Dawud.

Chapter 6: Daddy's Little Girl

  بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful  

"You're on speaker!" Mariam spat back, still trying to quiet her sister down. Abdallah and I watched the two in surprise. "Just be quiet, Jannah! Please! Shh! Stop embarrassing yourself!" She begged her younger sister. Jannah hung up the phone, causing Mariam to sigh in relief. Just as quickly, Mariam jumped at the sight of my smile. "You didn't hear any of that, did you?" ...

Jannah's P.O.V

My father parked his car in our driveway and gestured for me to come into the passenger seat. I walked towards the car, holding my phone in my hands. I could feel the blood drain from my face but I didn't care. All I could think about was how embarrassing I was. Ever since I was in elementary school, I've been an embarrassing mess but I never knew that I would continue to embarrass myself for this long! My hands grew numb as I pulled the car door open. It was freezing outside but I didn't care. Alhamdullilah, my father's heater was blasting.

I buckled my seat belt and looked forward. The snowflakes falling against the windshield were astonishing. They kept their intricate shape, despite making contact with the glass. How was that possible? Maybe the glass matched the snowflake's temperature. Maybe they were compatible. Maybe they respected each other enough to accept the differences between them and meet halfway. I wish it was the same for my parents.

"Jannah?" My father pulled me out of my thoughts and shook my shoulders gently.

"Yes?" I asked him. He was a reflexion of Mariam. With his eyebrows pulled together in worry like they were now, you'd think they were siblings; disregarding his prominent wrinkles of course. I looked into his eyes, the eyes that the two of us shared. They carried many sleepless nights and horrid memories. Despite this, he still looked at me softly. My father didn't know this, but I was slowly forgiving him. It took a lot of effort to finally understand that this man right here was my father. He was half of me and I had to accept it. Now, looking at him, my heart hurt a bit. My silence was killing him and he was scared to press me further. My father learned to deal with me cautiously. I was very fragile and emotional when it came to him. The story of my father and I is a complicated and tragic one, which often brought me to tears. When I was four, my parents filed a divorced. My father moved to Western Canada and I spent the rest of my childhood days without him. He visited maybe once or twice. I was devoted to him, though. A true 'Daddy's Little Girl'. I even got a shirt to prove it. He gave me the title of 'his queen', despite how much my sister envied it. I kept the mentality that I had the best Dad in the world, no matter what my mother said. As I grew older, I grew to hate him. I hated how he left me to live without a father. I hated how embarrassed I felt on Father's Day. I hated how empty I felt on Family Day.

When I was sixteen, he moved back. I guess his guilty conscience got the best of him. He claimed that it was a shame he had no partake in the raising of his daughters. My mother and I, of course, didn't accept this. However, once I was reminded that cutting ties with kin is a very big sin in Islam, I gave him a chance. For the past three years now, I stayed at home with my mother on weekdays and on Friday evenings, my father would pick me up to stay with him for the weekend. Despite my mother's initial and ongoing protest, Mariam stepped in, telling my mother how it would benefit me to know my father. Of course, my mother complied. She respected Mariam. I looked at my father now, smiling. He loved me more than I could every know. I had to understand that. I had to love him too. "Dad, I'm okay, I just-" I held my head in my hands.

"What is it? Is it your mother? Is it Mariam?" I couldn't ignore the desperation in his voice. My silence wasn't helping anyone.

"You're going to laugh dad!" I moaned, shaking my head. My father sighed in defeat, pulling out of the driveway. "Fine! I'll tell you, okay? I'm so embarrassing. I just... I don't know! I've always been embarrassing but now it's getting ridiculous! Astaghfir'Allah, I need to accept my flaws in order to be happy but Dad, it's so... Oh my god!" I pulled at my cheeks in exasperation.

My father didn't say anything for a while. I looked at him to see a small smile pulling at his lips. "When I first married your mother, we stayed over at my house for the first time. I wanted to hug her but she insisted that I take a shower. I tried again and she screamed 'You smell like sweat! Please, take a shower Sultan!'. I froze and blinked a few times. It was terrible!" My father told me, laughing. I laughed too. That really did sound like my mom. "Another time, during our first week of marriage, I was trimming my beard and got a little carried away. I wanted to show Mum how much I loved her so I trimmed my beard into an 'H' shape." My father admitted, shyly. I gasped, shaking my head. We erupted into a fit of laughter. "She looked at me and wouldn't stop laughing. Every time I would walk by her, talk to her or even look at her, she would laugh at me." He added.

My father spoke about my mother and him a lot. She was the only woman he married. She wasn't the only woman he loved, but she was the only woman he married. "Why are all of these memories in relation to marriage?" I pressed. My father, unlike my mother, loved the idea of marriage. My mother married him when she was just about my age. He says that getting married young teaches you a lot about life and sacrifices, building maturity as well. She says that it ruins your life if you don't have the proper education, job, and mentality.

"Your mother loved how foolish and embarrassing I was. She thought it was adorable." He said shyly. I looked at him, watching his smile grow. There was love for my mother in his heart. I think it grew the more time he's spent with me.

I chuckled. "What's the plan for tonight?"

"Well," my father said, pulling onto the highway. "You've got your last exam on Monday so I don't want to busy you too much." My father teased me.

I shook my head, smiling. Alhamdulillah, it's been easy for me to manage university, my henna business and my social life all at once. For the past month, I've taken a break from doing henna due to my exams. This has given me more than enough time to study and in a few days, I'll be done with my semester, Insha'Allah. "Dad, really. What do you want to do?" I pressed.

He looked at his watch. We had an hour left until Isha prayer. "Let's go to the mosque. But since we've got some time to kill, let's grab something to eat." He suggested. I nodded in agreement. Subhan'Allah, I didn't realize how hungry I was!

My dad and I entered the Shawarma restaurant near the city's Main Mosque. We were huge fans of Middle-Eastern cuisine. He ordered his usual meal and I decided to try a wrap. It was delicious! I caught my father staring at me suspiciously.

"What is it?" I asked him, taking a sip of my iced tea.

He scratched his beard. "You're acting different today."

"I've f-forgiven you." I admitted hesitantly. I kept my eyes downward. I didn't know how my father would react.

"Jannah."

I looked up to see my father teary-eyed. The ends of his lips were quivering. He shook his head, smiling. I smiled too. "Plus, you've helped me forget about Dawud." I added.

"Who is Dawud?" My father asked me. His eyebrows pulled together as he sat up straight. My sister did the same thing when she was bothered or upset. I bit my lip in regret. Leave it to me to ruin the mood.

"Well," I sighed, letting the story unravel. I couldn't hide him forever. If I wanted to get to know him, which I did, I'd have to tell my dad.

Chapter Seven ->