Scarred For Life

Chapter 3

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It was a Saturday just like any other, and an ordinary man in his ordinary car had just dropped off his extraordinary daughter at the gates of his brother's house, on a very ordinary afternoon.

"Remember to behave yourself, Afrah," he had said to her as she looked up at the house. "Remember your manners, and don't do anything that would make me or Umma angry. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Abba," she had nodded eagerly, holding her bag beside her as she walked up to the gate. Her father had waited until the gate was opened for her before he drove off, waving until she disappeared from his view.

"AFRAH!" her cousin, Nafisa had yelled excitedly the moment she entered the house, dashing towards her. Afrah had dropped her bag on the ground and sped off towards her as well, and both of them collided with tremendous force. It was a miracle that they hadn't broken each other's bones, or caused a miniature earthquake with the force of their hug.

"Mommy just said you would get here soon," Nafisa said as she pulled back, still keeping her hands around her cousin.

"Abba just dropped me off," she had replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"Come," Nafisa said excitedly as she pulled her towards the house. "Daddy hasn't woken up yet, but Umma and Junior are awake."

The maid had stepped out of the house and carried Afrah's bag in for her, while the two girls rushed in.

Afrah had greeted her aunt, and briefly hugged her cousin Yusuf while still holding Nafisa's hand. That was when he had come downstairs.

Her uncle Yusuf was a potbellied, wide-eyed and slightly less good-looking version of her father. He was wearing a black thobe which ended just above his ankle, as the girth of his belly had lifted the front part slightly. He narrowed his eyes as he stared down at his niece, a queer look in his eyes.

" Good afternoon, uncle Yusuf," Afrah had greeted her uncle, staring down at her feet as she curtsied, just as she had seen the grown women doing in the television.

"What's this formality?" he had chuckled, his voice deeper than her father's, but quite similar. "Come and give me a hug."

Afrah had walked over and hugged her uncle awkwardly, failing to notice how he held on for a fraction of a second too long. He had kissed her on the forehead, smiling broadly at her. He had looked so innocent, so normal and loving that no one would ever have imagined him capable of committing such a horrible sin.

"Where's your father?" he had asked.

"He just left," she had replied. "He asked me to greet you however."

"I will call him later," he had said, his hand still lingering on her shoulder. "Have you eaten?"

"I was just about to ask her that," her aunt had said.

Uncle Yusuf had glared at his wife suddenly, his nostrils flaring in anger. "You would have done that earlier if she was your own relative," he said in a clipped tone. "But since she's my own relative, of course you wouldn't bother to ask her whether she has eaten or not."

Silence fell over the five of them, before he stormed out of the living room. Aunt Maryam had stood up silently, a blank expression on her face as she headed upstairs. It took a few minutes before the tension in the living room had dissipated, and Nafisa switched on the television so they could watch a movie.

"Who's that?" Afrah said, pointing at the frame which hung above the television. It was a picture of their family. Uncle Yusuf sat on the left, while Aunt Maryam sat on the right. Nafisa sat on her father's lap, barely older than a toddler, while Yusuf sat on his mother's lap as a baby. And behind them was an unfamiliar face, a thin but handsome young boy who appeared to be no older than twelve or thirteen.

"That's Yaya Adnan," Nafisa had said. "You don't know him, do you?"

Afrah shook her head, and soon after forgot about the photograph completely. She and Nafisa had spent the entire day watching television, and when the electricity went off, they went upstairs to her room where they plaited the hair on all her dolls. Her uncle had returned while they were doing that, popping into the room to make sure they were all fine before he returned to his room, dark thoughts beginning to form in his mind.

That night, he didn't sleep. Neither did Afrah or Nafisa, as they both stayed up talking well into the early hours of the morning. The next day, aunt Maryam had come to check on them, fully dressed and about to head out on an errand. Seeing that they were both asleep, she had decided to go with Yusuf instead, who followed her eagerly.

Afrah had woken up at exactly 10am, and the first thing she saw was Nafisa still sleeping soundly beside her. Leaving her to her business, she had taken her bath and worn her clothes, heading downstairs where the house was silent and empty. She had switched on the TV, flicking through the channels until she saw 'A Bug's Life' was airing.

Uncle Yusuf had appeared moments later, telling her to head upstairs to his room and fetch his phone in the drawer. As she left, he had battled with himself whether he should stop now, while there was still time to do it. But in the end, his desire took over. He headed after her, leaving his soul at the door as he entered the room after her, locking the door behind him before he succumbed to the lowest of sins.

Nearly an hour later, he stood towering above the frail figure of his niece, the darkness in his eyes finally gone and replaced with the softest of smiles.

"Do yourself a favour and forget this ever happened," he had said. "It would do you some good, you know."

And so he left, leaving the little girl more broken than she could ever be, with the horrific memory imprinted in her mind forever. She could never remember how long she spent sobbing on the mattress, or how exactly she had gathered her clothes about her afterwards and left the room, returning to Nafisa's room where the latter was still sleeping soundly. Sore and miserable, Afrah had laid on the bed and continued to cry her heart out. His scent still lingered around her, which caused her to cry even more. And every day after that, she would still remember the smell, and the feeling of him above her, his eyes aflame with a cold fury as he took her innocence.

Afrah had left the house the very next day, after calling her mother in tears and saying she wanted to come home. She was supposed to spend a week in the house, but nothing in this world or the next could have compelled her to remain there for a second longer than was necessary. She spoke to no one about it, not even Nafisa, who kept asking her why she was suddenly quiet. Afrah said nothing, for she had aged a hundred years in that day, thrust so forcefully into a part of the world she had hitherto known nothing about.

And thus her life had been changed forever that day, while the culprit went scot-free. He continued to live normally, while she paid dearly for a crime she didn't commit.

In the end, it is always the innocent that suffer.

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