"don't go"

"Papa please"

"Please, I'll be good. Take me with you"

"Papa"

Once upon a time, not very long ago lived a little girl. Her eyes warm as the setting sun, her hair a luscious fall of brown waves. But, there was something about the way those eyes were always empty that scared the people around her.

She stood on the doorstep of her grandfather's haveli waiting for her papa to come and get her, but that's what they thought she was doing. In reality it was a punishment she gave herself every day standing in the doorway staring at the stranded driveway, not a single sign of her papa coming back.

Her family wasn't perfect but she hoped maybe papa will make it all better, atleast that's what all he cousins ever said about their father's.

Papa will make it better.
Papa will come and get me.
Papa will know what to do.

Papa never came.
He never came back after that eventful day.
Papa didn't care.

Soon her frame grew and her short knotted hair grew long and untangled. Her features hardened and her naive heart turned stone when her theories were proven wrong.

She grew up thinking maybe he didn't want children all together, maybe he had his own turmoil to resolve maybe he just needed time after what happened to mama.

8 years.

She spent 8 years trying to understand why her father didn't like her the way her uncle's liked her cousins. She was good in her studies, she had a whole bookcase full of trophies and medals, a wall full of certificates, she never did anything wrong. She had good friends, never talked back and rarely ever threw tantrums but even after all of this her papa never seemed to care.

He never asked how she was doing, never called her and he most definitely didn't visit her after the last time when she had thrown a tantrum for the first time in her life which only resulted in her bruised wrists, a high fever and the image of her father turning into a beast in her mind.

That was back when she was five. Her uncle's loved her though. They cared for her, her aunt's always showered her with presents and kisses and sweet gestures when they came to visit, her grandparents always took her side- not that she did anything to be defended anyways- her cousins were hostile towards her before because of the way their parents treated her like she was made of glass but that day even they turned their heads away from their rich uncle from Canada who had come to settle back in Pakistan.

"Namal" someone had whispered in her ears when they realized she had been paralyzed on spot.

"Namal" again their was this ringing in her ears. When Namal turned thirteen she had a nervous breakdown, her anger, self harm and emotional restraints had broken and she couldn't breathe as she sobbed on the floor of bedroom, palm bleeding

Her papa was back.

And he wasn't alone.

Namal knew from what she heard through the wind that her father had married again, he had started a family that Namal didn't know of, she wondered if she'll ever meet her other mother but then she guessed otherwise.

She refrained from clenching her jaw since her teeth had already been causing her too much pain in her temples and behind her ears, her eyes skimmed over the faces of the people who were smiling back at her family.

A woman, a beautiful woman Namal concluded, atleast better than what Namal remembered of her mother, Razia never really took care of herself, she was always smelling, her hair were knotted and at last she was hanging from the ceiling fan while Namal slept on the bed under her corpse. It wasn't a pretty sight to wake up to in the middle of the night but it was what it was.

She two kids standing beside her, and that was when namals brain exploded. If papa didn't want kids why was the boy standing next to him close to her age? And why did he look so much like her papa?

Not only one but papa had two kids with her, he couldn't even take care one back then.

Namal had lost her tongue long ago, 8 years ago precisely and never bothered using it for more than a few sentences, she enjoyed listening, knowing and observing. Besides no one was there to listen to her anyways and why would she need anyone when her dada Abu had built her the library from beauty and the beast in their house.

And that's exactly where she went after witnessing that not only did her papa not once look at her, he also didn't bother introducing his family to her prior their visit. The lady with him was sweet, she smiled at Namal with confusion when her eldest phuppo introduced her to them, the kids with them looks somewhat between thrilled and confused. She was too.

"I have work to submit tomorrow" there was that, a pathetic excuse and maamla didn't care if anyone here needed explanation.

He had kids.
He had replaced mama.
He replaced me.
And now he's hurt I don't sit with his family.

If there was one thing Namal hated, it was her father thinking he had the right to dictate her life. He was never there to raise her, to look after her or to even tell her if he was good and alive in those past years. It hadn't gotten any better but what the worst part was, he thought her upbringing was trash and that she needed a leash.

At nineteen Namal had her finances fixed, it took everything in her to not kill herself when work got too hectic, it took all in her to float on the surface when all she wanted to do was to get atleast four hours of sleep.

She worked online, made commission art work and managed her social media. She did everything under the sun to get some money in her pocket and her cousins were of great help.

Kiran had taught her all about freelancing, Junaid helped her get a bank account, Rafay helped her manage her content and last but not the least Hashim helped her gain contacts.

Her father seemed of always had a stroke when he saw namal using her own money to make herself happy, he had once suggested to tear down her library to expand his portion of the house and Namal was glad to see her phuppo cut her father's tongue right before he could talk further.

She had a sharp tongue and she wasn't afraid to use it, fakhra phuppo also seem to have hate her father more than Namal, she doesn't know why but that woman had been her greatest support in all of this.

If there was one thing Namal was grateful of, it was the fact that her family wasn't how her friends described theirs as. Sure they fought, cursed and even conspired against each other but they never harmed the kids or dragged the younger ones in it.

They knew when to stop and when to join forces. Namal was an only child, given the fact that her father left for Canada the very next week after his marriage to his highschool sweetheart and her mother just happened to have conceived her right then and there gaining the favourism of her mother in law. Dadi wasn't too fond of her mother but she warmed up.

Her mother wasn't always the worst not that Namal remembered anything from her childhood except for the time she woke up to her mother hovering over her from the fan, the thought itself ran a chill down her spine.

She could roughly recall that when her father would come back on vacation the two were always fighting and that lead to Namal being raised by anyone and everyone in the family but her own parents.

Mama lost touch of life and Namal never really thought much of it, like what was her three years old self going to do anyways.

Now at 32 years old Namal was a successful woman with a stable job, a side business and a failed love life. She was bitter about the failure, after all it was all her fault to begin with. She left him and had been questioning her feelings ever since.

This is Namal sheikh. The woman that time raised and now she reigned it.

Assalamualaikum guys, how are you all doing?

I hope you've been well and good.

I'm here with the beginning of a story I've been thinking of for a really long time and I think I should start penning it down now, maybe to help me be more creative?

And since I love writing sob stories 😁.

Hope you enjoy💞.

Love,

Hafsa Tahir