Muslim Tomboy?...Impossible

Ms Tomboy And The Invisible Pressure Cooker

#NotEdited

"It's time to get up, Ne-al."

"Rise and shine, Ne-al."

"Go to sleep, Siri." Shifting on the other side, Nayal adjusted the pillow on his head which was throbbing in pain.

"I don't sleep, Na-el." She answered in monotone at which he muttered 'you don't know what you're missing' and snuggled into the comforted.

"You should get yourself checked, you sleep way too much than a normal person." The robotic voice surely offended him but he was too tired to answer.

"Go to Jahanam!"

"Google Jahan-num."

Annoyed by a stupid-lady-robot, he sat up on his elbows looking around the messy room. Papers, documents, clothes, food wrappers everything was scattered over the whole room.
Avoiding the rubbish, he carefully stepped towards the bathroom.

"Ten minutes till your workout session, Na-el." Siri's voice boomed throughout the room.

"It's Nayal! You angreez ki aulad! " He replied turning on the faucet of hot water. He literally shouted when icy cold water greeted him.
"Adam, you nincompoop!"

Zeeniya is seriously rubbing off you.

After making space for the prayer mat (which was quite impossible), he prayed Fajr and headed out. Within a few good minutes he found himself running along the side of the street. The sun wasn't fully up and his body sensed it too, not allowing him to get up so early. Fatigue didn't leave his body after the three hours sleep but he managed to face the day. Fishing out his cell phone he left a voice note on a very fimiliar WhatsApp.

'Assalam o Alikum, Dad. Nayal here. Hope you're doing good. Erm...h..have a good day. Don't forget the meds, they're in the chester drawer. Allah Hafiz.'

With huffing breaths he ended the message. Every morning for the last (how many years he lost) this has become his ritual. It wasn't an act of mercy or kindess, it was his duty. He remembered how Zeeniya told him about the night her Mum died and how it changed every angle of her life. He mentally laughed.

Another similarity!

Except for the fact that his didn't die.

He loved everything about himself but he adored his cooking skills.(Self-obsessed much?) His father taught him that being a man doesn't mean to build six packs but it also meant that he should be independent. He clearly remembered the time when he used to come back from high school and prepare his own lunch and sometimes dinner too. His father was an average, middle class man but with a tough job making it hard to create an emotional bonding between the father and son.

Adding the herbs and tomatoes in the eggs, Nayal poured them in the skillet. In the next few minutes he added the cheese and slid it in serving platter. Multi-tasking, he kept the coffee for brewing and bread in the toaster and went back to his room.

Getting in a grey and black sweater along with the same jeans he wore last night. Call him lazy, but you have to do your own laundry this becomes a routine. Sweeping his hair back with a dime of gel he grabbed both of his phone and essentials when he smelled something burning.