"So after careful observation, I've determined a fool-proof way to get unparalleled female adoration. You know how nobody likes to change their Profile Pictures unless it is a brand-new, High Definition visual perfection? Which is typically the product of Professional Cameras (DSLRs anyone?). At social events, there's a reason why the guy with the camera is a regular chick magnet. These unfortunate idiots are stuck behind the lens, due to the fact that they usually look like potatoes, and are highly prone to feminine calls of distress, "Derp! I haven't changed my Facebook Profile Photo in the past twenty minutes! HELP!".
Trust me; DSLR owners are the heroes Instagram needs, but doesn't deserve..."--Nitty Gritty (Issue 930, April, 2015)

The next few weeks after the Bake Sale, were a blur of term exams, assignments, and projects, interspersed with very infrequent play rehearsals.

Our play, named, "Aik Kahani, Khusro ki Zubani" (A tale, narrated by Khusro) is apparently going to be a big deal around here. It happens to be the Drama club's annual production, and we are supposed to deliver it in a month's time, at the end of this semester. As such, the conflicting schedules, and monthly exams have prevented us from having a proper rehearsal. Hence, I barely got to see Faris, after Shay's idiotic, juvenile, note stunt.

He has, so far, made no comment about the note to either me, or Pareeshae, and this fact alone was eating me up. Shay of course, is blissfully content that she had "Done the right thing, by being honest to him"

HOW IS AN ANONYMOUS CONFESSION, HONEST? ANYONE?

Even with excessive prodding, Shay refused to divulge the contents of that secret note.

I'm glad the hectic study schedules prevented me from fully disclosing my opinions to Shay, because I'm certain her bubbly, rainbow-filled world will not take my reality check, all that kindly.

Things at home have also been pretty eventful.

Apparently, Yasir thinks it's that stage, of his relationship with Maria...You know? the, I'll-bring-my-folks-over-to-your-house-for-some-chai-and-samosas, stage. Which in our culture, usually leads to an engagement, and marriage in the long term.

Mama had a long, secret talk with Maria about her future plans, before allowing Yasir to bring his parents to our home.

"I think I'm ready for it." Maria pinked when she told me about it.

"Don't you think this is going too fast?" I asked her.

I'm not discouraging her from getting into a proper relationship, but I think she is still too young, and too naive to make a commitment right now. 21 is barely an adult. I know for a fact that my sister still likes to sleep with a night-light, and twenty-year-old, raggedy, stuffed panda bear. She secretly watches old Looney Tunes cartoons on Youtube, and I saw her crying over a Winnie The Pooh episode, not two months ago.

I'm not sure that I trust Yasir yet, to keep up with her vibrant nature; both emotionally, and creatively. Besides, his eye-brows are most peculiar. They are very thin. An almost non-existent slash of hair, over his deep-set eyes.

I don't trust men with thin eye-brows.
Well...I kind of don't trust most men, period. But Thin Eye-brows just spells trouble to me.

Kind of taking baby-steps about the whole play thing, I confessed to Maria about it. After she got over her denial phase, she hugged the life out of me with her un-restrained joy.

"Lil! I always knew you'd make me proud!" she signed excitedly, nearly knocking my glasses off in her enthusiasm, "This is so exciting! Fair warning; I'm going to be all up in your business over this one..."

And she wasn't exaggerating. Since that day, she's made herself a copy of the script, and she loves to quiz me over my measly twenty lines of dialogue.

"I'm going to design your costumes!" She announced gleefully one day. "Just introduce me to your Faris. We can work out what will look best on you...Heck, I can design EVERYBODY'S COSTUMES!"

The only person more excited than Maria, over this offer was our director Juwariya. She and Maria spent hours texting, deciding the cast's wardrobe. Faris gladly turned over the clothes department to my sister's capable hands.

Everything was working out quite well for us. The cast was phenomenal. Everyone from the beautiful Shirin, to the short, stocky Barbad-The Magician, was decently fitted for their roles. Faris' selection of Farhad and Qais was also pretty spot on!

Farhad was this skinny-looking junior student, with long-ish hair. He was growing out his stubble to better fit the role of tortured, lover, in the throes of unrequited love.

Qais (Laila's bae/almost Majnun) was this tall, pale-looking sophomore with the voice of an angel. He was the only one of us with actual, professional theater experience. He never let us forget that he had been a part of NAPA's (National Academy Of Performing Arts)production of Grease-The Musical.

