CHAPTER 17

"How many times do I have to repeat myself? My name, it's

Harram."

I wanted to bang my head on the wall. It was hurting too

much and the people around me were not helping. Besides,

crankiness was another symptom of a concussion.

"You told my mother I will be taken care of? What kind of care

is this?" I glanced at all of them.

My teacher looked somewhat sympathetic for me but, officer

Badr Al- Din looked unfazed.

"Does anything ever effect you?" I looked at him

incredulously.

"I am hungry." I looked at my teacher. She just looked at me

sympathetically.

"Quit the act. Tell me the truth and I'll let you go." he finally

spoke up.

"What truth? I am telling you I don't know anything about a

murder. I don't think it's true. Murder? Like seriously?

Sounds like an incident form a mystery novel." I scoffed and

crossed my arms across my chest.

When he didn't say anything, I sighed and leaned forward.

"I am telling you the truth. I don't know what you're saying. I

don't know who Saniya is. I don't know what incident are you

talking about. I don't think a murder has been committed. It

sounds so surreal." I threw my hands up in the air frustrated.

When he first told me about a murder, I actually had to

control my laughter. A murder. Like seriously? How can there

be a murder? In a school? In Saudi Arabia? Of a child? The

whole ordeal sounded so bizarre. Either he was crazy. Or

making me go crazy.

He sighed deeply and then rested his elbows on the table.

"Let's start over. I 'll be nice. You be truthful. Okay?"

I nodded.

"So, what's your name?"

"Haram." I smiled. For some reason the name Haram

sounded really nice and it made me smile.

"But everyone here knows you as Fatima. Do you think your

name is Fatima?"

I shook my head.

"Yes, it is. You just suffered from a concussion. As a result,

you seem to have forgotten a few things."

Concussion?

"Wait. What is a concussion again?" I looked at my teacher.

"You know what a concussion is." he stated.

"I have heard the word before but, I can't remember what is

exactly...." I thought hard but, I couldn't find its meaning in

my dictionary.

"A concussion is mild traumatic brain injury that temporally

affects the brain functioning. Remember?"

I nodded.

"So, how did I suffer from a concussion? Like how did this

happen?"

He sighed and looked at my teacher. They looked exhausted.

Then he turned to me.

"I was going to ask you the same question."

"Really?" I smiled.

He forced a smile.

"We found you unconscious in this room. Your head was

bleeding. Do you remember?"

I thought hard.

"Wait? Was my jaw bruised too?"

He looked at my teacher and they looked like they had won a

prize.

"Yes." they replied in unison.

"Do you remember how it got bruised?" my teacher smiled.

"I..." I glanced around trying to remember things but all that

my mind remembered was the word domestic violence.

"Domestic violence." I looked at them.

"Domestic violence? What happened?" he raised his eyebrow.

"Domestic violence is very common in Saudi Arabia."

"What?" he shot me an incredulous look.

"Yeah. Domestic violence is very common here. What are the

reforms that you have adopted to reduce it?"

He looked baffled and irritated.

"I think we are moving away from our main point of

discussion. The point is how did this happen..."

"But domestic violence is a serious issue." I argued.

"Yes, I know. It calls for imprisonment up to a year and a fine

for 50,000 Riyals. Any more questions?" he looked angry

now.

"I didn't ask about the punishment. I asked about the reforms

taken against it." I looked down.

"Fatima." the teacher moved forward.

He gestured her to stop.

"Go on." he folded his arms.

"I meant how do you know that is happening?"

"When people report cases." he stated calmly.

"That's for women who are fortunate. Who find a chance to

complain about their abuse. What about the unfortunate

ones? The ones who don't find a chance to report the abuse.

The ones that are confined in their homes forever." I looked

away.

"The world is progressing. So, is the mindset of our people.

Have faith. We will eliminate this problem one day entirely."

I nodded and tears blurred my vision.

"Why are you crying?" my teacher rubbed my back soothingly.

"I am sorry. I tend to get a little emotional when it comes to

women's abuse." I rubbed my eyes.

"So, you seem to have an idea about Saudi law?" he tapped his

finger on the table.

I nodded.

"Do you know that lying to the federal officials is a serious

criminal offence here?"

He looked so powerful and intimidating in that moment.

"Is it? What happens..."

"So much. So much could happen." he whispered.

"Alright, next question. Do you know me?"

"Duh. Aren't you officer Badr Al-Din? Like we just met. Come

on. Why are you asking such simple..." I stopped midway as I

realized I couldn't speak to him like this. He was the senior

NCO.

"We didn't meet today. We met weeks ago." he stated calmly.

