Furore

12| So Difficult.

12| So Difficult.

I did not know what to do because I could neither sit nor stand nor study nor sleep nor do anything. I just felt, felt that I didn't want to feel; a constant restlessness gripping my heart strong and shock.

I could tolerate any kind of pain, I could tolerate anger, I could tolerate disgust or say I could tolerate any other feeling of the world but when it came to feeling restlessness, I lost every damn time.

I hated feeling it because nothing made my chest more empty but full like it at the same time. With restlessness came a number of feelings, all in haze and in a daze.

With restlessness came confusion; with it came the feeling of you knowing what was wrong but still not knowing exactly what was everything.

With restlessness came a hell lot of helplessness, with it came the desire to do, to get out of the problem but at the same time you could feel being pulled back, you could feel clueless about all that you could do.

I sighed, not able to take it anymore. I walked up to the corner of the balcony, staring down at my garden.

I could look at all important board members of my father's company, look at their serious faces and then look at my father's body that was tensed like I had never seen before, his face vacuum of all the shine and glow it always had.

It hurt me, out of all the people I could see in ache, he was surely not the one. I could not see him anything but only and only happy and right now my heart ached miserably watching him enter into the house so sad and troubled.

I could not help but ask why life did not have any principles? Why it always had to start and play from absolutely nowhere, with no warnings whatsoever? It was so ruthless and unscrupulous.

"Sithara." I heard my mother's voice entering in. I turned around and sat again knowing she was finally there to talk and answer me.

"Firstly, drink this milk." She put the glass in front of me, wanting me to take it and swallow it in a go. It was true, I was still a kid, I drank milk and not tea or coffee not that I liked drinking it but still I did it.

"Hmm, just keep it." I directed her hand to the table and she murmured a no in an annoyed voice. "Mumma, I will okay?" I assured her and she did so.

There was silence, I could witness her features tired and pained, her eyes so heavy and baggy, her skin lustreless.

"Why would uncle Imran do this to us, Mumma?" I eventually asked, I knew she would not tell me until I forced her to.

She looked up at me and then glanced at the floor, pondering. "I don't know." She replied feebly. "But it is not that we are too astound, it's not the first time."

"I know. I just got to know." I told her all worked up. I was aghast coming in terms with the reality of our lives only today. "Why did I not know about it, Mumma? Why you all never told me?"

"It did not matter, you knowing and not knowing. He has been friends with your father for years now, he still did not care before screwing up our business. You knowing would not have caused any difference?" She answered to me plainly.