Faris' script flowed beautifully between us, during the individual rehearsals. The live music he had planned at the climax added an incredible touch of unreal to the whole production. Like I said; everything was going pretty perfectly.

Everything except me...

"If my love for you were an ocean. I'd drown in it, my Laili!" Qais declared dramatically, before falling to his knees in front of me. "If my love for you, were a fiery brand of flame...I'd burn in it, my heart. I'd burn for you!"

"Listen not to him, for he is, but a fool!" A manic Farhad stepped forward. His hands reached for my face, and I resisted the urge to step backwards. My heart pounded as he drew me nearer, away from the prostrate figure of a heart-broken Qais. "I have left my own love for you. Shirin means nothing to me now! Your inner glow shines brighter than the sun, my Laili! And just like the sun , you're brighter than all the other stars! Your heart, your body, your soul has blinded me to all others!"

When Farhad draws me into his arms, I lean away. Stiffly delivering my next line.

"But I am meant for Qais. As He is meant for me!" I cried out in distress. I was suffocated by the guy's presence. It was very hard for me to suppress the urge to push him away.

"CUT!" Juwariya yelled at us. I sighed with relief, and eagerly stepped away from my co-actor.

"You were beautiful Layla! Just the right amount of tensed, awkward, torment..." She gave me a grinning thumbs up, before moving to Qais for some criticism.

I didn't bother to inform her that my torment was very real. It works in my favor, that most of my lines are supposed to be delivered with a healthy amount of angst.

Farhad and Qais are both pretty decent guys, which explains why they haven't complained about my stiffness during our rehearsals. I actually kicked poor Qais, in this one scene, when he was supposed to hug me from behind.

None of my scenes with Qais were easy, however, the bane of my existence, was the last act. This was where Farhad and Qais were supposed to play a glorified tug of war with me, while hurling fancy insults at each other. This was a test Laila put them through. Because she knew that only her true love would feel the agony of her pain, in his own body...

In real-life, I couldn't bear the thought of being physically overpowered by two men who towered over me. Which explains why I kept pushing them both away, as soon as they crowded me. Faris kept making us re-do the sequence, because he couldn't understand the problem.

"What the fuck is wrong with you three?" He barked, glaring at Farhad, "Why do you keep stepping away from her?"

"I'm sorry. My bad. I'll just re-do it in a few..." the dude muttered. sparing a slightly accusing stare my way. I blushed with embarrassment, unwilling to admit to an angry Faris, that I was the one ruining his precious scene.

"Can I have a word with Layla, for a sec?" Juwariya's sharp voice cut through the chatter of the rehearsal room, and I gulped. Even though Juju looks very cute, with her eccentric scarves, and neon eye-makeup, I have seen her critically dissect Faris' narration without remorse. Perfectionism was an undersell, in her book.

Once we're alone in the adjoining supplies closet, she lets me have it. She mercilessly points out every time I messed up my lines, every time, my body language was too stiff for the scene. I meekly accept it. Grudgingly agreeing with her shrewd assessment.

"...And WHAT in the world is wrong with that last act? You look like you want to kill yourself! so withdrawn! That's not how it is supposed to be! You're supposed to be the indifferent Laila in that act! Letting the two fight foolishly over you. You're the one teaching them a lesson..."

On paper, it was my favorite act. I was supposed to declare myself as a trophy. When Farhad and Qais fight over me, they unwittingly injure me. Which magically causes the same injury to Qais. This will lead to the climax of the play where Ameer Khusro takes pity on the four youthful lovers, and bids Barbad to reverse the effects of his sorcery.

"Seriously, what is bothering you in that scene? Is it Farhad's cologne? Or it Qais?" Her round eyes widened even further at my taciturn response. "Oh my God! That's it isn't it? one of them stinks!? That's why you look like you want to die or something, every time we do that scene..."

"No! Ya Allah! NO!" I moaned with embarrassment for the poor guys, "They smell just fine, Juju...at the risk of sounding horribly cliched; it's not them-it's me!"

Her mouth dropped open in an "O" or surprise. "You stink?"

When she actually leaned forward to sniff me, I started laughing hysterically. If I hadn't laughed, I think I would have started sobbing my heart out. To be fair, I kind of did stink at acting...just not the way she was implying.

