Written in the Stars (Rewriting)

Chapter 2

Quickly wrapping my scarf around my head, I hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step . The familiar, comforting aroma of freshly made parathas filled the air, guiding me straight to the kitchen where Ammi was bustling around, already preparing breakfast.

“As-salamu alaikum, Ammi,” I greeted her warmly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Wa alaikum assalam, meri jaan. Uth gayi aap.” Her eyes softened as she caressed my head, her hand gentle over the scarf I’d wrapped hastily.

I nodded like an eager child and leaned over to catch a glimpse of her cooking. My eyes lit up at the sight of the hot parathas on the stove. My stomach growled in anticipation, and Ammi chuckled, amused by my eagerness.

“I’ll set your plate, hm?” she said softly, turning back to her work.

I settled at the table, waiting as she served me a fresh, steaming paratha. The first bite was heaven, melting in my mouth with a perfect blend of flavors. I couldn’t help but moan at the taste, savoring every bit. After a few bites, I tore off a piece and offered it to her.

She shook her head, urging me to eat quickly as I’d be late for college. But I insisted, holding the bite out stubbornly. Finally, with a sigh, she leaned forward and took the bite from my hand, a soft smile lighting up her face. I grinned in victory, and she playfully tapped my head, muttering, “Pagal ladki.”

Our smiles vanished instantly when a yell echoed through the house, harsh and cutting through our morning peace. “Farah!”

My heart raced, and I glanced at Ammi, fear flickering in my eyes. Her own gaze held a hint of fear, but her expression remained calm, practiced, as if she had dealt with this countless times.

“Acche se khake jana, theek hai,” she whispered, kissing my forehead. With a resigned sigh, she turned and made her way upstairs.

I watched her retreat, my heart heavy. Looking down at my plate, I found that my appetite had suddenly disappeared. Still, not wanting to waste the food she’d lovingly prepared, I wrapped the paratha in foil, stuffed it into my bag, and hurried out of the house, hoping to avoid any further tension that morning.

Lost in my thoughts, I reached the bus stop, anxiously waiting for the bus to arrive. The entire way, my mind lingered on what might be happening back home. I felt a deep, gnawing guilt—anger mixed with helplessness. Why couldn’t I stand up for Ammi? A tear slipped down my cheek as I thought of the struggles she silently endured day after day.

I closed my eyes and muttered a few verses under my breath, trying to calm the ache in my chest, hoping to clear my mind before the day began. When the bus finally reached my stop, I stepped off, taking a deep breath, letting the fresh air soothe me.

As I walked toward the college entrance, my gaze fell on a woman with two small children, crouched at the edge of the sidewalk. Their clothes were torn and dusty, and the children fussed, looking weak and weary.  Their disheveled state a clear indication of hardship. Compassion surged through me, pulling me toward them.

I knelt down in front of the woman, greeting her softly. She looked up, her face lined with exhaustion, and managed a weak smile. The children, their innocent eyes wide with curiosity, paused their fussing to glance at me. I reached into my bag, pulling out the paratha wrapped in foil and handed it to her.

“Please, take this,” I said gently. She accepted it gratefully, whispering a quick prayer of blessing, her voice trembling with gratitude. The children’s eyes brightened as she unwrapped the food, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest, easing the ache I had carried with me from home.