Disclaimer and Warning: The characters, events, and situations depicted in this story are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental. The narrative contains elements of psychological manipulation, graphic violence, human trafficking, and drug abuse. These themes may be distressing or triggering to some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Chapter 1
How often is the world so rough to raw minds? As if we are not vessels and ideas of our past, memories and stories.
Your inexperience is sometimes the best or the worst thing that could occur yet we all are at one point - raw.
It's when the ideas, words that instill in us a new identity that we become someone. Maybe someone new? maybe someone that once lived. What we become depends on whether we question our world or stick to permanent values of another.
After all, what would be a life without a thought?
******
Riyah
My nights are often the struggle, they pass by either quickly with various night activities such as - office work or simply thinking about unattended matters of my past that haunt my future - the present me.
Life is mediocre at 20 s; love comes easy when efforts are made from both sides or becomes endless road of thorns when its one way.
Personally, I have never experienced jaw kicking - mind numbing or whatever it is they describe in books.
Do I wish for it? Yes. Do I believe someone can? obviously. No
But the problem isn't even starting at me being loved. It’s the fear of never being understood, cared for. By a human who claims to be in love or to love. The chain that keeps getting loose will only keep getting loose but I’m afraid I'll hope for it to tighten rather for me to work in breaking it.
“I’m at big loss, aren’t I? Lord!”.
******
Aswad
"You know," I said, taking a sip of alcohol directly from the bottle. There's literally nothing in this world I didn't give her! Money, trips, expensive clothes – leave all that, okay? I gave her my care, my affection! All of it, Ram, you're a witness!
I sniffled. There was this invisible rope that constricted my breath, as if tightening with each knot. The more I thought about it, the more I strangled myself. My head ached, a sharp pain striking through it every time I pondered where I lacked.
"I mean, I'm not God or anything," Ram said, concern etched on his face. "But sometimes you give love to people, and they don't feel it. That's okay."
“It's not! Not when everything is given to you and you leave it all behind!”
I massaged my temples, hitting the bottle against the edge of the table. Ram flinched. I could see the concern and the pity in his eyes, a look that held no comprehension.
It was better for me to be alone, I supposed. I hadn't been in a decent state of mind the past few days. What excuse did she give again?
"Finding God!" I scoffed.
She said I needed to find God! Like I... I was insane! After all the things we did together, she really thinks of herself as a saint?
I threw my head back against the couch. There was a faint rustle. I could feel my eyelids closing.
"You really need God," came a small whisper. I shut my eyes as sleep washed over me.
*****
Riyah
Wildest fantasy? Mine has always been sitting in a café alone while I do my work and have a teacake. Now, don't get me wrong, I'd love to have company. But I'm guessing God mixed up lonely and alone. For him to decide.
I pay the worker eyeing the window table, which I'd mentally claimed as my spot. Moving there, I noticed a man brooding over his morning coffee. His day must have been starting off rough, I thought, when he looked up and we made eye contact.
Did it get any better than this? Absolutely not.
When I tripped over my own feet near his table, spilling my warm tea all over my hoodie. Oops.
I blinked twice. My hands trembled. Something was wrong. Oh boy, this is terrible! Will he yell at me? We're in public. He looks scary. He was struggling to get his hoodie away from his body; surely it must be burning.
"I'm s-sorry," I muttered so lowly, I don't think it even left my lips or reached his ears. He looked at me with a blank expression.
He was silent. Not a single word.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked, as if he were my dad and I knew him. I couldn't take back what I just said. That had to be embarrassing - daddy issues coming in 1, 2, 3.
Meanwhile, the waiter came over, cleaning the floor and wanting to help the poor, angry bird.
"Do I know you?" he said.
"No."
"Why would I be mad at you then?"
"Umm, because... tea?" I don't know if we both lacked common sense because in that moment, my mind was slightly numbed out of fear of being yelled at, and his mind seemed in a morning daze. Nonetheless, I stood there with my mouth agape, not knowing how to handle the situation. He must have just been asleep.
He cleared his throat, picked up his things without another word, and left.
"That was exhausting," I breathed out. That seemed like years of trauma in a second.
******
Aswad
"Well, that was something," I muttered. The lady gracefully ruined what was already a terrible morning for me. Not that her spilled tea could cause any more chaos in my life than it already had. I had no energy to scold the poor woman early in the morning. Maybe it was her frozen eyes that told me not to let anger get the best of me.
To the best of my ability, if it had been Ram who spilled it, he might have earned a punch.
"Oh, well," I sighed.
I changed into my gym clothes and walked my way over to the so-called "broken-hearted place." So, what if my heart is broken? The rest of my body still needs to eat. Ha! Lame.