"You smell fantastic, Layla. Stop being so self-conscious about yourself!" She shook me a little bit, in one of her encouragement tactics. "Shake away all the negative thoughts! Take a page out of Taylor's book, and shake it all off! Now! when you're all brand new, good-smelling Layla, ready to take over the world; we'll try that act again, okay?..."

If only it were that simple...

.......................

"So do you think this is a safe touch? Or an unsafe touch?" I gestured to the poster in my hands. My voice barely wobbled. I was slowly getting the hang of public speaking. For the most part, the content scared me more than the audience. You can safely say that abuse is kind of a sore subject with me.

A dozen tiny arms shot up. I grinned, pointing at one little girl huddled in her seat. Her hand was barely raised, and she was sucking the thumb of her other hand.

"It's not safe." She whispered around her thumb. Peeking adorably at me through huge black eyes.

"That is correct! Everybody clap for Amina over here!" I announced as the class cheered. Azaan brought his basket of treats nearer to the girl, and let her pick out a candy of her choice, as reward.

"And can anyone tell me why this isn't a safe touch?" I asked. A lot of kids enthusiastically started speaking out of turn. Eager to get the treats for themselves.

"It's because the boy doesn't look happy! and he can get hurt if his sister pushes him off the slide!" One slightly taller boy jumped up on his seat, in his eagerness to answer me. Ms. Delores, their teacher, tried frowning at him, but I smiled back at her, placating. It's not a big deal!

It was only our second session with these kids, but I already felt like we were making tremendous progress. We had covered the basics of health and safety, and were now moving on towards the more sensitive topic of inappropriate touches.

For the record, talking about this to kids isn't easy by any stretch. Talking about it with under-privileged kids is a down-right nightmare. They come from mostly illiterate backgrounds, and live in slum areas. Their parents are too busy trying to put food on the table for the family, to be bothered with things such as emotional and physical trauma. The illiteracy of parents, gives rise to terrible levels of awareness regarding hygiene and particularly sexual education. In our conservative society, sex is the biggest taboo that can ever exist. We don't talk about it. We don't like to think about it. We'd rather just produce kids via the flying stork method, than through actual biology.

Protecting the innocence of kids, is a double-edged sword, as you might have gathered from my own past. If they don't know about it, they're highly susceptible to possible abuse, and rape.

When we first spoke to the school-teachers about the content of our sessions, they weren't very welcoming towards the initiative.

"We're the ones who'll have to deal with angry parents if the kids go home and start speaking about...such things..." When the school principal herself is reluctant to say the word "Sex" out loud; you know you have a major breakthrough problem.

So Azaan and I had to take time out to design our sessions in a subtle way. We're not giving sexual education. Instead, we're familiarizing kids, through story-telling and visual cues, not just personal hygiene, and disease prevention, but also about the concept of physical autonomy, and appropriate feelings and touches.

It really wasn't easy, what with Faris calling me in for secret rehearsals. I felt like I was being pulled apart in two directions. Not unlike the Last Act of the play. This one part is busy arming kids with ideas of physical freedom, and the other part is struggling with the idea of her own physical freedom.

I think we're making tremendous progress. When last week, only a few kids were responding, this time round, almost two-third of the class has somehow or the other contributed to the conversation. Their teacher Ms. Delores told us that the kids have been asking how often we're planning on coming to their class.

"They love you two! at the end of every class, they kept asking me if you would visit them again." She confided to me after the session.

I laughed, "I'm pretty sure it's all the candy Azaan showers on them,"

She patted my face affectionately, "It's so much more than that. I cannot thank you enough. I never have the time, or the creativity to explain such things to them. So beautifully. You may as well have saved them from something horrible in their future."

My smile faltered. I do hope I saved their future. But it's their pasts that truly scares me.

By rough percentages, at least twelve out of these beautiful thirty children have experienced some form of emotional, or physical, or sexual abuse before they met me.

How can anyone fix that?

I shuddered, pushing those ugly thoughts away from me. There's no point thinking about things I can in no way control.

"Ready to go?" I stroll up to Azaan who's surrounded by kids of all shapes and sizes. Two girls are perched over his shoulder, laughingly pulling at his ear-piercing. The rest of the kids are fixated on all the pictures he is showing them on his camera. He can't even see or hear me through the forest of five-year-olds around him.

