# Rasheed's POV.
I woke up to a seemingly pleasant ' tip - tap ' of snowflakes, dropping down slowly in the backyard.
I gently lifted the blanket off my face, and rubbed my eyes open, giving a slight gaze to the ticking hands of the clock mounted on the wall.
7:15 am
I knew that it was too early for a person like me to wake up. I had never been a morning person, and would prefer staying under my soft blanket, until being woken up out of my world of dreams with ammi's hands shaking me.
I slowly dragged my body frame towards the window on my bedside, and gently withdrew the lush, satin purple curtain off the window, and wiped off the misty glass with my palm. It was early December; the onset of winter to be very specific, and snowfall was an anticipated event here in the village of Alheb.
Shimla, had its reputation of being one of the coldest places in India, and I found my hands shivering in the chilly air. I just sat, and watched in bewilderment, the bizarre structures formed by the beautiful flakes of snow, on the concrete clad floor of the backyard.
I used the stitched edge of the curtain to wipe off a rolling tear, before it could escape my eyes, and freeze somewhere in the air.
The purple curtains had never been my choice.
I always felt intrigued by the malign shade of black, or the bold ambience created by the shades of blue, but Ammi had this internal craving for a lighter and seemingly pleasant shade of lavender.
I, never really cared on how my room appeared to the eye. To me it was more convenient when all messed up.
Still, I felt a bit awkward being laughed upon by Aman, since my room created a 'girly image' in his riveting mind.
Finding a way out of thoughts, I looked around for my crutch, and gripped it tight with my frozen fingers, and helped myself along towards the side table to pick up my diary. I fiddled endlessly with the drawer before I pulled it out and made a seemingly endless search for a pen that actually worked. Fetching the diary from the table top, I somehow carried myself back to my cozy bed and slid under the blanket silently.
It was very rare that I sat down to pen down something in my diary. I was no good with words, or that's what my teachers felt, once, when I used to attend school.
I stumbled down a few words, along with an endless number of Ink blots that beautified my page to a certain extent.
I read, and re read.
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'' I'm woken up with a flush,
A flush of memories,
Riding on a blowing gust,
That breaks my window,
And me ''
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The wind slapped the cover back on the pages. I laid back on my pillow, and looked sheepishly at the ceiling, while my mind and heart gazed in sheer emptiness.
I was shedding those endless tears as I blinked with every tick of the clock.
I missed dad.
If he was present here, he would have never let me cry, or even think about it anyhow.
I drowned deep in reminiscence.
Dad had to be one of the strongest people I had ever come across in the span of 10 years I spent with him. Ammi said that he had gone on another one of his military escapades, somewhere far away, somewhere among those stars that twinkled every night that used to haunt me earlier.
I wondered if he ever looked down, to see how much I missed him.
I missed strolling around the house in dad's big, polished, leather boots.
Though, I was still learning on how to work upon my shoelaces, dad would still lend me his shoes without any wailing or screaming.
I missed that big, Khaki greatcoat, studded with medallions of excellence, which I used to hide under, when it got extremely cold, just like today.
I missed his wry, but pure smile that used to twirl his big moustache, and make way for those bright molars to sparkle in light.
I missed him for what he was, and what he made me feel like, when I was with him.
I sat back hastily on my bed, and flunked away my crutch towards the giant mirror on my dressing, and watched it fall into million pieces.
I wanted to run; I wanted him to chase me in the backyard for breakfast, the way he used to.
I wanted to sprint, the way I used to do on those early sun-baked mornings, when we used to head to the local ground for cricket matches.
I gave a devastating look to a spider's web on my cricket kit that battled dust particles, and jumped off my bed.
The very next moment, I found my nerves battling each other, and to an endless pain, I collapsed to the floor.
I screamed, and shouted, and groaned, before the spiral in my mind came to a halt, and the dripping white ceiling, suddenly turned black.
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I woke up to a cold, watery sensation on my face.
'' Rasheed, why did you do this my son? '', said Ammi, all in sobs.
I rubbed my eyes and looked in her eyes.
She wore the similar, faded bottle green suit, covered with a yellow duppata on top. Her face seemed even more wrinkled, and I could see the mascara spread all over her face due to her tears.
''Rasheed, why don't you speak my son? Do you like it when you hurt yourself? '', Ammi's voice quivered, as she shook me by my shoulder.
I found myself stammering.
My mind was still wondering on how the ceiling was all white once again.
And my eyes were looking for the pieces of glass that adorned my floor sometime ago.
Before I could think more about things, a sudden piercing sensation of pain suddenly emerged in my amputed leg.
I started sobbing once again, and Ammi hugged me tight to her chest.
'' Ammi, I was just trying to...'', I managed before my mouth was cupped shut by her loving pair of hands.
'' Never try that again, son. NEVER! '', were her words.
My sobs suddenly broke out into wailing, and that was when my eyes caught a glimpse of the glistening golden ring, that adorned Ammi's ring finger.
It was after a long time I felt something.
I saw dad.
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Ammi - Rasheed's mother.
mascara - a cosmetic for darkening and thickening the eyelashes.
duppata - a length of material worn arranged in two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez, by women from South Asia.
