ANAA: A Modern Lens Of Pride and Prejudice

1. Daneen

Daneen closed her eyes. One to be specific, because she couldn't bear the idea of not having seen the process of getting her first tattoo. She could already imagine the faces of her loved ones shrinking in horror at her act of rebellion; Chachajaan, Chachijaan and the man for whom this entire charade was being organised.

She could feel the traces of the ink pen rubbing against her skin with a soft finality, and realised that her early birthday gift to her boyfriend of one year had reached completion. Opening both her eyes, she squealed loudly at her forearm as the tattoo artist glared at her.

Oops. Maybe it was too early to make a joyous remark.

And early it really was. She had left the comfort at her house precisely at 7 in the morning, when her Chachijaan would be too busy preparing a cucumber smoothie while her beloved Chachajaan sombrely walked across the garden to improve his health. She managed to sneak out of her room with her purse in one hand and sneakers in another, and as her adoptive parents argued about Chachajaan's decreasing speed with every round, she would make a run for her bout of freedom.

She did feel guilty for not letting them know, but she also knew that they would never let her get a tattoo. They never said a word against anything she chose to do, and the whole world tried to prove that she was fortunate to have them as her guardians. She knew that she was indeed lucky, and that if her father was alive she could have never possibly been this free to make her choices, but that didn't relent her from knowing the consequences of getting a tattoo.

Looking heavenwards, she murmured an extra dua to God hoping that her Chachajaan doesn't get a heart attack when he sees her.

But she had much time till reaching home and delaying the worries of her uncle and aunt. Her thoughts seemed to be consumed by the mention of a boy, whose name now glistened on her wrist under the studio light.

She switched on her phone after having kept it off since morning. A load of messages and missed calls piled up on the notifications bar, mostly from Chachajaan enquiring about her existence. Not now, Chachajaan.

A couple DMs on Instagram asking her to attend brand inaugrations or for a collaboration post on her social media handle. Boring.

Random paparazzi handles which tagged her on socialite events with pictures taken from weird camera angles. Losers. Get a life?

She skipped over to a private message from Izza. She pursed her lips and clicked on the bar, just to land on a clip from the same paparazzi handle with Izza's text under it.

These invasive assholes are everywhere. Take care Dani, xo

She let out a gentle smile before texting back. I will, Izzy. See you in a bit.

Logging out of Instagram, she was about to settle back in the parlour chair as a sense of discomfort seeped into her mind. It had been an entire set of twenty four hours since she met her boyfriend, a man who should have been her an hour ago to recieve his gift but was still nowhere to be found.

She looked back at her phone's caller list. It reflected back a barrage of calls from her side since 8 in the morning, in the hope that he would return atleast a text message.

I am so going to beat him up. Probably break up with him, and then beat him up. Or the other way round. Whichever hurts the most. But what would hurt him the most?

As she contemplated on an idea of perfect revenge, the tattoo parlour door swung effortlessly as the glass chimera above it crinkled against its wooden panel. She breathed in a sight of freshly tailored jeans and tightly woven red sweater. If it was not for the silent throes of anger, she would have let her heart openly resonate with joy.