Struggling with the language of French,the protagonist's mother decides to hire a French tutor for her only daughter.
What happens when, 𝐴𝐴𝑌𝐴𝑇, an ordinary girl is mentally and sexually harassed by her male tutor? Is it her imagination? Or is...
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"No! I am done. I can't eat anymore" I frowned gazing at the bite my mother was trying to insert inside my mouth.
I was already heavily tensed about today's PTM. I don't even know how many times I recited Surah Fatiha, just for the sake of forgetting the dream and passing French.
I am still not over that dream. It's roaming around my brain rent free. This is so frustrating. In the hope of staying positive, I might not be able to bear the negative consequences at all.
Yesterday was so hectic with loads of homework-French homeworks- yes. He is the only teacher who pours loads of assignments like it's a child's play. While in reality, it's an actual rocket science for me.
The only good thing that occured was today was supposed to be a holiday and the compensation is the PTM at afternoon. Seriously? I just want to change school or elope somewhere today. I can't tolerate the sight of my dream turning into a reality. Horrific to me for a lot many reasons.
"Please, beta. Eat. You just had one bread." She spoke as she was still frantically making a helter-skelter effort. I fretted at the very sight. Her irrational pretense was annoying me.
At times she pours bucket of love. But when I need her in my worst times, she never arrives to my rescue.
"Ammi, I am not a child. Stop that irking antic of yours." I said furiously.
She sighed.
"What happened? Who is bothering my precious child" He said smiling lovingly.
My father pampered me the most. Not that I have any siblings. But I was more attached to him rather than my mother. He was someone I could rely on. He loved me and I loved him more. We were the perfect definition of the famous saying 'betiyan baap ki aankhon ka tukda hoti' (Daughters are the apple of their father's eye).
"See, I told Ammi I can't eat anymore. But still she-" I said seeping my eyes a bit. I was acting like a 5-year old. But this was the only way to get out of the situation.
"-Okay!Okay!. Aayat ki Ammi (Aayat's mom) why are you pestering my little child?" he said rolling his eyes planting a curve on his lips. He made 'who does like this' sort of look.
"Ahahah! Pestering! Wonderful!" Ammi stated sarcastically moving her hands up in the air.
"I am not pestering your child. Ask her" She spoke oogling me.
Abba gave me a look. I shook my head. His eyes were again ingrained on ammi expecting an answer from her. He knew I won't blurt out the truth.
"It's your princess daughter's PTM today. And she is doing all this drama so that we will give in to her demand" She said smirking. I was still sitting enraged.
My blood was boiling. My mind froze. I was going through a mixed feeling of anger and fear. On top of that my PMSing was making it hard for me. UGH! I hate PTMs. Well, who doesn't? But my case is different I believe. It actually is.
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PHYSICS - 75/80
CHEMISTRY- 73/80
BIOLOGY - 78/80
ENGLISH - 75/80
FRENCH - 22/80 ( FAILED)
The Marksheet read 'Class 11th Half-yearly Results'. The marks of French were written in bold red ink. Of course, I failed. Ya Allah! Why? Why this dream had to become reality?
My eyes were glued on the teacher's face. I couldn't face my mother. I could feel her eyes on me now and then. At once the teacher was praising me for the marks and at the other moment, I get an earful for my failure in French.
So yes my case was different. I aced all subjects except.
FRENCH.
And this is why I hated ptms, from every core of my heart.
This all started when I was asked to choose either French/Business/Psychology. Weird combination! I know. That was the least our stupid school would offer. Who keeps such an option? Well, our school does.
At that time I had no other option other than choosing French. All three subjects were new and unknown to my brain. However, I thought if I learned French it would increase my capabilities and fluency. Alas! That was an illusion. Unfortunately, I got bored literally just in 2 days. And the dreadful phase of my life began.
"Those are really nice marks aren't they," Abba said breaking the awkward silence in the home. It's been almost an hour since we reached home and Ammi didn't even utter a word. She was burning with anger, moving here and there breathlessly.
"Nice? You call them nice?" She spoke frustrated at my father's reaction.
"SHE.HAD.FAILED" She said after a pause emphasizing each word clearly audible.
I was sitting on the sofa with my hand folded, praying to God that she won't smack me. It felt like I am some criminal and they are fighting for or against me.
For. My father. Against. My mother. Undoubtedly!
After a rigorous argument, my mother concluded.
"That's it. I am hiring a French tutor for her" She said widening her eyes. I felt a stone on my heart.
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