He Is The One For Me.

The Fiendish hands.

Surah Al-Ahqaf, Verse 15:

وَوَصَّيْنَا الْإِنسَانَ بِوَالِدَيْهِ إِحْسَانًا حَمَلَتْهُ أُمُّهُ كُرْهًا وَوَضَعَتْهُ كُرْهًا وَحَمْلُهُ وَفِصَالُهُ ثَلَاثُونَ شَهْرًا حَتَّىٰ إِذَا بَلَغَ أَشُدَّهُ وَبَلَغَ أَرْبَعِينَ سَنَةً قَالَ رَبِّ أَوْزِعْنِي أَنْ أَشْكُرَ نِعْمَتَكَ الَّتِي أَنْعَمْتَ عَلَيَّ وَعَلَىٰ وَالِدَيَّ وَأَنْ أَعْمَلَ صَالِحًا تَرْضَاهُ وَأَصْلِحْ لِي فِي ذُرِّيَّتِي إِنِّي تُبْتُ إِلَيْكَ وَإِنِّي مِنَ الْمُسْلِمِينَ

And We have enjoined on man doing of good to his parents; with trouble did his mother bear him and with trouble did she bring him forth; and the bearing of him and the weaning of him was thirty months; until when he attains his maturity and reaches forty years, he says: My Lord! grant me that I may give thanks for Thy favor which Thou hast bestowed on me and on my parents, and that I may do good which pleases Thee and do good to me in respect of my offspring; surely I turn to Thee, and surely I am of those who submit.

(English - Shakir)

via iQuran

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Δ Hadiyah Δ

I came back from the university and threw my bag away, it felt so heavy from the many notes Sir Aamir had given. Why can't he just compile the notes and give us a book all at once. How bothersome. I picked up my bottle, and filled it up with cold water from the dispenser.

I gulped it all down, not bothering to sit. The cold water felt extremely refreshing to my thirsty throat. Reaching for my hijab, I removed it ruthlessly, I had no patience today. I grabbed moma's brush and made a neat French twist out of my thick, red hair. My hair is red, an extremely unusual trait for a Pakistani. I got them from one of my non-Pakistani maternal ancestors. Ummi isn't a Pakistani national from birth. She's from Scotland, while dad was a Pakistani.

I glared at my phone.

~4:00 pm~

Two hours until my shift at the bakery, round the block. It's the only major source of income for us. Moma designs clothes and sells them to one of the local brands, but that doesn't yield much earning. Daddy passed away three years ago, leaving us to fend for ourselves. I have a 100% scholarship and hence we make ends meet somehow. Alhamdulillah!

"Hadiyah ," I heard ummi call.

'Yes moma?" I replied.

"Bachay(child), you don't have to go to the bakery today."

"Why, moma?," I asked.

"Hamid bhai (brother) is coming over."

Ummi starred at the floor. She knows how much I dislike Mr. Hamid Aziz. He is my so-called uncle. The older brother of my deceased father. I wrinkled my nose, pressed my lips together-real hard. I didn't want to upset my ummi. Sew your lips, respect your elders, don't talk back, don't be rude, and the list of rules goes on and on. You only have duties, no rights. Rights belong to uncle and his family alone, I and my ummi don't have any of those.

Even though Mr.H.A doesn't support us in the least; be it financially or otherwise. Ummi says, he still is our shield against the society. A guardian to the two lonely, vulnerable ladies. Since I attained puberty, ummi started stressing on his immense, invisible importance to us.