Nazakat ✓

3 || You're the Only Person I Know Who Can Make Silence Sarcastic

-3 || You're the Only Person I Know Who Can Make Silence Sarcastic

RAQS : DANCE

The week rolled by pretty smoothly. I didn't get a lot of work to do and no undesired drama managed to stir up in both university and home. 

Well, I can scratch off home now, since look who just decided to show up.

It was Saturday morning when I was happily curled up in bed snoring the sleep out of me when we heard the doorbell ring at like, eight forty.

At first, I ignored it, knowing that someone, at least someone, would open the door. 

But of course, after three persistently shrill rings had rung like a torture for the ears inside our blissfully quiet house, had I finally popped open my eyes, all while making a nasty face and groaning. Pulling my head up from the pillow, I glanced at the clock and let out a hiss seeing the time.

One day- I thought as I threw off the covers and opened my bedroom door- one day is all I asked for a good day's sleep.

It was times like these when I thanked Abbu for having installed security cameras. Though I would never admit that to him because my dislike for them outweighed my likeliness. Glancing at the screen, I couldn't help but let out an agitated puff.

Mrs. Bashir was a monstrously tall woman who towered over everyone, including my six feet tall abbu, with an impressive height of six feet two. A height like that was pretty uncommon among women here, and me being stuck at five feet four cowered beneath her frame. It didn't help with the fact that she was quite healthy and could knock out Muhammad Ali with a fist or two if she wanted.

But that wasn't what caused her to be hated by us two siblings and, thankfully abbu, too. She was the gossip queen. The drama was her oxygen and spreading it everywhere was her carbon dioxide. It didn't help ammi was friends with her and the fact that she had no manners at all when it came to eating or sitting or well, anything for that matter.

Not bothering to go back up and putting on a *dupatta, because why the hell should and would I? I was sleeping, for crying out loud. She should be aware of that fact. To hell with that damned dupatta.

I went outside the steep slope of our garage and clicked open the door. 

And before I knew what was happening, a humongous arm swept my tiny frame off to the side as she stepped inside.

"Oh ho, Salam Alizeh *Beti! Oh ho, how hot it is out here! The damned weather I tell you, got me sweating like a dog!" She thrust a shopping bag into my arms as she huffed and puffed and unstuck her sweaty kurta from her chest.

And I watched with wide eyes as she exposed almost everything that lay inside during that un-sticking session. I quickly looked away, muttering a quiet *Astaghfirullah under my breath and struggled to hold the enormous shopping bag that covered half my sight.

She dragged her heavy frame up the driveway cursing the weather while I cursed her under my breath all the while struggling to close the gate and holding the stupid bag.

"I tell you, it's all you young generation's sins that are causing Allah's wrath upon us in the form of all this heat! I tell you, the day of Judgement is near!"

I simply rolled my eyes.

Or maybe it's a little something called 'global warming', nothing I'm sure you've heard of anyway.

"I tell you, pray five times a day, cover all those exposed chests of yours you young ladies-" her gaze stooped down towards my shirt and made an unpleasant pointed face while saying that, as I simply crossed my arms and glared at her, and not subtly at that either, "-stop all this dating shating  and get a grip on those snake-like tongues of yours!"