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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He was done– so done with his mother and sister's cribbing in the morning. Fayd shifted and stirred in his bed trying to block out their loud yells and get some sleep before the day kicked his ass out of the bed. He needed sleep so he could have a clear mind for the rest of the day, for he knew it shouldn't be more than three hours since he hit the bed. However, hearing their quarrels made him feel at home given this was what he usually woke up to before he left for Pakistan. His mother would run after her daughter, trying to get her to do things or get her out of the house for a while. Their recent quarrels were about her marriage and how she was going to cope after getting married if she continued being a nuisance while a young boy got ready for school.
Burying the right of his face into the pillow, his hand worked against the surface of the side table and the bed in search of his phone– clearly, he didn't remember where he sent his phone flying after he sneaked in at twenty past three am. His mother would have pushed a stick down his throat for coming late. The household had curfews and everyone was expected to abide by them, no matter the age. But then it was his mother's strict parenting that made them into whatever they were. His older brother– a respectful and respectable man. His sister– although he had nothing much to flaunt about her lazy self– was good at studying and everything else she had attempted to do. On the other hand was him, who lived by every middle child's name- a disastrous disappointment.
Wrapping the comforter around his ears, he curled up like a moth trying to avoid the fire but it was the combustion that couldn't be avoided. The comforter didn't help and the phone was missing. He knew he was done for the day. Pushing himself away from the pillows, he dragged out of the bed and opened the curtains allowing the rays of the sun to slither through the glass. The day was very much positive– it was him that disliked the positivity it shed already. Making a face at his reflection in the mirror, he walked into the bathroom and when he was done he dashed out of his room, still looking for his phone.
"Ammi aap ne mera phone dekha?" He chided as soon as he walked into the main hallway that led him to the kitchen and the living hall.
"Haan." She replied, flipping a piece of french toast. He gagged when the raw stench of eggs hit his nostrils.
"Where?" He asked, his eyes filled with hope. He— no— the universe could vouch that the thirty-three-year-old man had nothing on his phone except for a few contact numbers and a bunch of emails.
"Last night. In your hands when you walked out on your father." She hollered, pushing her son aside to serve the daughter she was yelling at just a few minutes ago.
"Ammi, please." There was urgency in his voice like he was desperately trying to avoid what was inevitable. The second he crossed the threshold, he knew his mother was going to slam it in his face every time she saw him for disrespecting his father.
"You seriously need to watch your actions, boy. Lack of respect towards parents is not accepted in my house." That was it. She ended the matter and he was smart to not answer back.