Work was less stressful these days. No deadlines or a woman to take care of - maybe that's what made it easier to focus. As much as I hated the idea of a nagging wife, I missed her. I might have complained a lot. But I missed her. It wasn't a nice feeling - not seeing her, not hearing from her.
How was my life before her? The worst part isn't even this; it's the fleeting moments that make three years feel like a distant memory, a past that never happened. It terrifies me sometimes. Did she forget all about me, about us, in the blink of an eye?
When was the last time she called again? Last week? Tuesday, Monday? Did any of my thoughts even matter?
The endless train of thought was interrupted by an annoying ring-tone.
"Ah, not this again, Dad," I groaned.
"Your mother wants to talk to you. Why aren't you picking up her phone?" Dad said sternly.
"Because I don't want to hear her talk about marriage and children again!" I snapped. "How hard is it to understand that I don't want to get married yet, not until I'm in love with someone?"
I heard her frustrated sigh before she got on the phone.
"Your love didn't end well-"
"Damn it, Mom! You could have waited a month before reopening my wounds!" I hung up.
Fuck, Ram. Why would that asshole have to brag about my love life right away? That snitching piece of shit. He's definitely earning a punch. For dinner, that is.
*****
My dad was a founder of Cosmos Tech Inc. He has multiple people working under him while he pays visit to different branches all year round. He still loves his stay in Pakistan the most due to his roots or traditions whatever. Mother dearest follows him wherever he goes. Both are joined at hip, mind you it wasn't even love marriage I don’t know how that played out for them. Good on them because they need to stop pestering me about my marriage life.
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I’m too young. Sure, I was C00 at Cosmos Tech, I needed to climb up more. When it came to work, dad would not easily let anyone be anywhere without surety and he sure as hell was 10 times stricter with what I did than others. To waste it on one woman. Not after what my last woman did to me. Call me childish, but I'll hold off on relationships and marriage for now. Maybe I'll consider it when I'm weary of this relentless climb.
I have a burning need to achieve something on my own terms, something that will stand as a testament to my capabilities, whether the world acknowledges it or not. The self-satisfaction of building something from the ground up is what I crave. Relationships, with all their demands and distractions, are the last thing I need right now. Why would I drag a woman into my chaotic life if I'm not ready to give her the time and energy she deserves?
I sighed deeply, staring at my reflection in the coffee.
I still missed Ella.
*****
Riyah
It was a pleasant evening when I passed by Rawr’s Café. The café was beautifully designed, with yellow lights hanging around the door and inside. The colour theme featured pastel hues, and there was a small bookshelf positioned to the left of the counter. Something about it felt incredibly warm and cozy. I decided that next time, I would renovate my room to reflect a similar atmosphere—something inviting and not too plain or boring. I envisioned a refreshing theme, perhaps inspired by orange or strawberry. Just the thought of it put me in a good mood.
As I entered the café, the aroma of various teas filled my nostrils. Since I still had some work to do, I ordered a lotus cake and a chai latte for the evening. They assured me that they would serve it at my table since it would take some time to prepare. I made myself comfortable in the same spot.
It was 9 p.m., and the weather was quite nice. The walk home would be refreshing, or so I thought. I packed my things and made a note to buy groceries. The convenience store was not that far from the café. Or maybe I was just used to walking. Unlike in Pakistan, where there is a variety of vehicles for short and long distances, here you must rely on your legs.
I was nearing the store when I saw a car crashed into a light pole. Not many people were around. I usually let others handle voluntary work; I stayed away from helping anyone. Not because I didn't want to, but because every time something went wrong, the crowds were already there.
I just didn’t know how to help. But this time it was different. What if the driver was dead? There was no one in sight. I looked inside the store and saw one or two people. I doubted they had heard any noise, as they didn’t seem to have noticed.
I peeked through the slightly opened window and saw a man. It was THAT BROODY MAN. Oh, God!
Wait, how will I help him?
“An a-ambulance? I’ve never called one before,” I muttered to myself. My heart raced; it was winter, but my hands were sweaty. Ya Allah. I was about to make the call when he mumbled something.
“You’re alive?” I questioned. He lifted his head, and there were no injuries. I lowered the phone from my ear, putting my hand inside the window to press the button and lower it further.
I patted his forehead. His eyes were slightly open. He looked up at me. “Ella! You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”
He was drunk? Not to mention he was calling me by a woman’s name. Ugh, how gross. He looked so sophisticated. Tsk tsk. It’s always the good-looking men—perfectly ruined. I snickered. Now, the main point: what do I do?
“Do you want me to call anyone?” I asked him, hoping to get him home as soon as possible. This man was hopeless. In the end, I had to call an ambulance and take him to the hospital.
