Taken As Reward (The war of politics and love BOOK 2 )

49. Aakhir

ZEHRA

I read the name on the screen, and now even Taara and Sarisha are calling me, maybe they found out that I am not there and neither is Daiwik. Every day, three times a day they call me. And I don't pick up.

I helped my mother with Abu, who was coughing and vomiting at the same time, I held his back and let him get himself out. I rubbed my hand on his back, his face hung low.

His coughing and bile stopped, and he was just hanging lowly. I touched his back, "Abu?" I called when his body turned even heavier and he was about to tumble forward and fall in his bile. I withheld him by his arm and pushed him back, his head falling backwards completely, his eyes open and widened but no blink, no stir of iris. Just blank.

"Abu!" I yelled loudly, Murshad in the corner of the room stirred with fear, ran towards Ammi and hid behind her, looking at me like I was going to hurt him.

But I watched my father and then turned to Ammi who stepped outside the bedroom.

The truth and the fact that my father was a disruption of many and all. His daughter.
 

Died.

My mother looked at my father and then fell on the floor. But no tears on her face, a smile pulling rather than the pain. While my chest was constricted, watching the life drained from the body made of only bones.

I tried to feel bad, to feel hurt. But how come? Even death of him, hasn't stirred any guilt in me for his end? My mother stays on the floor, thanking Allah, for finally giving him mercy and letting him die.

Living like an impair was more torturous than dying the most brutal death. And he deserved a brutal death. One that Daiwik would have given him, only if I wasn't the one he wanted more than his revenge.

Daiwik.

My mind recited this name like a bell. And my dead father in my hand, the fact that he was the reason I met the most beautiful person in my life, but he is also the reason I lost that person? I was to thank him for dying.

I am cruel and evil, for even in a situation like this, rather than feeling pain and disruption I felt relief and hope that maybe...maybe I won't feel guilty for what I have done to Daiwik, what my blood had done to Daiwik.

One that was dead now.

Tears stream down my face, wetting my cheek, same as my mother now but we both had different reasons to be happy. For her, she was happy that my suffering father was finally set to peace, that he was out of his misery.
But mine was to finally be gone, punished for what he did.

~

2 WEEKS LATER

The death of my father held my mother for the next ten days, while I mourned for 3 days. We were to portray patience in our culture. To portray understanding, and that he went to god after repenting his sins.

And that's how, we moved on, from going off my father's body.

~

I held my phone close to my chest sitting in front of my father's tombstone, and read the number of missed calls again. I don't know how to feel, but I looked back at my father's name on the stone, with blessings for his soul written in Arabic and thought. If he received his peace despite what he did.

Shouldn't we all? We all grieved for years of deeds done by him, and he is there. He goes to his god, without any obligation, because death is the end mile of sins committed on earth.

And I am living, Daiwik is living, in the suffering of what he had done? No. Even his sin should be forgiven.
But, often lets me wonder if can he be blamed for it.