returned back to the apartment he was living in.

Sultan lay on the sofa in the congested room. A selection of different boys were his roommates. Sultan looked at the ceiling wondering what to do now that his travel visa was going to expire. One of his roommates sat on the ground next to the sofa leaning back with a cigarette in his mouth. He offered Sultan one, who took it without a second thought.

"How do you apply for a UK visa?" Sultan asked, taking a drag of the cigarette, a cloud of smoke engulfing the two of them.

"That's a strange question to ask all of a sudden. You could apply for a work permit, apply for asylum or you could marry a white girl"