Bewitched

9

MUMTAZ

I spent the entire day with Badiyya in my room, mostly complaining about Muntassir and how annoyingly persistent he was. Between our laughter and gossip, my mind kept wandering back to him, which only made me more irritated. Why did he have to be so persistent? Why couldn't he just leave me alone?

As Badiyya was telling me a funny story, Ridwan walked into the room, a huge smile plastered on his face. He and Badiyya exchanged loving glances, and it was so sugary-sweet that I nearly gagged. Seriously, if they kept up the puppy love, I was going to start throwing things.

Ridwan finally turned to me. "Mom's in town. She wants to have dinner with us tonight."

"Mom's in town?" I repeated, confused. I hadn't heard anything from her. Normally, she'd call me—or at least text. Why hadn't she called me?

Ridwan shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "She's here now, and she wants us all together. I think it'd be nice, don't you?"

I couldn't deny it. Despite everything, I did love my mom. She left when I was four, and even though I understood why—her relationship with Dad just wasn't working—it didn't make it any easier. She moved abroad, called occasionally, but it wasn't enough. I spent years convincing myself I didn't need her. My brothers and father were there for me, but still, something was always missing.

"Fine," I sighed, "I'll be ready."

Ridwan smiled and left the room with Badiyya in tow. I slumped back into bed, staring at the ceiling. It was strange, this feeling. I wasn't angry at Mom, not really. I just wished things had been different. I wished she hadn't left, but wishing wouldn't change anything.

At around 5 p.m., I finally dragged myself out of bed and began getting ready for dinner. Two hours later—after an exasperating search for the perfect outfit and an unnecessary amount of makeup—I was ready. Of course, my brothers were all waiting for me, grumbling about how long I took. But I ignored them. They should know by now that getting ready takes time.

We arrived at Mom's apartment, and she welcomed us in with open arms, hugging each of us in turn. As I looked at her, I couldn't help but notice how much I was starting to resemble her. The same sharp features, the same smile. Mom was beautiful, and as much as I hated to admit it, the thought of looking like her someday didn't upset me.

We sat around the dining table, the smell of home-cooked food filling the room. It was warm, familiar, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. That is, until Fuhad—the absolute menace—decided to bring up the one topic I had hoped we could avoid.

"Mom, guess what?" Fuhad said, smirking. "Mumtaz has been seeing someone."

I shot him a look that could've killed. How on earth did I end up with four idiot older brothers?

"Oh?" Mom's eyebrows lifted in curiosity. "Tell me about him, sweetie. That's what mothers are for."

"I'm not seeing him," I said quickly, trying to shut down the conversation. "Everyone's exaggerating. It's not serious."

My brothers exchanged knowing glances, but thankfully they dropped the subject. They knew better than to push me when I was this close to losing it.

The conversation shifted to safer topics, and eventually, Saif even called Dad. I listened as my parents joked on the phone like they were old friends, laughing and teasing each other. It made me wonder—where did it all go wrong? Why couldn't they have stayed together? I wanted a life where my parents were in the same room, where I could lean on both of them at the same time. But I knew that was just a fantasy. People fall out of love, that's what Mom had told me when I was younger. And I believed her.