Years later...
Should I pretend to be sick or actually be sick?
Yup, I'm definitely going to sick at this rate.
Why must she talk so much?
Does she ever tone it down with this bullshit!
This is a language class, teach me goddamnit, don't discuss about the time we cheated on tests!
Oh please don't assign that, just don't, put it down....and of course, she told her to go distribute the criteria sheet.
Why can't someone fuck-
Never-mind never-mind, forgive me. Why can't someone just shoot me? I curse myself for those inappropriate thoughts while staring at the sketches of the first Shri Guru Nanak Dev Ji and tenth Shri Guru Govind Singh Ji atop the door entrance with their shaded halo, one's humbling and the other fierce glare. I could've sworn I saw them regard me with a look of disappointment.
I'm sorry Gods. I think to myself, feeling horrible while keeping my outward expression as deadpan as I could.
"Thank you," I whispered, bringing the sheet of paper given my most unliked person closer. It was hard for me to hate. Everyone including my friends said I was a bundle of sunshine and muffins, always smiling and comforting.
She never looked back twice as she gave the final paper to my friend at the end of the row and was off to return to her most beloved, and my most disliked, teacher. I couldn't hate teachers either, it was very hard for me to hate again but this one was like an everlasting thorn on my nerve.
She was so rude. And for no reason to me, I never said or did anything to her. All I said was I can't speak Punjabi since my parents never attended the tradition Punjabi school back in India and to her she acted as if that was the biggest disgrace.
My parents are traditional, as in they're strict and we go to the gurudwara [temple] for festivals or birthdays. My sister, mom and I also wore salwar kameez, or suits as we called them, when necessary but my parents just never saw it as necessary to teach Punjabi for they couldn't speak it proper either.
If someone were to even look at our family tree mostly everyone spoke English. All that aside, no matter what, whether they attempted or not, there would remain to be that accent that could decipher us as that family who was Hindu or worse, whitewashed.
Whitewash, a pretty racist way to say a desi family who grew up abroad and was pretty much a foreigner to their own culture. I never admired nor grew on that term.
Aside that, this teacher was pretty much rude to anyone who was not a part of her prancing flock of puppies. This is why me and my two other friends sat at the ends of the inner row, we hardly ever were associated among or with her favorites. Riya -the friend next and at the end of our row, nudged my arm encouragingly.
"Partners?" She mouthed as our equally hated teacher spun around on her computer table chair in the front of our class. She was laughing and rambling on in Punjabi, not a care in the world. Despite not knowing how to speak, I could understand perfectly but I don't think she knew that.
I flip my criteria sheet, scribbling the words for her to read, 'you think?' with a dire look of seriousness. Only Riya and her friend Preet knew I could understand every word in this class. To everyone else present, I was that one odd person who barely uttered a word and stuttered like an an imbecile.
YOU ARE READING
You Are Most Welcome Alpha
Werewolf"Mine!" "Okay. Yeah, that's great and all, but you see things are more complicated than you just growling 'mine' and with me becoming yours." "My Mate," He growled again, making me face palm myself from his failure to understand how bad the situatio...
