The One For Me (Watty Awards 2012)

Chapter 1: Wake up call

Marriages in India are mostly always arranged. In the orthodox community, the parents choose the couple who are supposed to be married. The girls and boys are not given an option to choose who they would spend the rest of their lives with. People in the modern world may think this is a cruel practice. Let me take you to one such story, of what happens when the times are modern but the parents are old-fashioned.

Chapter 1- Wake up call

 I woke up to at the break of dawn as usual because of the clank of dishes in the kitchen, indicating that my mother was up. My mom and I were very similar in our habits and actions. Like, both of us woke up early, loved fish and chips, were very stubborn and got angry very easily.

I groaned as I got up from my bed, running a hand through my unruly hair, making it stick up in all directions. It was just around six, so I went to the bathroom, and washed my face. I looked in the mirror, staring at my still sleepy looking face.

I was a twenty-five year old guy, tall, about six ft, had a little stubble on my chin and had light brown eyes with pitch black hair. I wasn't very dark but was just a little tan. In short, I was very conscious of the fact that I was good-looking and always had girls around me.

But my parents were totally oblivious about this. They thought I was a good boy, who never looked at girls in a wrong way. I smirked, running a wet hand through my hair, so that it gave a sexy just- out-of-the-shower look. Only my friends knew that I was a born player. And I played well enough to drive all females crazy. Sometimes guys too, but I don't bend that way.

After a few necessary morning rituals, I got out of the bathroom and headed downstairs. I went into the kitchen, and pecked my mom's cheek in a quick kiss.

"Good morning sweety," she said beaming at me, and handing me a plate of her famous pancakes, as I took a seat at the kitchen table.

I raised an eyebrow. Pancakes, in our house, were a special treat. Especially my mom's unique and amazing pancakes.

"What's special today?" I asked, already stuffing my face.

"What do you mean?" she said, taking a cup of coffee and sitting across from me.

"Mom, come on," I said, gulping down my own coffee, "we never have pancakes unless we are celebrating."

Was it my imagination or did my mom appear a little nervous?

"Well, it's a new day!" she laughed half-heartedly, still appearing perturbed.

"Seriously?" I said, giving her a flat look.

She averted her eyes from me, looking down at her drink. I looked at her suspiciously, but then let it go. Females were weird sometimes, but I wasn't complaining; I got the pancakes.

After a short silence, during which I had wolfed down almost all of the pancakes, and was just starting to get up to get ready for my job when my mom spoke again.

"Your dad's coming home," she said silently.

I froze. Her words sent a chill of fear down my spine. "Excuse me?" I said, wishing desperately that I had heard her wrong.

She looked up and for the first time that morning he saw her nervousness change to tiredness and apprehension. "Your dad. He is coming back from his trip this afternoon. And he wants to talk to you, so don't think of leaving the house today."

I slumped back in my chair, feeling tired myself.

Remember I said my mom and I were similar in our anger issues? Well those issues were no where close to my dad's.

My dad was a man of power and domination. He was a politician, and I was almost completely sure that he hated me. He was someone who never refrained from hitting me, even now. The truth was that he never wanted a son. Or a child, for that matter. I was an accident, and my dad regretted it from the moment my mom announced that she was pregnant.

I put my elbows on the dining table and rubbed my forehead. All my life I'd been 'shunned' by my dad. My mom was the one had who raised me.

By now, my head was pounding with an impending headache. And then I felt a hand on my arm and I looked up at my mom again. She was looking at me, concerned. "Sweety, I know you don't want to see him but he is your father-"

"He is not my father." I gave her a cold look, and left the table. Before I could leave, I heard her voice again, but she sounded angry now. Wow, shocker.

"Amesh Bhatia, don't you dare get angry over this!" She seethed. "It's not my fault he is coming back!" 

Her voice broke at the end and I felt sorry for her. It wasn't her fault, that was true.

While I'd never had a fatherly figure in my life, she'd never had a husband. Yet she had never cheated on him. I couldn't say the same thing about my father. He was forever on one of his 'trips'. Though I never figured out why a politician had to travel so much.

I turned around and faced her. Tears were falling silently down her face as she stared heatedly at me. I instantly regretted everything I had ever done to hurt her.

I sighed as I went around the table to her and took her in my arms. She sobbed into my chest and my own eyes burned with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry mom," I said, quietly.

"I'm so tired of all this, Am," she cried. "He is never here for me. He is not the man I fell in love with. I don't know what to do."

I felt helpless and weak because I couldn't do anything for her. I held her tighter to me. "It's okay mom. Everything will be alright."

I knew I was lying. There was nothing I could do to help my mom, I knew that. I just had to be there with her always. Just so that she was never alone.

Little did I know, I was lying to myself too.

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This is my first story, guys! And I know it's kinda boring right now, but i promise it will be better soon. This is just the beginning...

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Bubblegum

PS. This chapter is dedicated to my first fan Lammalord! Thanks girl!

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