Diary on The Shelf!

Chapter 35

YASMIN KHALID paced restlessly in the dimly lit living room, her patterned dera tucked into her camisole. The air hung heavy with the scent of incense, a familiar comfort now disrupted by the unsettling tension in the room. Her footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor, a dissonant beat to the soft Arabic songs playing from the television in the background. Each stride she took seemed to reverberate with the weight of her worry. She huffed and crossed the room to the kitchen, where the cool, sterile surfaces offered no solace.

There, she grabbed her phone from the cold counter, the device now a lifeline to her distant daughters. Returning to the living room, the muted glow of the television casting flickering shadows, her pacing became even more apparent against the carpeted floor. The atmosphere was thick with a sense of urgency, an unspoken desperation in each measured step she took.

She sighed, tapping on the screen; Ifrah's name popped up. Yasmin's face soured when the ringing went unanswered. She cut the call, her eyes hard, and dialed again.

'Finally, you answered my call! How long does it take to answer the phone, huh?'

Ifrah sighed from her end. 'I was in the bathroom, ma.'

'I see. So now that you've taken Halima away, you don't want to come home, huh?'

Ifrah clenched her jaw, exhaling harshly. She grabbed her towel, draped it over a hook in the bathroom, and walked out.

'No one's taking her from you, ma. You pushed her away.'

'Of course, you say that. She's clearly making the wrong choices, and with you supporting her!' Yasmin's voice rose, the corners of her mouth turned down. 'Have I not raised you two in the best way? The way of our Islam? Where did I go wrong?'

Ifrah shook her head, her mouth falling open. Three weeks had passed since Halima left, only sending a text to their dad. As much as Ifrah understood her mom's frustrations, it didn't justify the guilt-tripping.

'I've given you everything you've asked for, Ifrah, and you both do this to me? What will your aunts say? That I'm a failure to my family? Is that what you both want?'

Ifrah huffed, a turbulent mixture of frustration and sadness escaping her lips. She pulled the phone away from her ear, her breath catching in her chest. The weight of her mother's words pressed upon her, a heavy burden that seemed to suffocate her. At that moment, the room around her felt too small, the air too thin. She took a deep breath, attempting to compose herself, but her eyes betrayed the storm of emotions within. Softening, they became windows to the conflict waging within her.

Yasmin's voice broke, tears clouding her vision, her harsh demeanor dissipating with every passing second as she longed for her girls. 'I just want you both back home.'

Ifrah's heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in her mother's voice. The distance between them, once measured in miles, now felt like an insurmountable chasm of misunderstanding. She imagined her mother standing alone, a silhouette of longing, and for a moment, Ifrah found herself on the brink of crumbling. The soft plea echoed in her ears, a reminder of the love that still lingered beneath the layers of pain.

Ifrah felt her own tears pricking her eyes, the first time she'd heard her mother speak of her in longing. It warmed and broke her heart. Her fist clutched the pillow even tighter to stop her tears.

Ifrah's breath caught in her throat, a mix of surprise and vulnerability surfacing at the sound of her mother's desperate plea. It was the first time in what felt like an eternity that Yasmin had expressed a longing for her daughters. A bittersweet warmth enveloped Ifrah's heart.  Yet, beneath that warmth, a fracture widened, the pain of their strained relationship resurfacing. As tears threatened to spill, she clutched the pillow tighter, a feeble attempt to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

Yasmin's pacing eventually led her upstairs to the girls' old rooms. In Ifrah's room, she ran her fingertips along the shelves that held her old books, cleaning off the dust, rearranging, and changing the sheets. Doing the same for Halima's room, just to feel their presence in their home.

As Yasmin ascended the staircase, echoes of memories played like a haunting melody in her mind. The rooms, once vibrant with the laughter and essence of her daughters, now felt like remnants of a time she desperately wished to reclaim. In Ifrah's room, her touch lingered on the shelves, where old books held tales of a shared childhood. 

Dusting away the residue of neglect, she rearranged them with a tender touch, as if hoping to rearrange the fragments of their fractured bond. Changing the sheets, she sought solace in the familiar, yearning to feel the essence of her absent daughters. The ritual repeated in Halima's room, a silent plea for their return, an attempt to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

'I spoke to your dad; we've set up your old room just like before Ifrah. You could come to visit Come with Halima.'

Ifrah felt her own tears pricking her eyes, the first time she'd heard her mother speak of her in longing. It warmed and broke her heart. Her fist clutched the pillow even tighter to avoid crying.

Ifrah let out a shaky breath, 'I can't decide for Halima, ma.'

Ifrah hadn't seen Halima for four days straight since she was at Lorna's. Halima had made it clear that she wasn't going back home soon, not until their mom stopped trying to force her into marriage.

She could clearly remember the day she came home to find a man in his early thirties in their living room with his uncles. Halima wasn't home then; it was just her to fight for herself. When she turned down the proposal, she knew she had created a rift between her and her mom.

Her mom's reaction was unexpected and harsh, starting with comments, escalating to frequent scolding, and ultimately ignoring her. It cut her deeply, and she'd never fully moved on.

'Just talk to her, please, for my sake, Iffie.'

Ifrah let out a shaky sob, her tears falling freely. "Iffie," when was the last time her mom called her by her nickname? It felt as though every childhood memory suddenly flashed in her mind, up until she grew up and then it stopped.

The weight of Yasmin's desperate plea resonated in Ifrah's soul, a chord struck that had long been silent. The sound of her childhood nickname, "Iffie," fell like a fragile melody amid the turmoil. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, each a testament to the emotional storm within. The echo of that endearing name carried with it a flood of memories—laughter, warmth, and a time when mother and daughter shared an unbreakable bond. But as she grew older, the use of the nickname ceased, replaced by the stark realities of strained relations. It was a poignant reminder of what once was, a chapter of innocence left behind in the dusty pages of the past.

Her tears kept flooding until she couldn't take it anymore and dropped to the floor, clutching her stomach. Just then, her bedroom door opened. Valerie's face dropped when she saw Ifrah on the floor. She rushed forward, dropped her handbag, and knelt beside her.

"Baby, what happened?"

Ifrah's sobs intensified; she couldn't talk. She grabbed Valerie's arms tightly, afraid to let go. Yasmin, on the other end, hung up when she heard Valerie's voice, wiped her tears, and walked out of the room.

Valerie's gaze went to Ifrah's lit phone, and she sighed. She sat on the floor, grabbed Ifrah, and pulled her onto her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around her. Ifrah sniffled, hugging her tighter.

"I'm here, my love," Valerie's fingertips rubbed her back gently, in soothing circles. She kissed the side of Ifrah's face twice and sighed softly.

Ifrah's sobs were reduced to sniffles and sighs. Valerie pulled back, kissed her cheek, and said, "I got you some chocolate, baby. Let me get them for you."

Valerie helped her stand, a gentle reassurance in her touch. With an arm wrapped around Ifrah, she guided her to lie on the bed.

Ifrah, left alone with her thoughts, wiped her tears, her heart heavy.