Hayat Amanullah was always the pampered child in her household. With loving, hardworking parents and two older brothers who were more like best friends, Hayat was never neglected of anything. She had no sense of responsibility, no worry in the world...
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~ Love in a mist (flower): Perplexity ~
My dad ends up stumbling across the birthday party invitation from Abeer on my laptop. When he brings it up during dinner that day, I know I'm doomed.
"Why don't you go?" he says cheerfully. "You and Abeer were such good friends."
I give a noncommittal shrug, then instantly feel guilty. "I don't know, Papa. Just not in the mood."
He pauses, then carefully says, "We should start getting in the habit of doing our old activities and stuff, right? Busying ourselves and . . . " He trails off.
I sigh inwardly. I don't want to go anywhere. I'm sure my dad is well aware of this fact.
But seeing the desperate hope on his face, I can see how hard he's trying to keep it together for all of us. How hard he's trying to keep us together.
"What do you think, Layla?" Papa turns to Mama. "Shouldn't Hayat go?"
My mom pushes the food around on her plate as usual, eyes glazed and unfocused. She starts when my dad calls her name, then clears her throat and murmurs, "What?"
Papa takes a deep breath. "Shouldn't Hayat go to Abeer's birthday party?"
My mom nods inattentively, then returns to pushing around the rice on her plate.
Papa turns to my brother. "Ihsaan? What do you think?"
Ihsaan's gaze flicks to me before he nods. "I think she should go."
I think she should go. God, we talk about each other in the third person now.
"Well, that's settled then." My dad smiles at me, and despite my intense desire to protest, seeing the innocent, triumphant expression on his face wrecks all my resolve.
"Okay," I murmur.
"Ihsaan can drop you off," Papa says in a cheery voice.
And despite my resistance at going to this stupid birthday party, despite Mama's radio silence and Ihsaan's distance, the satisfied smile on my dad's lips causes all those feelings to disappear.
. . .
I kiss my mom's temple and bid her goodbye as I head to Ihsaan's car. He's already sitting inside, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the steering wheel.
"Sorry," I mutter as I rush inside, shutting the door. "Did you wait long?"
He shakes his head. "No, you're all good." He gives me a once over and smiles tentatively, but it's at odds with his bleak eyes and pale face. "You look nice."
Arafat whistles when I descend the stairs and twirl around in my dress, taking a bow. "Who's this beauty?"
Ihsaan's eyes flick towards my outfit before he resumes typing on his laptop. "You look like the churail in The Conjuring."
