His Runaway Bride

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Hayat

"Honey, could you pass me the salt?"

My aunt asked, her right hand still stuck in the dough she was kneading. An earring dangled from her right ear, which had several other piercings embedded in it. It reminded me of my Mom's.

"Here it is, Umm" I answered, passing the yellow jar full of salt to her. She gave me a grateful smile as she carefully tipped the jar into the dough while giving it a little shake.

We were having bread for dinner and she had, like always, insisted on making it. My uncle's wife, Mariam, took care of I and my siblings like we were her very own. Ever since we had turned up at her door, I and Kayra, because Khalid was in a coma then, she had adopted us into her heart and was a shield for us from my uncle's wrath.

"Did you later find a job?" My aunt asked, pouring the dough into a pan as I watched, mesmerized. I loved watching people cook even though I was an absolute failure at the act itself. Cooking was just not my forte. But at least, I could pride myself on my ability to make good toast. Unlike Kayra, who could burn water.

"No, I didn't."

I replied dejectedly. The jobs I had found would not give me enough chance to work on my script and the rest of them did not pay well.

"Don't lose hope. Allah will provide a job for you." Aunt Mariam said, giving me a small smile. "You know, you remind me of someone. Always so hard-working and full of zeal."

"Who?" I asked curiously.

"Your mother, Zainab. She was my best friend and number one motivator," Aunt Mariam answered, placing the pan into the oven. She tapped a little button and the oven's light came on, signaling that the dough was baking. "I was devastated when I heard of the accident. That's why you and your siblings are so dear to my heart."

My eyes misted as I recalled the accident. We were on our way to the zoo that day because my dad got a day off work and my mom's shift at the hospital ended early. We had been so happy, until a huge trailer had crashed into our car, killing both my parents, leaving Khalid in a coma while only Khayr and I were left untouched except with a few scratches and mild injuries.

"May Allah grant them into paradise," I said, wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my shirt. We never had a family photo and only Khayr and Khalid reminded me of how my mother looked like because they resembled her exactly. Aunt Mariam used to ask me to look into the mirror if I wanted to recall how my dad looked like.

The only link to them I had physically was the manuscript I had found in my dad's drawer after his death.

"Ameen," Aunt Mariam replied. "Go change out of your clothes, Hayat. The smoke from the oven will soil them."

"Alright," I said, making my way out of the kitchen. It was a small room, like the rest of the house. Uncle Fuad had often grumbled that he'd have gotten a bigger place if he wasn't saddled with the responsibility of his dead brother's children.

Firdaus had been right to say that my uncle was selfish. He had a lot of money but wasn't willing to spend it on anyone or anything. The tiles on the kitchen floor were broken in several places just like the paint on the wall which had faded a long time ago.

"Oh and Hayat," My aunt called, interrupting my line of thought. "Your uncle called, he asked you to dress in your most beautiful gown. He's bringing visitors."

My uncle seldom had visitors. A part of me had long concluded that the reason for this was because he found it hard to spend money on hospitality. Therefore, it was really surprising to hear of the news.