"Oh man! look at your hair in this one Saadi!" Azaan chuckles, as everyone giggles, straining forward to get a glimpse of Saadi's funny photo. He was one of the more outgoing kids of the class.

I suddenly feel someone tugging on my dupatta.

It's Amina. Her thumb is securely inside her mouth. Her eyes down-cast. Her short-dark hair looks greasy, as if she hasn't shampooed in days. I swallow involuntarily at the abject poverty this little girl must be facing at home. I suddenly have this urge to bring her to my own home. Hide her away in my own room. Feed her substantial food, until this hungry, gaunt look in her eyes is gone. Until her skinny limbs are rounded by baby-fat as they are naturally supposed to be...

"Yes Amina? How may I help you?" I crouched down to look into her eyes.

"You said that if someone gives us an unsafe touch, we should tell someone we trust." She mumbled, eyes staring at her threadbare black school-shoes.

I nodded encouragingly. "That is correct, sweetheart."

"I trust you, Miss." She whispers, finally looking up into my eyes. She looks scared. And it breaks my heart a little bit. I am so scared of what she is about to tell me, that I almost cry out to Azaan for help.

I can't do this. I almost say it out loud. My heart raced, as I found myself out of breath. Visions of myself hiding in closets, lying to Ruby, running away from Mama, danced through my brain. Except now that vision included a thumb-sucking, dark haired little girl.

"I want to tell you about my brother..." She further whispers. I nodded mechanically, carefully schooling my features into a mask of reassurance. I read in a trainer's guide-book that if a child confides in an adult, the confidante shouldn't display their shock, revulsion, fear or disgust to the child. It often shuts them out.

So even though I'm having a nervous break-down inside of me, I pretend to be okay, for Amina's sake. I really am an actor after all.

"Sometimes, when I don't share my lunch with my brother, he hits me." She mumbled further, pointing to a tiny scratch on her neck. "This is from when he hit me. This is an unsafe touch, right?"

I sympathetically patted her neck. The veins on my forehead had tightened with tension.

"Yes, dear. This is an unsafe touch....But he doesn't touch you any other times, does he? Maybe when you don't give him your toys?"

She shook her head decisively, after pondering over the issue.

I felt consolation coursing through me. Sibling fights are an unavoidable situation of every family. But as long as the touch wasn't making her uncomfortable, in a way that she had to keep secrets, then it was fine.

"Did you tell your Ammi (Mom) about it?" I asked her. "Remember when I told you, that there're no secrets in a touch? You never have to hide anything if it is safe or unsafe..."

"Yes. I tell her about it, but she never hits Bhai (Brother). Don't you think she should hit Bhai too?"

I want to laugh out loud with relief. I've heard so many case-incidents of family members sexually abusing children, that I was dreading the "secret" Amina wanted to confide in me. Nevertheless, I had to tactfully handle her. "Never make a child feel like they will not be taken seriously" Is one of the recurring lessons my guide-book drilled into me.

"Maybe you can talk to him about it? Tell him that you need your lunch to grow big and strong!" I suggested, stroking away the dark bangs falling into her eyes.

She looks torn for a second, before she leans in again, biting her lips with indecision.

"Do you have something else you want to tell me?" I ask carefully, my relief evaporating once again.

She nodded slowly, not meeting my gaze. I swallowed my nerves, steeling them to bear the pain of whatever was forthcoming. "My Ammi--"

"Hayat, you ready to go?" Azaan strides up to me, his eyes crinkling with affection when he saw me with Amna.

I wished for a second that I could telepathically gag him; because as soon as she saw him approach, Amina shuttered down immediately. Her eyes firmly fixed on her shoes, she refused to utter a single word, and continued to suck quietly on her thumb.

I frowned at Azaan.

"What?" He frowned back at me, puzzled.

"Give us a minute, please?" I stared pointedly at the girl in front of me. Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he smiled warmly at the child.

"Of course." He said gently, moving towards Ms. Delores for a final word.

"You want to finish what you were just telling me?" I gently prodded the child, alternately praying that she would, and also that she wouldn't tell me anything. I'm not sure my heart can take it.

"No." She whispered back, before moving away from me. I stared desolately at her retreating figure, trying to align my chaotic thoughts. I felt a shadow behind me.

"There's no point pushing her right now. Maybe she'll talk to you next time?" Azaan's reassurance did little to soothe me, but I nodded anyways, letting him help me up from my crouch.

