Love unveiled

Chapter 3

Zara's phone buzzed, and she glanced at the message. It was from hamma Khalid, short and direct as always:

"I'm outside. Tell your friend to hurry up, or I'll leave without her."

I sighed, my nerves already on edge. My mind raced, searching for an escape. Turning to Zara, I pleaded, "Please come with me. I can't handle being alone with him."

Zara shook her head apologetically. "You know I can't. He won't let me. He's always been like that—so strict and annoying, even when we were kids. He'll probably lecture us the whole ride if I even try."

I groaned, resigned to my fate. I quickly grabbed my bag and made my way downstairs, my heart thudding with unease. In the living room, I ran into Mami, who handed me a small package wrapped in a beautiful silk cloth.

"Take this to your mother, dear," she said warmly. "Tell her it's a little something for Sallah."

I smiled, trying to mask my discomfort. "Thank you, Mami. I'll make sure she gets it."

As I stepped out into the compound filled with cars, I hesitated in the driveway, scanning the various cars parked there. Which one was his? Just as I was about to text Zara to ask her, the headlights of a sleek, black Dodge Challenger SRT Demon flashed at me, catching my attention.

Hamma Khalid.

I hurried toward the car, feeling the weight of his impatience through the windshield. As I reached the passenger side, I paused for a moment, uncertain whether to sit in the back or the front. After an awkward beat, I opened the front door and slid into the seat beside him.

The moment I closed the door, the silence between us was palpable. I greeted him, but hamma Khalid didn't greet me back, nor did he look my way. Okay, I am regretting supporting him earlier today, thinking that he'll change. He's the same rude, arrogant Hamma Khalid. He simply shifted the car into gear and began to drive, he ignored my existence, his expression impassive. Soft Quranic recitation flowed from the speakers, filling the car with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the tension I felt.

I kept my hands folded in my lap, staring out the window as we drove, the city streets passing in a blur. I couldn't help but steal a few glances at hamma Khalid, who remained focused on the road. His face was a mask of quiet concentration, and though he wasn't outright rude, his lack of acknowledgment still stung.

This is going to be a long ride, I thought to myself , wishing I could just disappear into the seat.

As the minutes ticked by, the awkwardness lingered, and I found myself longing for the end of the ride, the comfort of my own home, and the blessed escape from hamma Khalid's silent presence.

As we drove through the city, the atmosphere inside the car was thick with awkwardness. My phone, however, was far from silent. One notification after another lit up my screen, the chime piercing through the otherwise calm recitation of the Quran playing in the background. Each buzz made me flinch slightly, but I didn't dare touch the phone. It wasn't until the seventh notification that I noticed hamma Khalid's grip tighten on the steering wheel.

Suddenly, the car jerked as he pressed the brakes harder than necessary, bringing us to an abrupt halt at a traffic light. My heart jumped, startled by the sudden stop.

Hamma Khalid turned to me for the first time since the ride began, his expression sharp, but his voice calm. "Can you turn that thing off?" he said, the irritation barely masked.

I quickly fumbled for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I switched it to silent mode. I didn't dare look at him, too intimidated by his presence, a feeling I had known since childhood. The fear I felt around him wasn't from anything he'd done, but more from the stern, authoritative aura he always carried.

The rest of the ride passed in tense silence, the soft Quranic recitation once again filling the space between us. To me, it felt like an eternity, each second dragging as the city's familiar streets blurred past. I kept my gaze fixed out the window, counting down the minutes until I could escape this uncomfortable situation.

Finally, we pulled up in front of my house. Without a word, hamma Khalid parked the car. I wasted no time. I quickly grabbed the package Mami had given me and stepped out, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't even glance back to thank him, too eager to escape the tension.

Hamma Khalid didn't seem to care. The moment I was out of the car, he reversed smoothly, not sparing me a second glance as he drove off toward his next destination. To him, the ride was nothing more than a brief interruption in his day, easily forgotten.

I, however, felt the weight of the encounter linger as I walked into my house, clutching the package tightly in my hands, grateful to be home

As I stepped into the house, I noticed the maids moved swiftly, their footsteps soft as they hurried about, tidying the already spotless house. The faint, familiar scent of traditional incense wafted through the air, adding to the atmosphere of anticipation.

I paused by the dining room, watching as the maids carefully arranged the table with precision. It was clear they were preparing for something special. Abba was returning from a business trip today, and as always, the house had to be in perfect condition for his arrival. His flight was scheduled to land just after Maghreb, and the excitement in the air was palpable.

Curious, I turned to one of the maids. "Where's Ummi?" I asked.

"She just went upstairs a few minutes ago," the maid replied, her hands busy folding the napkins.

I nodded and headed toward the staircase. As I ascended, I felt a twinge of nervousness. Abba's homecoming always meant a shift in the house's mood. It wasn't that he was strict, but there was an unspoken expectation that everything had to be in order when he was around.

When I reached Ummi's room, I knocked softly and entered after hearing my mother's familiar voice.

"Salam, Ummi," I greeted, walking in with the package tucked under my arm. "I'm back."

Unmi was seated on the edge of her bed, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Jabbama—Welcome back, Meena," she replied, her eyes lighting up at the sight of me—her daughter. "Noi yawalmale hande?—How was your day?"

"jam Alhamdulillah—It was good Alhamdulillah," I said as I handed over the package. "Mami sent this for you. She said it's a little something for Sallah."

Ummi's face brightened even more as she took the gift, carefully unwrapping the silk cloth to reveal a beautiful set of hand-embroidered fabrics. "Ah, she always knows how to spoil me," she said with a chuckle. "I'll have to call and thank her for this."

I smiled, then pulled out the clothes we had collected from the tailor. "And these are the outfits we picked up today. The rest will be ready in a few days."

Ummi inspected the clothes, nodding approvingly. "They're lovely. I can't wait to see you wear them for Sallah."

She stood up and placed the gift on her dresser before turning back to me. "Jotta yaho a shirya—Now, go and get yourself ready. Your brother and the driver have already left to pick up your father from the airport. They should be back soon after Maghreb."

I nodded and moved to leave, but Ummi stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm. "And I'll call Mami to thank her for the gift. Please tell the maids to make sure everything is perfect for your father's return."

With a nod, I left the room, feeling the weight of the evening's preparations settling on my shoulders. As much as I loved my father, his homecomings were always marked with a sense of formality. There was no room for mistakes, no room for anything less than perfection. I hurried off to my room, after delivering Ummi's message to the maids, mentally preparing myself for the evening ahead.