Love isn't always butterflies and pounding hearts. Love can also lie, deceive and betray.
Her way of seeing the world was a lot different from his. She was broken with open wounds, standing high on her throne and giving no damn to the world. A stron...
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Pushing a piece of khubz with an olive in his mouth, Fayd watched his sister and nephew fight for the last piece of kebab from last night in amusement. How long had it been since he had Arab food or that he saw his sister fight with every other person. Pakistan was his country but the United States was his home– this place, Malik residence, was his home. He chewed on the bread watching his seven years old nephew spew words he learnt from the school. He was amazed at how quick the kids these days learned things. Fayd used to pick and throw stones at people at that age.
His days in Pakistan weren't always gloomy and dull. He did have good days, he did have good people around him but they weren't enough to stop the darkness from creeping up to him. He was yet again held down by the dark realities of people. He was yet again held down by how ruthless people. Then again a boy who was homeschooled all his life wouldn't really know the world until he saw it for himself.
"Samara," He called her. The boy who was holding her fork left it in a shock. His chachu wasn't scary, only his voice was. His nephew retracted in sadness, looking at his phupho who was grinning after almost tasting the victory. Almost being the keyword.
"Give it to Zaroon and get something else for yourself." He bit on the olives. Enough for her to make a face at him.
"Akhi-" Samara stopped when Zaroon dropped his fork accidentally," Fayd bhai, my taste buds refuse to eat unseasoned olives and plain khubus. Sorry." It was nothing new for Samara to see him eat bland food but he had a fetish for simple and Arab food. The simpler the food, the better he was. Their mother used to cook her traditional food only because her middle child loved to eat them.
"Then don't. I don't agree with giving my food to you. Take your phone out and order takeout. I'm sure you've done it plenty of times since last week." He rumbled, tearing another morsel of the bread.
"I'm a lot civilized if you ask me." Samara shrugged her brother's growl off her shoulders as she stood up to take a hold of the home printer that laid in the living room. Fayd exhaled, shaking his head and turning towards his nephew and finding him biting on the pieces of kebabs. He had just woken up an hour ago to the loud yelling of his mother who was trying to bring her kids to the place for breakfast. The woman was very active for her age.
"Chachu?" He looked up from his food. The innocence on Zaroon's face– he wanted to see it till he lived his last day on the face of the earth. He wanted to keep the kid's innocence intact and for that he would fight a war with whomever that became a hurdle.
"Jee?" He pressed on his words, a smile enveloping his mouth.
"How long is your stay?" To say, Fayd was stunned to speak would be an understatement. He could feel the reluctance in his tone as he uttered a few words that were enough to shake his grounds.
"I'm not going anywhere now, chachu ki jaan." He tried to smile at the kid. He adjusted the temples of his glasses as he did so. The kid, however, wasn't convinced like he knew where it was going to end. Like he was going to leave. And the fact that remained, he was. He was leaving New Orleans with Ayat to help her with whatever she wanted. He was leaving and he didn't know how to tell that to go a boy who had been fond of him before even meeting him in person. But he wouldn't be gone for long. This time, it would be half an year at the most.