I was quiet on the way back to University. Mama had insisted on us traveling in one of our bullet-proof Land cruisers, owing to the less than savory location of this government school. Two armed guards were ensconced in the driver's cab.

Nobody can accuse my mother of succumbing to half-measures.

"You don't have to do it again next week. I-I shouldn't have brought you here. I know you're putting up that I'm a tough Cookie face....but I just want you to know that you don't have to pretend to be strong around me..." Azaan's deep voice broke the silence inside the car.

It also broke my resolve. I stared blindly out of the window, as my vision blurred.

It was subtle at first. A few tears that I hid, by looking out of the dark-tinted windows of our Toyota. But then the gasps started. That coupled with shudders, snot and sobs. It wasn't long before I began full-fledged crying.

"One-one of them asked m-me if someone's ever g-given me an unsafe t-touch." I sobbed into the corner of my bright pink dupatta. "I l-lied to them."

He hesitantly patted my head, quietly letting me expel the pent-up emotions inside me.

"I-It's like l-looking back on a t-train-wreck, Azaan! Each step of the way. The more I read about it, the more I h-hate him! What was my fault, you tell me? I was fucking six! And that includes the times I actually remember, you know? W-what if he was violating me, before that? Most childhood memories solidify after five years of age! I read this too, in the guide-book. This is why most children don't have solid recollections of their abusers." I gasped, drawing in broken breaths. I could see Khan the driver, and Khan the guard, eyeing me, curiously from the rear-view mirror.

I dropped my voice to a hoarse whisper.

"I p-prayed last night, did you know? I prayed after making my notes for today. I prayed that Allah punishes him and others like him, in this world. I want retribution! I want him t-to hurt like I hurt. For a second, I almost prayed that his own future daughter would go through, what I went through..." I confessed, ashamed. "How can I teach little kids about protecting themselves? When I feel this way?"

"Hey, hey. Look at me..." He leans forward, forcing my chin up from the dupatta I'm currently ruining with my snotty tears. His face is marred by frown-lines, his eye-brows squished together, his cheek devoid of its cheerful dimple. "You're not a saint. You're not a perfect human being. Nobody, including YOU, should expect you to forgive what that bastard did. And if you think your full energy isn't into this project, then we can quit right now. I just wanted you to feel good about helping someone...but not at the expense of your own heart!"

"I'm sorry for freaking out on you." I muttered, a while later, after most of my tear-reservoir had dried up. "I do feel great about it. Like, in a twisted way, it kind of makes my experience worthwhile, if I get to save someone else from it. In my own, half-assed, flawed way."

He scowls at that, "Don't ever say that. Nothing will ever justify, or make your past worthwhile."

I swallowed against the new wave of emotion threatening to break through.

When I'm discussing things with Azaan, regarding our subject matter, it seems so simple. I know all the main points myself.

It's never the victim's fault.

Confronting fears is the first step towards healing.

Once in a while, it is important to do something that scares you...

Reality isn't quite as neat, and well-defined, as a 50-page Trainer's Guidebook.

"Azaan. What would you do, if you made a commitment with something that scares you? How would you deal with it?"

"If this is about the school sessions, I told you we can--"

"No. It's not about that."

He is quiet afterwards, mulling it over.

"As long as my commitment isn't killing me...or taking me away from food, I'd stick to it. If, of course, I feel passionate about it." He says carefully, smiling when I snorted out a weak laugh. "A decade into the future, I want to be able to look back at it with contentment. Nothing stings harder than a "what if". If nothing, I'll still have a really cool story to tell my kids. You know?"

I nodded, my inner resolve strengthening. The Last Act scared me, but I'm sure that it's not going to kill me.

I chuckle when an idea hits me.

"You don't have thin eye-brows."

He wiggles them comically at this insane observation. "Well, I apologize for that. They are 100% natural, home-grown bushels of facial hair, but I could shave them off if you find them offensive. I think I can pass it off as an emo fad, although I might have to consult with Asad on that..."

It felt good to laugh out loud over something so

"Please shut up. And tell me a story. A happy one."

"Well, I remember this one time my Mom lost me in a marketplace..."

A/N:

Well, I am not super happy about this chapter. Maybe because it isn't all that happy, anyways.

I love you all for the adorable comments! they made me smile and laugh like a lunatic! :D

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