Thankfully he was not that intoxicated it only took him 3-4 hours to stabilize. Ah, wasted my hours to be fair. I was so sleepy by now and hungry not to mention. I was in a bad mood.
“Riyah, pretending like it wasn’t your decision to help him,” I scolded myself. He came out of the room. By the time we woke up, he had already cleared the bills. I went to get myself some coffee and managed to get one for him as well, out of courtesy.
“Look, I am not usually—”
“I don’t care, nor do I know how you are usually. It doesn’t suit a man your age to get drunk and then call a woman by her ex’s name!” I said, handing him the coffee.
“Are you upset that I called you another woman’s name or the fact that I was drunk?” he scoffed.
“Why would I be upset about you calling me, a stranger, by another stranger’s name? Are you dumb?” I replied.
“H-Hey! I’m not dumb! And I was being nice,” he said, hurrying behind me as we walked down the road. I wanted to catch a cab, though I was sceptical. But it had to be done.
“And anyway! Remember when you spilled tea? Yeah,” he accused. “I forgot—”
“Hah! You can’t compare that situation to this. Imagine being in your mid-20s and acting like an unsupervised baby.”
“Who are you calling a baby? People of all ages drink; I’m sure you do—” I cut him off right there.
“No, I don’t. I’m Muslim.”
“I’m Muslim too!” he exclaimed, frustrated.
I snickered. “That doesn’t make it any better. Do you realize?”
“We’re not discussing religion now; I was apologizing,” he said, quieting down. I was waiting for a cab.
“Where are you going?” he asked, taking another sip of coffee.
“Home. Where do you think I’ll be going after a 9-hour shift and waiting for 4 hours for a drunk man to regain consciousness?”
He gave me a pouty look. “I think I should drop you off. It’s very late; it’s not safe. I—”
“In the spot I’m currently in, you and the cab driver will be no different,” I glared. (I always had my defence tools ready, just in case. One of them being Ayat ul-Qursi. Hehe.)
“Still—”
“You hit your car, remember? We left it back there,” I said.
“I’ll call my friend; he’ll drop you off and then me.” I gave him a long 5-minute stare before deciding to trust him, a total stranger. What’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like I’ll see him again.
Aswad
It was Sunday morning. Cryptic thoughts and unease woke me up. Maybe I'm not getting used to the mere feeling of being alone or the loneliness that has enveloped me. I didn't like the thought of going out for a morning walk or having coffee, so I drowsily hit the bed again.
I was woken up by an annoying ring-tone, which made me sit up. I made it annoying. Mind you, I never have full intentions of waking up, but I also like my time management. Hence, the reason why.
"Asalamualikum," I say with utmost energy.
"Walaikumaslam, beta," I hear my mother's shaky voice, which slaps the sleep out of me. Sitting up straight, I ask her what's going on, and she informs me that my dad ended up in the hospital due to an ongoing dispute between him and my uncle.
That old greedy hag. He really thinks his children are the rightful owners of my dad's business and not me, the only son.
Joke's on him because I'm not a goody two shoes either.
I call my secretary to inform her of my sudden visit to Pakistan and to book a flight as early as possible. No, I'm not rich enough to own my own plane.
Sadly.
****
I didn't inform anyone of my sudden visit to Pakistan, not even my mother. I calmed her down and decided I would try my best to wrap up work and make it there. But I left on the first flight available, which was at night. It will still take me a day to get there.
I'm sure things will not be as bad. Inshallah. I called the manager of one of our restaurants in Karachi. This was a small restaurant that we owned, quite different from our main business. It was owned by my mother. She liked the idea of having it in the place where she was born, and it served her favorite dishes. My dad and she planned it together and hired the best chefs to make it work. She made sure everything was according to her specifications, and my dad, being himself, could never say no to his dear wife.
She told me he had a heart attack, but I had never heard of any previous symptoms. Dad was always conscious about his health and went to the gym regularly. He was proper about not compromising his body and paid regular visits to the hospital for routine checkups.
Or maybe we have incompetent doctors compared to Pakistan. Can't be, can it?
Anyway, Hakim was arriving in 20 minutes. I could always ask him if he had been informed of any severity in my father's condition. On our way home, I questioned him about everything, from work to my parents. It was quite suspicious how he was unaware of it. But then again, he was an outsider, even if he grew up within our—my parents'—presence, regardless.
I arrived at the house. Our house in Pakistan was good. I'd say I liked it better here (only for vacations) despite the constant nagging of miserable people (relatives). Especially the aunties who made everything about themselves or my marriage.
The doorman opened the door. I walked inside frantically, only to see my father laughing with a few people whose faces I didn't remember. I looked at my mother, who was covered in her shawl, offering tea.
SHE LIED. HAD THE AUDACITY TO EXCEPTIONALLY GREET ME.