Angel in the Courtyard [Book 2]

Chapter 71 - Khaleel.

I vividly remembered the day I moved into Kumar's condo. It was right after my trip to Pakistan, when I returned home broken and lost. Dad had to catch a flight from Islamabad to Dhaka, so we went our separate ways at the airport. He didn't want me to be injured and an unaccompanied minor, so he had his assistant take care of me. Back then, my relationship with Kumar was pretty fucking dull, but after he heard about my encounter with Wassem, he began to take a special interest in me. I wasn't sure if it was out of pity or obligation but I didn't question a good thing.

Heston Circle wasn't my first pick. As a thirteen year old, I had zero interest in living in the suburbs. I expected the days to go by slowly and sure enough, that was exactly what happened. By the time my wounds healed, Kumar was ordered to return to work. I couldn't deny that I felt a little lonely without him. He went out of his way to entertain me, to cook for me, and he taught me different ways to improve my boxing skills. He even purchased and installed a punching bag in the living room to help with my recovery.

After that, Kumar spent a lot of time outside the condo, handling dad's North American clients. One afternoon, while I was home alone, I practiced my moves on the punching bag. I wore my sneakers indoors, which was usually a big no-no, but Kumar had foam mats placed down so it was okay. I sported a pair of black athletic shorts, and went bare chested to spare my shirts from perspiration. I was big for my age and because of all the competitions I had fought in overseas, and all the roughhousing in Pakistan, my muscles had become lean and defined.

It was one of the many reasons I didn't hesitate to help the girl who came banging on the condo door. I didn't know Reyhanna's name at the time, nor did I bother to ask for it. All I could focus on were her tears and how frantic she sounded while shouting, "She might kill him! Please! My aunt might kill him!"

Reyhanna had no idea who I was but she was so desperate, she clung to me and weeped for aid. She pulled me out of the condo and down the hall to another complex number. There was a crack in the door. I could hear a woman shouting at someone inside, at first it sounded like a mother disciplining her child, but the longer I listened, the faster I came to a more frightening conclusion. It wasn't parenting. It was abuse. I kicked the door open and sprinted into the living room, where I saw Reyhanna's aunt striking a boy, who looked to be around the same age as me, with a belt. She wasn't just hitting his ass or the back of his hand like any other immigrant parent, no, she was whipping the boy's whole body relentlessly.

"Hey!" I yelled, getting her attention.

The woman glared daggers at me. "Who is this?" she asked her niece in Urdu. "Who did you bring into my house?"

Reyhanna flinched and hid close behind me. I pulled my phone out and sent Kumar a quick text to ask for help. "What are you doing?" the woman snarled, speaking to me in English. "Who are you contacting? The police? Go ahead! This is my son. He's my flesh and blood! I can do as I like!"

"Get the fuck away from him," I said, stuffing the phone back in my pocket. I stared at her point blank and clenched my fists.

Reyhanna's aunt looked directly at her. She called her a string of terrible names in Urdu and launched to beat her with the belt next, but I was able to block her with my wrist. The pain was sharp and stung me but I could handle it. It was better me than Reyhanna. The woman tightened her grip on the belt, just as her son scurried away in fear. She was going to strike me again. I could tell by her malicious smile and the weak stance she held.

My body froze. My cousins had beat me with far worse. This would be nothing. This would be child's play, I knew that, and yet my legs refused to budge. Just as the woman lifted her arm to strike me, I felt a big and warm hand grab my shoulder and pull me out of the way. I turned to find my old man standing behind. He caught the belt with his bare hands and wrapped it around his own palm. He then whipped it back at the woman and struck her jaw with the metal end. It wasn't enough to drop her. But Yusuf Abdul didn't need to drop her. All he had to do was reveal the firearm under his own belt and scare her into submission.

I got a hold of Reyhanna and rushed out of the condo before we became witnesses to a murder. He wouldn't kill her. My old man wouldn't. I had to believe that. And yet I couldn't put it past him to threaten her with more than her life. I held Reyhanna in the hallway and patted her head. I tried to soothe her worries and my own by gently rubbing her back.

My dad exited the complex a few minutes later with the young boy's hand in his. There was no gun shot. I could relax. I could breathe and yet it was fucking hard to. "What exactly would you have done if I hadn't come by?" he asked me.

"Papa, I—"

"I only have you beta," he said, referring to me as his 'son'. "If anything happened to you where do you think that would leave me?"

I was surprised to hear him say that. He didn't seem to mind when my cousins beat the living shit out of me, so why did it matter if a stranger struck me a few times with a belt? What was the difference? Why did he pick and choose when to give a shit? I desperately wanted to ask him but I couldn't muster up enough courage to.