CORNFLAKES AND SHOULDERS

                                    

                                          
ARMAAN
I sat at the dining table, chewing slowly, though I didn’t have an appetite. The spoon felt heavy in my hand, each bite of cornflakes tasted like cardboard, but I forced it down anyway. Across from me, Abidat was eating at the same slow pace, her eyes downcast, her movements mechanical. She’d forced me to eat, refusing to let me skip breakfast after I hadn’t eaten dinner last night. I was doing the same to her now, making sure she got something in her stomach. But I noticed how she’d taken a smaller portion, disregarding my advice to eat more.
Part of me wanted to shout at her, to scream and tell her to take care of herself, to eat properly. But I couldn’t. I felt too drained. The words wouldn’t come. My body was here, but my mind was replaying yesterday’s events in an endless loop.
Betrothed. The word felt foreign, surreal.
After Abidat had left my room last night, Ummi had come to my door, knocking gently. I heard her soft voice through the wood, asking me to open up. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t face her. I’d stayed where I was, curled up in bed, listening to her sniffle before she left me alone.
Now, here we were, sitting in silence, both of us avoiding each other’s gaze. The clinking of our spoons against the bowls was the only sound in the room, and even that felt deafening in the quiet.
The scrape of two chairs against the floor broke the silence. I didn’t have to look up to know it was Mama and Ummi. They sat across from us, their eyes filled with concern, watching us carefully. I heard Abidat sigh softly, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her move her plate aside, folding her arms across her chest. She looked at them, her expression tense, while I kept my eyes on the table.
"Talk to us," Ummi said, her voice pleading.
"Please," Mama added. "We never meant to hurt either of you."
I could feel the weight of their stares, but I didn’t move. I didn’t know what to say, how to feel. The betrayal still stung, not because of the betrothal itself, but because of the secrecy. All these years, they’d kept us apart. I’d convinced myself it was just life pulling us in different directions, but now I knew there was more to it.
Abidat broke the silence first, her voice quiet but steady. "We’re not angry," she said, her tone carefully measured. "It’s not a bad thing, really. But…"
"But it still hurts," I finished for her, finally lifting my gaze to meet the women across from us.
Mama nodded, her hands wringing nervously in her lap. "We know, and we’re sorry. We didn’t want to burden you with this too early. You were both so young, and we feared that knowing would change everything between you."
"That’s why we kept our distance," Ummi added. "It wasn’t just about keeping the betrothal a secret—it was about giving you both the space to grow into yourselves without that weight hanging over you."
I swallowed hard, the emotions churning inside me. "You didn’t think we could handle it?" I asked, my voice sounding more bitter than I intended. "That we wouldn’t understand?"
"It’s not that," Mama replied softly, reaching across the table as if she wanted to take my hand but stopping herself. "We just wanted you to have a chance to be normal kids, to live without that pressure."
"How is that better than letting us decide?" Abidat countered, her arms still folded, her expression unwavering. "We were separated for almost ten years. Do you know what that felt like? One day, we were best friends, and the next, we barely saw each other."
"It was hard for us too," Ummi said, her voice shaking slightly. "We didn’t want to keep you apart, but it seemed like the only way to protect you both."
There was a long pause. I could see the guilt in their eyes, but it didn’t change the fact that they’d made the decision for us without asking how we felt.
"It’s not that I don’t appreciate it," Abidat finally said, her voice softer now. "I just… It’s a lot. To find out now, all at once."
I nodded in agreement, though my thoughts were still tangled. It wasn’t like I didn’t care about Abidat—of course I cared about her. But to suddenly be told that our entire future had been mapped out for us, without our input, was a shock I wasn’t prepared for.
"Thank you." The words came out in a whisper, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if I’d said them or if they’d come from someone else. Then I realized it was me, speaking directly to Mama and Ummi. "Thank you for caring enough to think about our future, even if it hurt."
Abidat glanced at me, and I saw a flicker of understanding pass between us. We were on the same page, more or less. Neither of us hated this; we were just caught off guard, thrown into something we weren’t prepared for.
Mama’s eyes glistened with tears as she smiled, a small, relieved smile. "We wanted what was best for you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But we realize now that maybe we didn’t go about it the right way."
"It wasn’t a crime," Abidat murmured, almost to herself. "It’s just… the shock of it."
"Exactly," I added, leaning back in my chair and letting out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding. "It’s going to take some time to process."
For the first time since this conversation started, the tension in the room seemed to lift, even if just a little. I felt ummi’s hand on my shoulder, and I instinctively scooted closer to her, resting my head against her shoulder like I used to when I was a kid. I could feel her relief as she gently stroked my hair, her touch comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
Across the table, Abidat mimicked my movement, scooting closer to her mom and leaning against her. I saw them exchange a look, and for the first time in a while, there was a faint smile on Abidat’s lips.
From opposite sides of the table, we smiled at each other, and for a moment, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. It wasn’t perfect, not by any means. But it was a start.
"We’ll get through this," Ummi said softly, her voice full of hope.
"Together," Mama added, her hand squeezing my shoulder gently.
Abidat and I nodded, the silence between us no longer heavy with unspoken words but filled with a quiet understanding. There was still a lot to figure out, still so much to process, but at least we weren’t alone in it.
As we sat there, leaning against our mothers like we used to as kids, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. We had each other, and for now, that was enough.
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HERE with another chapter 
Feeling proud of myself guys we have less than 25 chapters to complete the book insha'Allah 
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