Broken Souls ✔️

Chapter 1

Ding dong!

The doorbell rang just as I finished wrapping my scarf around my head.

I took a moment to breath. In through my mouth, out from my nose.

In through my mouth, out from my nose.

In through my mouth, out from my nose...

Oh come one. You've done this so many times. Why are you scared? I asked myself.

Maybe because the way in which he was communicating with me, reminded me of a lot of a certain someone. Someone who I would leave buried in my past. Someone who I never want to face ever.

Ding dong!

The bell rang again. Eager much? I scoffed.

I called down to my eldest son to open the door to him.

Ok you can do this! It's fine! He's gone he can't hurt you no more. It's fine you can do this.

I kept giving myself a pep talk and made my way to living room downstairs.

The sound of a conversation echoed through the hall. I wonder who he's talking to.

I turn the doorknob and with a final intake of air I enter the dreaded room. Is it too late to back out now? I ask myself.

Ignoring my inner voice, I walk shoulders back, head up and a soft smile on my face.

Pin drop silence.

But then he gets up and smiles at me. It's not him, it can never be him. He's dead.

"Welcome Mr. Saddique, welcome." I say. I turn to my son and "go tell your Khala Hania to make food for the guest and bring refreshments now."

"Ok mamma." He beams and skips out of the room.

"Arey author sahiba. What's the point of this takalof? I'm just here for the interview. And please just call me Jawad."

"Jawad sahib this is not takalof. I'm simply just welcoming my guest who's travelled from Karachi to Lahore just to meet me. I'm really sorry you had to travel all that way but as you can see my children won't allow me to do such a thing!" I laugh it off.

"Oh no! You actually made my life easier I needed to see my mother and she lives just round the corner from you so it was really no problem really. She's been mad at me for quite some years so I've finally gathered the guts to finally apologise and ask for her forgiveness." He said with a nervous laugh.

My body involuntary stilled at the mention of mom. My mother who I haven't seen nor heard from in years. I wonder how she is now. If she still remembers me. If she still loves me.

"Make sure you do that as soon as we're done. Don't delay your apology any longer. You might regret it." Like me. I thought to myself.

He looks up from the floor and stares straight into my eyes, as if he could read my thoughts, as if he was searching my soul for answers to something.

Strange.

I cleared my throat and he jumped in surprise,"sorry yes I think we should begin the interview."

"So sahiba, what's your real name? You go by the writer name Alif Ali. But that isn't your real name is it? And why have you kept such a pseudonym?" He bombarded me questions.

I chuckled, "calm down! Ok. So yes Alif Ali is my writes name, my pseudonym. And I kept that name because I always wanted a daughter who would have that name. But unfortunately Allah didn't bless me. So I thought why not put that name to good use."

He smiled. "I've finally met someone who wished to have a daughter. Would you look at that?" He exclaimed.

"Yes, I always wished for a daughter. I would make her strong, brave and courageous. She would stand up to the injustices of this world. She wouldn't bend over to people's commands and manipulations like me..." I trail off.

"What do you mean by that, author sahiba?" He asked softly.

"I mean I won't let her be weak like me. I won't let her be used like I was. I won't let her get hurt like I was." I say confidently.

"Don't you think that a lot of people need to teach their daughters that?" He retorts.

"Of course. Yes, they do. But the people of Pakistan can't change their narrow mindedness can they? Like when I started gaining fame for my books. These measly men couldn't stand it. From full blown attacks to trying to get my books being banned from selling in stores. They tried everything, but I guess Allah was and is on my side. Forget being a National writer, I became an international writer, who's books are best sellers and are translated into 30 deferent languages. Allah really did bless me." I said with a small yet grateful smile.

I looked up to see him, looking at me. Analysing me as if he realised he'd been proved wrong. But about what?

"Sahiba I would love to know about you. The real you tell me everything." He said in a soothing voice whilst staring right into my soul.

He wanted to know my story.

My story. The one filled with pain, anguish, gate, disgust, pain and lastly betrayal.

"I-I don't know where to start..."

"I'll happily help you writer sahiba." He stood up and cirled round the room, stopping at the fireplace and peering at the awards that Hania had placed there.

"So, author sahiba, how do you get your work to express such raw emotions?" He said looking me straight in the eyes and forcing me with his eyes to maintain the eye contact.

"Uh....I-I" I stuttered.

"Go ahead, I'm listening tell me what's in your mind and heart. Tell me what's happened to your soul."

He's listening. He's going to listen. He's telling me that I should trust him, but should I?

I take a deep breath and return his penetrating gaze and begin.

"I write about what my life could have, what it should have been. What I could have achieved if my circumstances were better. I write from my heart. I let all my tears, pain, suffering bleed onto the paper and that's how you get what you read."

"Now tell me your story sahiba. I'm listening."

I took another deep breath.

"It all started when I was 16...."

******
So I'M BACK!!!!!
This is the first chapter of broken.
Hope you enjoyed it.
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