I thought hard but, I couldn't remember him. It was like I

recognized him when I saw him but, to me it seemed as if I

had never met him.

Strange.

"So, where did we meet? Here?"

He sighed and looked at my teacher.

"Do you remember the day of the play, Fatima?" my teacher

asked me. I sighed and turned to her.

"It's Haram, ma'am." I told her for the umpteenth time.

"No, it's not Haram. It's Fatima." officer Badr Al-Din

slammed his hand on the table.

I flinched and looked at my teacher who looked terrified.

"Okay. It's Fatima." I muttered weakly.

"I remember the play, ma'am but, I can't remember anything

after..." I clutched my head.

"My head is paining. Very much." I turned to my teacher

because officer was of no help.

"Enough." his loud voice boomed across the small room.

Silence enveloped us.

"Do you really think that you could fool me with this petty act

of yours?" he got up and yelled. I flinched at his sharp tone.

"My head." I clutched it tightly.

"Stop it. Just stop with this drama." he spat as he eyed me

disgustingly.

"I am not..."

"I said..."

"Officer." Shahira ma'am smiled sweetly at him.

"I have an idea."

He stopped and nodded at her.

"Why don't we leave Fatima to roam around the building,

attend the classes? If she goes out of this room, meets her

friends there are chances that she might remember all of it."

"Might? I don't want to hear a might. She must remember

everything. Can you vouch for that?"

She nodded.

Then he turned to me.

"Listen very carefully. If this turns out to be a petty act of

yours and you continue with it. I will be helpless to think that

you are the murderer." he muttered each word slowly; his eyes

were dark and intimidating.

I nodded. The thought of being away from him and outside

this room brought some relief to my pain. However, what I did

not know was that half an hour later I regret agreeing to

come outside.

"Fatima, this is our stage. We used to play here all-day when

we were little remember?" Hajera smiled at me as she climbed

up the stage.

I rolled my eyes and looked away. She was asked to bring back

my memories. Recent memories. But, for some reason she was

hell bent upon bringing back 'our' memories. As in mine and

hers. And, the fact that I remembered all of it was really

annoying. The pain at the back of my head kept increasing

every minute and I wanted nothing more than to go back

home and crawl under my blanket. The sunlight pouring from

the red curtains in my room, the AC at it it's coldest temperate

and my warm fuzzy blanket was all that I could think of. The

last memory that I had in my mind was the day of the play. It

had replayed in my mind when I walked in my class after my

accident. It was fresh. But I couldn't remember anything after

that, my friends other than Hajera had told me all of the

events that happened after the play but, all of it sounded so

fake and bizarre. The things that I could remember were the

following:

1. My name is Haram

2. Today's date was 1st January 2016

3. I was pushed of a swing by someone.

4. The memory of the play was the last thing that I

remembered.

From what I had gathered from the people around me was:

1. My name is Fatima.

2. Today's date 18th December 2019

3. I was found unconscious with my bead bleeding in a

room.

I couldn't deny the truth. Of course, what they told me was the

truth. I couldn't deny the fact that I had suffered from a

concussion so, I was the one whose memory had suffered a

loss not them. But, no matter how hard I couldn't accept the

fact that I was Fatima and the date today was 18th December

2019. Neither could I remember the incident in which I had

injured my head. Despite the fact that I was just back from

that room where I was found. I couldn't remember what had

happened.

"I want to go to my home." I sobbed as Hajera rubbed my

back.

"Someone called me?" our teacher walked in.

"What's wrong, Fatima?" she smiled at me.

"I want to go to my home." I rubbed my eyes.

She looked at me for a second then she made a call.

"Come with me." she came back and I happily gathered my

stuff.

My teacher conversed with officer Badr Al-Din all the while he

stared at me creepily and I nervously played with my watch.

"Give me your dad's number." he muttered angrily.

I quickly told him the number.

"How do you remember your dad's number but not what

happened a few days ago, your name, the date, a big incident

happened at your school? Don't you think this is too fake?" he

looked at me incredulously.

"I am not faking..."

"Officer. Let her go home and rest. She is not going anywhere.

She promised to attend school tomorrow. I am sure she'll

remember things eventually. Let her go." my teacher pleaded.

"But I planned to take a leave tomo..." I stopped as he glared

at me.

"I will come tomorrow."

"Good."

I heard my dad's car honk and I looked outside the gate. He

was here.

"Bye, ma'am." I nervously smiled at her.

"Can I go, sir?"

He nodded at me.

I sobbed as I got into the car complaining of everyone being so

inconsiderate towards a 15-year-old who just suffered from a

concussion.