Nobody Knows, But You

First Day and Findings

Aisha

Five humdrum days had passed since the picnic.

I packed my books and ironed both mine and Hiba's uniforms, and now I sat on the edge of my tidy room, looking at my accomplishments.

It felt weird not having anything to do. I still had time until I went to bed.

The last five days had been so busy preparing for school and buying all the essentials. Both my parents were stressed, and they have become even more distant regarding Zainab's school admission. Zainab ended up being enrolled in a Sri Lankan school. She started school before me and Hiba and now, despite the initial knob, her school life was going smoothly.

With time on my hands, I went into the kitchen to make myself some cold lemonade. No, I did not care that the time was 7.30 p.m. The Qatari heat was making me do crazy things.

Right when I was about to cut into a juicy lemon, I heard a scraping of furniture, which made my front teeth tingle-my body's typical response to hearing uncomfortable sounds. Annoyed at the disruption, I proceeded to continue my drink-making when suddenly I heard giggling.

Weird.

Zainab was at the neighbor's, who happened to be one of her classmates, and that giggle sounded like Zainab's.

Maybe she returned?

No, Zainab was to be picked up from her friend's place when Dad returned.

Still skeptical, and very frightened I kept down the knife and advanced towards the rooms. Hiba was fast asleep on Zainab's bed, there was nobody in my room obviously, and my parents' room was closed, leaving a small opening.

I realized that the giggle was from Mom. Dad still hasn't come home from work, so I figured mom must be on the phone. Even if he was at home, I knew they both weren't on giggling terms.

The giggle became more loud. Okay, that felt weird. I actually shuddered, like any teen daughter hearing her mother giggle like a girl.

I made a loud coughing sound. Mom didn't seem to hear it. She continued chatting.

Maybe she's on the line with Farah auntie...

But my gut feeling didn't make it easy for me to believe that. The reason was that Mom had put on her Mellifluous Voice. That voice she puts on if she wants to impress others. I had always hated that voice. It sounded so fake and try-hard.

Why would she want to impress Aunt Farah? Well, unless it wasn't Aunt Farah. Maybe if I got closer to the door, I might hear the voice on the other end. Then I realized, abruptly, what I was doing.

What am I doing! Snooping up on mom?

I couldn't bear doing it. I straightened up and walked straight into the room. In the rush and guilt, I didn't even have time to come up with a proper reason for the visit. Noticing me, Mom flinched. Real hard. The phone dropped from her hands onto her lap. During the fall, the speaker button was pressed. How convenient...

"Hello..? Ameena, you there?" That wasn't Aunt Farah.

I, for a split second, foolishly thought that was Dad. No. That male voice belonged to someone else.

"Darling..?" Said that voice.

"Oh," I stumbled backward onto the dessing table.

"Darlin' is everything alright? Is he ba-" Mom finally decided that was enough traumatizing me for one night and ended the phone call. She pressed her lips together in a tight line and looked down.

" I..It's..It's not what you think, sweetheart. Let me-" Mom started.

"No need." I said stomping out the room. Because at that moment all I could feel was rage. Not hurt. And it made me feel guilty that I felt that way, which in turn intensified my fury even more. I heard mom sigh as I left the room.

The anger I felt was so intense that I could only hear the blood rush behind my ears as I let myself into the balcony protruding from my room.

For years, my sole purpose in life had been to unravel the mysterious knot in my parents' relationship- which apparently wasn't a mystery anymore!

For her sake, I disregarded my own problems I had with myself and at school! I allowed her to confide in me from the outset, back when I didn't even know what anxiety was!

"Ugh!" I hit the wall in frustration.

Hate Journal! I need my hate journal. I went inside looking for my rose-gold spiral book.

What began as a simple experiment on myself to test whether it could help me remain calm during frequent moments of losing my temper has now become my sanctuary of peace.

Every page of this journal started with : I hate the fact that...

I started with the routine. I wrote my opening verse. And I kept on writing. Once I began, it was almost impossible for me to stop pouring my soul into it. I wrote stuff in there that I would NEVER reveal to anyone else. After being done with ranting I wrote,

________________________________________________________

...I have always been her go-to person.Offering support, listening to her, all those good stuffs. But truth is, there's a bit of a selfish reason behind it. See, she's got this STELLAR reputation in the neighborhood - everyone respects her. And being her daughter, well, that kinda rubs off on me too. But behind closed doors, things aren't so shiny. My parents barely talk, and I'm scared it'll all come crashing down if anyone finds out. (Reason #14565 for my persuasion to move.)

So, I've made this deal with myself. I let her lean on me, so she doesn't go airing our family's dirty laundry elsewhere. It's not just for her sake, but to keep up the whole "perfect family" charade.

Just another day in the life, right? WRONG!...

________________________________________________________

Then I wrote about my discovery.

There's something incredibly satisfying about crafting words into perfect sentences that mirror my thoughts. Writing has always been my solace, a balm to soothe my raging emotions. Yet, as the anger dissipated, a new sensation emerged - hurt.

Part of me yearned to confront my mom, to demand an explanation and seek solace in her words. But another part hesitated, unsure of what I might uncover and afraid of the pain it may bring.

Perhaps I feared the truth will shatter the illusion of stability I'd clung to for so long, or maybe I worried about the strain it might place on my already fragile family dynamic. I couldn't pinpoint.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself for not succumbing to first-day jitters. Tomorrow's big day didn't seem so daunting. That is, until all of this unfolded.

I stashed my journal back in its hiding spot and climbed into bed. Part of me debated waiting until Dad arrived to see if Mom would come clean.

But then there's me. How do I confront Dad? Do I play dumb and carry the weight of guilt, or do I spill the beans on Mom and pave the way for the fallout?

Either way, I knew an inevitable "talk" with Mom loomed in my future.