DARK LINES

THE HOUR

Sameeha sat on the veranda, her gaze fixed on the right corner of the house, opposite where her father’s bicycle leaned. It was as though she had found something intriguing there, yet her mind was far away, lost in heavy thoughts.

“What could have gone wrong with me?” she whispered angrily to herself.

To anyone watching, it might have seemed like she was barking at someone unseen. But she sat still, refusing to shift her position. Her eyes brimmed with anguish until she broke down, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the sobs. Even then, her heavy breathing betrayed her pain.

She was too carried away to notice her friend’s presence.

“Sameeha! Sameeha!” Basma called softly.

Startled, Sameeha jerked up, fear flashing in her eyes as if she were about to be struck down.

“What is it? What have you been thinking?” Basma asked, giving her no space to hide in silence.

Sameeha found no words. Instead, she wailed bitterly, her body trembling. She threw herself onto the floor, crying, “I wanted to be part of them! I want to go to the city, to become someone great too.”

Basma sank into the nearest chair, watching helplessly as her dear friend’s sobs shook her whole body. I will wait, she told herself, let her cry until there are no tears left before I say why I am here. Still, a thought nagged at her: was Sameeha even thinking straight? Or was this nothing more than the restless stirring of her hormonal emotions?

Could Aunty Gheda’s visit have triggered this uncalled for scene? She had come last month, spending the holiday with Sameeha. I remembered how she bragged about being one of the most vocal women in her community. Sometimes her words sounded feminist, though her actions betrayed her. And her children Subhanallah! They behaved as though they were descendants of Barack Obama. The sight of them disgusted me. Astaghfirullah.

Did Sameeha truly find comfort in what Aunty Gheda said? To me, there was nothing in her words only pride and vanity. A woman like her could say one thing today and mean another tomorrow. If Sameeha had gotten entangled in that, she had better stay off. Her parents were far better than her, at least in my view.

But Sameeha’s smile was not because of Aunty Gheda at all. It was the strange relief that came after crying. Basma was wrong to assume otherwise.

Sameeha carried within her a weight of untold stories, silent pains she had hidden for too long. Her home was unloved. Her parents’ affection, lavished on her siblings, only deepened her wounds. No one wanted her. She felt as though she had come into the wrong universe, born to parents who belittled her at every turn.

There was no love for her. It pierced her deeply. She looked more like a despised servant maid than a daughter.

Her life was crumbling before her eyes. This was not what she wanted. There were days her parents dismissed her completely, nights she had to sleep outside for offenses she had no idea of committing. It was far too much for a nineteen year old girl to bear.

This nineteen year.old wanted more than just love. She longed for comfort, peace, care, and attention. But what did she receive instead? Hatred for merely existing, for coming into this world, even for doing things right.

Her siblings could never compare to her, yet they were the ones adored, while she was left with wounds that never healed.

She was lost in these thoughts when Basma’s voice cut through.

“Ha! Sameeha, what are you thinking? Say something! Let’s solve this whole thing together.”

Sameeha sighed heavily, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Rising to her feet, she excused herself from Basma.

Basma looked up at the sky, as though expecting a saviour to descend and make her friend speak. She had always known Sameeha to be someone who carried too much, someone who bore more than any girl her age should.

At times, even she and her parents wondered if Sameeha was truly the daughter of Mr. Ali and Nadia. Not only them others whispered the same question. The neighbours were often the ones who fed her on days when her whole family turned against her.

Her schooling? It was the imam of the community masjid who sponsored it.

Sameeha was a complete stranger in her own home.

Basma stood up to check on her again, calling out, but her voice did not reach. All she got in return was Sameeha’s faint warning: “Just go before my parents get hold of you. I don’t want you to become an enemy to them.”

Basma stopped, disappointment weighing her down, her eyes threatening tears. She had come with good news to share, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it now. It’s better I keep quiet until she’s calmed, she thought. If I speak now, it might break her completely.

The news she carried felt like betrayal. Won’t she find it absurd?

I’m about to leave her alone in her world, Basma thought again. But what if she becomes even more miserable after I’m gone?

The guilt pressed hard on her chest. I’d blame myself because I am her only source of comfort.