Her Encounter | Islamic Story

Chapter 27

The multifaceted life of mine has left me beyond perplexed. So many things to think, so much to worry about, so much to cry over; it just never ends. Does it?

Holding a mug of coffee in my hand, seated on the couch, I was looking out through the tiny window of the kitchenette-furnished room I was in. Since morning I had been worrying what our next destination should be.

I have been living in Convanlea for ten years and I still have no idea what would be the ideal place for hiding. I should have been more of an outside person. Whatever happens, I wish that we never have to leave Convanlea.

"Denae, I don't think we'll find something in here. Your Dad is as clueless as us," Aiza said to me from the small bed she was sitting on, reading my Dad's journal. She was wearing a blue tank top and jeans, her hair were tied in a neat ponytail.

Reading each new entry on the journal left me troubled for long and as dramatic as it sounds, my breathing would become heaved and I would get depressed. I was starting to know the person Dad was behind the mask that he had put up with me, and it wasn't a pretty recognition.

So, Aiza decided to do me to favors by reading the whole thing herself until she would find something that would give us answer to the question bugging me for long; why exactly was Kantun killing us?

"Are you on the last one?" I asked whilst turning my body towards her. This room was more cramped than my hostel room; the kitchenette near the corner didn't help either. The yellow wallpaper was peeling from the walls and the room was hot being on the top floor. Surprisingly but thankfully, air conditioning worked well.

"No," she said ruffling through the pages. "There are a few left."

"Oh," I said and looked down at my hands. "How's Dad?"

"The same," she replied with a sad smile. Which meant broken.

I had nothing to say so I turned my head to look out of the window again. The sun was directly hitting the window, and so my yellow shirt brightened more, sending happy vibes, which never reached me. For the past two days since coming here I don't remember smiling once.

I slept on the couch the first night and Aiza on the bed, and we shifted roles the other night which was tonight. We could easily have afforded every room in this building but since we had to stay together, we just took one. The receptionist gave us knowing glances and weird smiles which I understood but didn't counter her thoughts. Who cared?

It was already afternoon, and we had to leave by evening as that would be the ideal time for most of the people would be outside and we could easily mix up in the crowd. Our bags were ready, sitting next to the door. They've been there since we came here in case we had to evacuate the place quickly. The only problem was the clothes we had washed; we obviously couldn't stuff them in the bag.

After leaving the hostel, every need of mine was fulfilled by my servants, and now from cooking to washing dishes and clothes, I had to do everything myself, but of course with Aiza's help.

"Have you ever known anyone who went through as much tribulations as I did?" I don't know why but I found myself asking the question. I briefly turned my head to her, who also had lifted hers from the journal, her expression said she was thinking about the answer. She wouldn't have. I thought and turned my head back.

"Muhammad," she replied although I thought she was back to reading the journals. "He suffered more than anyone ever did."

Religious talks make me crazy but I controlled my tongue and decided to play along. "How so?"

"Well," she said shutting the journal down, not before folding the page she was reading. "When he wasn't even born, his dad died. Six years after his birth, his mom passed away. Then his guardian who happened to be his grandfather passed away too. He was then taken under the guardianship of his Uncle."