She's a kid

9 years old Khansa

"Khansa, my sweetheart, why do you look so scared?" Aunt Karissa looked at me with a concerned expression. She resembled my mother in so many ways that it was painful to look at her and not remember how vicious a mother could be to her blood. I shook my head and wiped off my tears with the back of my hand. I was sniffing like a baby and I hated that. I hated everyone and everything. Likewise, I told this to Aunt Karrisa once, and she looked worried and told me it was not good to think like that at such a young age and that I should play with barbie dolls. I didn't tell her that I thought she was being sexist. I could play with cars and trucks too.

Almost three months had passed, and I hadn't seen mommy. I had asked everyone about her, and all I could get from them were sad faces and silence. The last time I saw her was when dad told her that he would take her to the hospital, so I waited all night for them to come back, but when I woke up and went to their room. I only found dad sleeping peacefully in his bed.

I hated mom, but it didn't mean I wanted her to leave my life forever. I felt so lost at an age where my friends were deciding about the colour of their room and what type of braid they wanted to make before going to school. I couldn't focus on anything at school. I felt so dumb and thought I had some sort of slow processing speed because for the love of God my mind refused to grasp even the basic concepts.

"I want mommy, I want to talk to her. Please tell me where she is" I whispered sadly to her.

"Tell her to shut up, or I will throw her away too" suddenly my dad's booming voice made me jump. He entered the room where Aunt Karrisa was holding my hands and looked at me with contempt visible in his eyes.

Why was he talking like that? I didn't even do anything other than asking to talk to the mommy. I had a friend in school, Ajwad whose father used to talk to him with so much care and never had he ever raised his voice at him. Aren't all fathers supposed to love their children?

I was crying silently and refused to make eye contact with my father.

"She's a kid, Alan. Don't be too hard on her, please" Aunt Karissa spoke softly. I wanted to tell her that I wasn't a kid anymore. I had stopped living like a kid when at age 8 my mother pushed me away so hard that my head started bleeding when I showed her a poem I wrote for her. I knew it was terribly written, and she didn't have to do that. It wasn't enough for her because she then tore it into tiny pieces of paper. I had stopped smiling like a kid when dad had slapped me hard across the face in front of my friend Esha when I got below-average marks in a math test in grade 3. I had asked her to swear that she would never ask me anything about it. She looked hesitant, but agreed when I threatened her that I would stop talking to her.

He didn't even look at Aunt Karrisa before stomping out of my room angrily.

Present

"Oh God, what happened to your head?" Esha asked me with bulging eyes. I had tried my best to cover it with make up, but that's all I could do. It was hurting so bad, but I didn't tell her that.

Esha had promised to give me a ride to college today, as I had no mood to take the bus. So, the first thing she obviously noticed was this gash on my forehead that none other than Zaviyan had given to me. He hadn't come back home after that, and I also noticed dad wasn't present either. I mean, who better than me could know where he would be.

I had woken up late, so I made breakfast for myself and left a plate of omelette and bread along with mom's medicine on the table that I was sure would be strewn in a garbage box when I would come back.

"I was trying to learn a very intriguing dance that's called Salsa and oh my god, Esha. You have to try it out bro" I feigned excitement. She made a face that said, "cut the crap" but I continued, "I was so immersed in it that I lost my footing and fell" That was such a terrible lie, but I thanked God when she didn't ask any further questions after gritting out, "Right".

I knew she didn't buy any of what I said, but she wanted me to share it all with her out of my own trust. I liked how she never forced me to pour out to her. Esha was an excellent friend, and I was so lucky to have her in my life.

Esha was being extremely silent and that bothered me, "How's Huda doing?" I asked her curiously. She loved to talk about her sister and how proud she was of her and wanted so much for her.

"Fine" she muttered. I knew she was worried about me, but she didn't have to. I could deal with my problems on my own. What if I told her about everything and the next day she felt like our friendship wasn't worth it?" I hated being dependent on someone for my mental well-being. She could listen to me for 2 days, 2 months or 2 years then she'll grow tired of my trauma dumping and I wouldn't even blame her because at the end of the day, she's only human.

I stayed silent for the rest of the ride and didn't annoy her any further.

We reached earlier than I thought, and suddenly, I remembered something, "You know who's back?" I asked her with a solemn expression.

Esha rolled her eyes, "Kabeer?" Wait, she knew that. Upon seeing the confusion on my face, she said, "His friend Faizan works in the same coffee shop with me. He told me that he will continue studying medicine here in Seattle"

"Oh, well, good for him, I guess" I said after a moment.