Dear mom, I'm sorry

S

🌹

"Your Lord has decreed that you worship none but Him and be good to your parents. Whether one or both of them reach old age with  you, do not say to them a word of annoyance and do not repel them but  rather speak to them a noble word. Lower to them the wing of humility for them out of mercy and say: My Lord, have mercy upon them as they  brought me up when I was small."

[Surat Al-Isra 17:23-24]

Loud music filled Aisha's room without effort, like the waves filling holes in beach sand. Sounds echoed through her room rushing in and around her and her friends. The music was so loud that it made her skin tingle and her lungs feel like mush. The bass thumped in time with her heart beat as though they were one, filling her from head to toe with music. 

Listening to the arithmetic beat of the bass feels her with warmth. Aisha lived for music. Whenever she hears music playing she begins to tingle, even for a solitary instrument.

Shaking vaguely her head, she watched her friends tingling crazily over this demonic music that was playing while she was sitting in bed. They're chilling, they're having fun. They were breaking rules ...

It just feels right ..

She tilted her head towards the edge of the bed, and slowly she inhaled, her system responding to the smoke, and she felt her lungs being wrapped by a warm blanket. Taking small, slow draws of the cigarette, she felt delighted, like she had never felt before.

But this evil pleasure quickly faded away as she got aware of her mother's sudden knocks.

"Aisha!" Her mother called out. "Aisha opens this door"! Her mother, Fatima claimed vigorously, knocking gradually at her daughter's door, she waited for a while and as she received no response she knocked again. "Aisha"!

Startled by the sudden knocks, Aisha quickly turned the volume down-low and headed towards the door with a groan as her friends quickly hid the pack of cigarettes under her bed and tried to clean up the mess they caused.

"What? Why are you knocking at the door like that? Don't you see that I'm busy"? Aisha spoke up aggressively, opening the door mildly.

"Aisha, what are these noises? Aren't you supposed to study with your friends?"

"What are you guys even doing inside"? Her mother asked, trying to get a peep of what's happening inside but Aisha blocked her way, rolling annoyingly her eyes.

"Just tell me what you want"!

"Turns this music off for good, it is almost Maghreb time." Her mother said firmly, remaining passive about her child's behaviour.

"So"? Aisha asked in a rude tone, crossing her arms with a frown.

"So"? Her mother's eye grew wider. "Go prepare yourself and get ready to pray and tell your friends to return to their homes it is getting late."

"We were on our way to leave." A friend of Aisha named Maryam interrupted accompanied by another girl, Imaan. They took their stuff and walked out of the room.

"Thank you for the hospitality Mrs Khan." They thanked before turning to Aisha. "See you tomorrow."

Aisha waved as she watched them leaving. As the door closed, she turned to her mother, the heart full of rage. "Really? Did you just send them out? Why do you always spoil the fun"?

Her mother didn't respond considering it wouldn't change anything to that.

For some reason, Aisha couldn't just stand her mother. Her childhood wasn't really a happy one. Early on Aisha's dad skipped out of their lives when she was only five. Her mother, Fatima was about to give birth to her little brother, Adam when her husband left them for another woman.

Being all alone Fatima had to make end meet to educate and raise her children which was highly painless; she'd get up early in the morning get her children ready, drop them to school and spend every waking hour earning enough money to pay the bills and buy groceries.

Having to sort it out at thirteen, Aisha had to face the difficulties of life all by herself; knowing that she'd come back to an empty home, knowing that her mother would miss another school activity, knowing also that she wouldn't show up at the parent-teacher conference.

All those built up resentments she kept to herself but felt towards her parents; especially her mother has turned into a rebellion which worsened inadequately during the teenage phase. Aisha's become someone else which leaded to an unhealthy relationship with her mother.

Because Aisha has learnt only to count to one but only herself and that was the kind of daughter Fatima was dealing with.

"You just annoy me." Aisha spitted out before slamming her door shut, leaving her mother hanging there alone.

Enraged, she sat in bed and lit another cigarette to smoke, contemplating the white wall in front of her when her phone vibrated into her pocket. She whipped it out and read her friend's message aloud:

❃❃ ❃❃

'Still coming'?

No.

Why?

My mom has just ruined my mood.  

She's just jealous of you, she can't stand how pretty and popular you are. She wishes she could have it.

Hm, guess so.

Just come it's gonna be the best party ever.

I'll see.

❃❃ ❃❃

Feeling annoyed, she joined her little brother Adam who's watching cartoons in the living-room. She took a seat besides, put her headphones on and was listening to music. Meanwhile, her mother Fatima was in the kitchen making biryani for the children when the landline phone suddenly rang. She was about to go to pick it up when she realized that someone had to look after the scalding sauce onto the stove. She has decided to call her daughter Aisha for help.

"Aisha, can you come here for a second"? She called out but only to receive no response. "Would you pick up the phone then for me"? She continued.

"Aisha"? She insisted but Aisha didn't reply and pretended she didn't hear anything.

Her mother continued calling Aisha but she purposely didn't give any response, instead she turned the volume believing that her mother would stop calling.

"Why weren't you responding"? Her mother asked as soon as she entered the piece where Aisha was, holding a tea towel in one hand.

"Huh? What are you even talking about"? Aisha grimaced, pretending she doesn't know what she's talking about.

"Aisha," Her mother called out, arms crossed and eyes locked on her. "I'm your mother, I'm the one who gave you birth by the Will of Allah so stop fooling around with me because I know you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Aisha got up on her feet and declared, rigid with fury. "Talking to you is such a waste of time, I'm leaving."

"Aisha come back here, we haven't fi-"

The slam of the door came like punctuation. It cracked through the house as loud as any whip, stinging at her mother's insides, leaving her dying without an injury to show for her pains.