I Want To Know (ON HOLD)

Ismael, The One Who Didn't Mind

After praying fajr and eating a large breakfast, I embarked on a chilly trip to my classes because my dumb ass brain had decided that an extra elective would be oh so fun without realizing it was a 7 A.M class. To say I was jealous of Astur snuggled in her blankets was an understatement. While she was toasty warm and getting some good rest, I was freezing my llama socks off. 

As I entered the class of Philosophy, the professor gave me the most heartwarming smile and embraced me as she handed me a cup of hot cocoa. I stiffened, not used to physical forms of endearment but secretly loving how sweet she was. I took my seat in the front row because I felt that I owed Dr. Stroll at-least my utmost attention as I sipped my hot beverage. 

The lecture hadn't started yet and I was enjoying the silence despite the slight hum of the radiators and the silent whisperings of the few students who had made it on time, when a familiar figure entered the class. It was a girl with thick brown hair plaited into a braid and deep almond eyes that spoke a story. She had full lips and walked with an air of uncertainty and daintiness. And then it hit me all of sudden. It was the girl Ismael might potentially marry. This is where I knew her from.

She happened to look up the exact moment I recognized her and despite my initial shyness when meeting new people, I waved with a bright smile that shouldn't be allowed at 7 something in the morning when it was this cold and I could've been sleeping and beckoned her to come sit with me.

A look of recognition happened to cross over her eyes too, and she smiled back, and boy was Ismael lucky because this girl seemed like a sweetheart. She changed her route and came to sit beside me as I extended my hand in greeting.

"Asalam O Alaikum! I'm Ahlam! I saw you that day in the restaurant!" I excitedly said.

She laughed. "Wa Alaikum Asalam, Ahlam! I'm Palwasha. I'm so sorry about my dad. He gets super excited sometime. Will you tell your friend that?"

I had been right with my assumption. She was a total sweetheart. "No worries Palwasha. Besides, I don't think Ismael minded. I'm glad something good came out of this early early class!"

"Me too!" She grinned and the lecture started abruptly. Through out the lesson we swapped stories and jokes and I began to like Palwasha more and more. If she was going to end up being basically my bhabi one day, I wanted to befriend her beforehand. And even if she wasn't, she was such a likable person, I'd never let go of her otherwise.

///

I was home for the holidays and nestled between my family as we watched a short horror film. One thing I loved about my family was that they shared my love for scary things and it didn't bother them afterwards. We also agreed on watching short horror films because it gave you the opportunity to enjoy a variety of stories in the same amount of time. 

The light were dimmed and blankets were everywhere, I was pretty sure Azaan and Daneen were whispering sweet nothings into each others ears and I thought that was the cutest, while I was buried between my parents, of which my father was asleep on my mother's lap, and my mother was throwing piece after piece of popcorn into her and my mouth. What would I do without her to be honest.

We were so emerged in the short film, that when the bell rang, we all jumped, hearts pounding, and forgot that we actually needed to answer the door. I decided to be the bigger person and open the door and with a heavy heart trudged towards the door, almost afraid.

I looked through the peephole and immediately shrieked in happiness. I unlocked the door and embraced Safaa as she waddled in from the cold.

"Can't let my bro have all the fun alone now can't I?" She answered once I inquired what she was doing at such a late hour. I nodded in agreement and we resumed our binge a thon, only getting distracted one while we all had an argument on just how much pasta one could eat before they died.

The answer was infinite. The answer was also my answer but that doesn't mean anything.

///

The winter holidays were coming to an end and I was dreading going back to school. I was also dreading the get together my mother was insisting on holding for no apparent reason at all but who could argue with Lyra Zayan. It wasn't exactly formal, but all us desi people had a million fancy clothes and zero places to wear them to.

I decided on a white outfit which was quite rare of me since I usually didn't wear white in fear of spilling some on it. I also straightened my hair and put it into a high ponytail and wore shoes for one. They were just a simple pair of strappy sandals. Daneen was coming over with Azaan and was supposed to arrive early because she had to tell our mother something. She arrived wearing a salwar kameez of deep blue velvet and a key hole on the front and looked great as always. There was also a sheer glow to her almost. It gave me ideas, but I kept them to myself.

Guests by guests entered our home and made their way to their gender specified sitting rooms after filling their plates and I bustled about seeing to every guests' needs and making sure they were fulfilled like a dutiful host. It was only when I went back into the kitchen to grab some samosas for Fozia Aunty when the problem of the night arose. 

I stood in the entrance of the kitchen, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. Only, I didn't have on average a million ticks on my person. The object of my current stance was the one and only, Yusuf Ali.

He stared back, eyes not leaving mine, hands holding a half empty plate as he leaned against the same counter he used to when we were in high school. I could almost picture it, taste the feeling in my mouth. Me, making baked goods that were sometimes only half edible, and him, trying them and telling me they were perfect. I was so caught in the moment that I didn't realize that a petty tear was already making its way down my cheek.

He did. Just like when we were younger, and if anything upset me, he would know. His eyes would blaze with anger and his demeanor would change. Never in a million years did I think that I'd be the object of his displaced fury one day. 

Before I could dart out of the kitchen, samosas forgotten, Yusuf took 3 long strides and grabbed on to my wrist in desperation. I didn't want to make a scene, so I stopped moving and turned to face him as I wriggled my wrist out of his grasp.

I made eye contact with him. Astonished to see his watering eyes that were giving rise to the plant of misery we had grown together. 

"What." I breathed, too upset, too angry, too full of emotions to form coherent sentences.

"I haven't seen you or heard your voice in so long, and I just couldn't let you leave like that. I'm sorry for grabbing you so harshly." He whispered and for a moment, my Yusuf was back.

"You lost that right." I angrily glared.

"I did. I lost that right. I lost your trust, and your love and your friendship. I lost you. And even though you won't forgive me, and you shouldn't either, I want you to know that I'm so sorry. Because when I wake up every morning, my first thought is of you, and how you used to text me a meme to make sure my day would start off well. I am constantly reminded of how much I've lost, and it's all my fault. I would give up everything to change that mistake. Everything I have today." I knew he wasn't expecting forgiveness, he knew he wouldn't get it. But as we stood there in that doorway, I could see his face searching mine for one. And I wished I could relent, change everything. But it was all done now. The first lone tear, was now accompanied by friends, and as his hand reached up to wipe them, I stepped back.

"Don't." I shook my head, using my dupatta to wipe them instead. "If you have a single morsel, a measly ounce of respect for me left, never speak to me again, because you know me well enough to believe that I will raise hell."

And with those words spoken, and the ideality of a being a good host lost, I trudged up the stairs, caressing my pen wounds, and nursing a bleeding heart.

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Outfit above is Ahlam's for the party.

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"Never let an old flame burn you twice"-Unknown