Broken With Betrayal

Chapter Five : Muhammad Hassan Ali

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Chapter Five

Muhammad Hassan Ali

“I need an iron,” I demanded. Aunty Razia, our maid, stared at me like she’d just seen an alien instead of me at her door.

“A what?” she asked trying to stay serene.

“An iron.”

“What for?”

To slam it into my head! “To iron my clothes. I thought that was obvious,” I exclaimed irritated.

It’s five in the evening and I’m standing at the front door of Razia, demanding an iron to iron my clothes that I need to wear to Saaim’s house. I’d never have asked her for it, but I had to. The iron I had in our last home was left there with a number of other of my belongings. And I needed one right now, desperately.

“But, you don’t need any. If you have any clothes, you can just give them to me. It’s my job to iron them, right?” she asked, still bewildered.

“No. I have always ironed my clothes,” – ever since Mama died-- “and I’m going to iron them myself this time too. Do you have a spare iron?” I responded pretty heated up by now. I don’t like when people ask me questions I don’t like to answer. And I knew a ‘why?’ was coming up next now. And I didn’t know the answer. Or maybe I did, but I didn’t want to answer. I don’t like people doing things for me. Staying independent and autonomous is what I have always been. Never depend on others. You have no idea when they leave you alone. After all, even your own shadow leaves you alone in the dark.

And my case is a bit different. I usually don’t worry about people leaving me alone. I guess because I don’t have any one on my side already, let alone being left solitary.

Razia just peered at me with a very perplexed look in her eyes. She shook her head, but before she could ask any thing, I said, “If you have, give me. If you don’t, please tell me so I can go and arrange myself one.”

She stared at me again with her mouth opened. Then letting out a deep sigh, nodded her head and went inside the servant quarter. She came back after a couple of minutes with an iron in her hands.

“There,” she said and handed it to me. “But you really don’t have to do it. I shall iron --,”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” I cut her sentence, then putting on one of my most noteworthy smiles I jogged back to my own room.

Back inside, I took out a red and blue checked button-up shirt and a pair of black jeans and started ironing them. Checked shirts are by far my favorite. I glanced at my clock. I am going over to Saaim’s house today so as to complete the course I’ve missed, and I don’t want to be late. According to what we decided, I should be there by six at least. And plus, Papa knows nothing about it. I still have to convince him to let me go. May be he will agree, may be he will not, as is his usual career to team up against me. If he agrees, there’s nothing better than that. And if he does not, I’ll still go. I’m headstrong. And defiant. And a number of other things Papa doesn’t like. And I cannot help it!

I knocked at Papa’s bedroom door, and then remembered that he hadn’t returned from the hospital yet. Mom opened the door, and I could tell she was surprised to see me there.