MANGO MILKSHAKE

PART ONE: Chapter 1

Click. Click. Click. Enter. Re-enter. My patience is running out. Shut down.
I sighed as I threw away my laptop. To cool down my frustration I sipped my mango milkshake, only to choke on already melted paper straw.
Does life hate me? Probably yes. Why else a perfectly fine girl turns out to be a problematic unemployed woman without any purpose.

So, I'm Ayat Siddique, an Indian muslim woman in her mid twenties, still unmarried. Sounds awful already, right? Let me add further.
When I was 18 , I refused to study for the country's majestic medical entrance exam which, according to my parents, was the first thing that changed my destiny forever. Even though I've always believed I won't be able to clear that exam and even if I manage to clear it, I would've messed up in the college.

So, my papa, like an ideal Indian father, remained infuriated towards me. To everyone's disagreement, I took admission in a local college, pursued my bachelor's degree, prepared for the civil services exam and failed there too.
My elder brother, like a star he always has been, kept shining as a great doctor in India's one of the greatest hospitals. I, like a comet, kept drifting away from my parents' gravity of love.

After being ridiculed by both fate and family, I ended up in my parents' house, sleeping on a twin size mattress, listening to Radiohead, doing my "job" as a subtitler and editor in a less famous YouTube channel. It pays. The job is saving my last remaining string of self respect by not letting me beg for money to my elderly parents.

Today, my 10 year old laptop finally gave it away. This is my sign to give up. I don't have enough to buy a new laptop and have an enormous amount of ego which forbids me to ask for money from any of my family members. That's it. It all ends here. I opened my wardrobe, searched through every corner and finally found my long bright blue dupatta which was gifted by my father before I chose to disappoint him. I was tieing the dupatta on my creaking ceiling fan. Suddenly a knock fell onto my ears. I shut my eyes in irresistible anger. One can't even die peacefully in a brown household. One more more conversation, after that I'm dying. After hiding my tentative crime equipment, I opened the door with a bright fake smile not because I want to see them happy but I refuse to be perceived as a melancholic loser to them.

"What is it?" I asked my mother who was standing there holding a envelope. I've not noticed enough but my mother is getting older. Her height has decreased to 4 feet 10 inch, her face have more wrinkles, her hair gotten thinner and most importantly she looked really tired and unhappy.
Sometimes I wonder how miserable it is to have a daughter like this.

"You're having a new marriage proposal, don't deny. Your father really wants you to get married." She sighed tiredly.

"But I...." I wanted to protest but I've no point to provide.

" But you want to be free, fall in love, be independent, right? Stop being delusional Ayat. You're twenty five with no job and with your current situation you're not going anywhere better" she stated flatly as she was fuming in anger.

"Give me some time, I'll find a way" I appealed in a low voice while trying my best to avoid eye contact.

"You think I didn't? I was the only one who was with yet you remained same, why don't you change Ayat? Be less selfish, your brother wants to get married, his lover is waiting for him, he can't make her wait forever... Don't you want him to be happy?" My mother held my hand almost sounding desperate.

"Let him marry first " I reasoned.

" How can Azad marry first when his younger sister is still unmarried, what will others say? Don't be stubborn. Here's the picture and data of the guy we've looked for you, give it a chance. They're coming tomorrow " she handed me the envelope as she gave a sheepish smile.

My feet remained glued to earth and my eyes searched for my room in the envelope. I must die before tomorrow. I saw my entire life flashing before my eyes.

My mother turned around suddenly. "You can't even make eye contact with me, do you think you'll be able to show your face to Allah SWT after committing suicide?" She spoke as she went downstairs.

I closed the door with lingering depression around my head. Sitting on the bed, I opened the envelope. There was a postcard size photo of a guy, probably in his late twenties or early thirties. I scrutinized the image for atleast ten minutes and found myself very inferior to him. The given figure is at least two shades fairer than me along with his light brown eyes , Greek nose and thick hair. I'm positively sure that this guy's family will deny the marriage after seeing my tanned skin , short hair and unladylike behaviour. In most marriages, the bride must be fairer than the groom, which is the only normal according to match making aunties. First time in my life I felt blessed for having tanned skin. I put the photo inside my diary and searched for other details in the envelope.
His name is prettier than his face. Syed Yaseen, 29 years old, eldest son of Syed Usman. I read about his siblings and other details then my eyes rested on his profession, a teacher, more appropriately, a mentor in some famous coaching institute which prepares students for competitive exams. He's holding a PhD in Physics. I laughed at myself. Is it some kind of irony or prank? Why would someone this good be willing to marry me? I cramped the paper and tossed it on the floor.

Laying on the floor I wondered if I should take precautions and start planning the vandalization of tomorrow's grand clown show or should I just believe in Indian mother's obvious obsession towards fair and controllable in laws. What if they're generous and blind? I should plan for atleast a few things. So, I brainstormed a few ideas for half an hour. Feeling competent with my dazzling plan, I opened the door to eat dinner that nobody called me for.