Tit For Tat

07 | Enroute

WALEED'S POV

Ring.
Ring.
Ring.

Who the hell is calling me this early?

It's just... 11 AM. For God's sake.

I reach blindly for the phone, still half-asleep, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Hello. This caller is currently on strike from all important calls and classes. Please try again tomorrow after 4 PM," I mutter into the receiver, my voice thick with sleep.

"Walaikumassalam, Waleed. I believe I'm exempt from that ridiculous policy."

The voice jolts me upright.

"May I know who I'm speaking to?" I mumble, trying not to sound annoyed.

"I never thought I'd see the day when my own son doesn't recognize my voice," the caller replies with a familiar tsk tsk.

If his son isn't picking up his call then he needs sl-

Wait—son.

Shit.

I fumble to check the screen and confirm the worst: Dad.

I sit up straight, suddenly wide awake, as panic sets in.

"Crap—I mean, I'm so sorry, Dad. I didn't check who it was. I just thought—"

"How many old men are calling you these days that you couldn't recognize my voice?" he chuckles, but there's an edge to it I can't ignore.

"I've been getting these spam calls from the bank. Credit card stuff," I say, scratching the back of my neck, lying just enough to soften the blow. Truth is, I just couldn't be bothered.

He doesn't laugh this time.

"Let's not waste time, Wali. I'm calling because I want you to come back to India. In the next few days."

I freeze.

"Wait, what? Why? Is something wrong? Is everything okay? What about Mom?"

"No one's dead," he says dryly. "Not yet, anyway."

I hate when he talks like that—like everything's a ticking clock.

"Then why are you calling me back?" I ask, confused and suddenly anxious.

"Because it's time. I'm ready to hand over some responsibilities to you."

I knew it.

The dreaded word. Responsibilities.

"Dad, I'm not ready for any of that," I say quickly, hoping he'll drop it. "I've got a semester to finish. Finals in four weeks. I can't just drop everything."

He doesn't miss a beat.

"There's this thing called online classes, Waleed. Use them. When it's time for your graduation, we'll fly to London for a day or two."

I rub my eyes, trying to process. "What is this? Where did this genius plan even come from? You suddenly want to uproot my life—"

"Careful," he interrupts, calm but firm. "Before you blame Hala for planting this idea in my head—don't. She didn't."

That caught me off guard.

"I made this decision on my own. You've been out every other night wasting my hard-earned money at clubs like it's confetti. And I've had enough."

There it is.

I slump forward, forehead resting in my palm.

Yeah, I went a little overboard these past two weeks. The last party was four nights ago where I drowned my dad's call with drinks. Everything's a blur of flashing lights and overpriced champagne.