“Thirty-four?” I waited for a few seconds but no response came; so I called him again. “Thirty-four?”
Again no response.
Why does this boy always test my patience?
I looked up and immediately found him, sitting at his regular place. Last bench. As usual, that punk was busy doing something in his notebook, so lost that he couldn't hear me calling him again.
Everything has a limit, and today my patience is running thin.
My day had started on a bad note, by arguing with an Uber driver. That bastard wasn’t driving; he was flying. I think he wanted to kill me. Hundred percent.
Cursing the driver under my breath I again called him in high tone. “Farhan Yusuf Ahmed?” My voice echoes in the room.
He jumped at his place out of fear. Good.
“Present, Naaz Ma’am.” Farhan replied nervously, getting up from his seat in a hurry that his notebook fell on the floor under his bench, near his feet. He looked down nervously and was about to pick it up.
“Stop.” He visibly tensed up. “Right there.”
He stood up but his eyes were on his notebook. He brought his hand near his mouth and started biting his nails. He was nervous.
Today I want to see what he does with that notebook. What's so important in that notebook that he’s not paying attention in the class? My class.
I could see him start to sweat when I got on my feet and walked to his bench. I stood next to his bench crossing my arms and looking at him in anger. Anger would be an understatement for what I was feeling at that moment.
“What kept you so busy that you couldn't hear me calling out your roll number? Huh?” My voice deadly, making him more nervous.
He didn't utter a word, just stood still, drawing others' attention to us and making me more angry at him
I’m a sweet teacher but when some kid acts like a brat, I know how to tame them by giving them the right amount of punishment. And, today he’ll get some if he keeps acting like this. The best part is he knows it too.
I bend down to grab the notebook but he dares to kick it off and here I lose my mind.
“Get out from your bench and stand there.” I pointed to the empty place next to my table. “Now.”
He reluctantly came out from his bench and stood where I asked him to. “Ma’am, I’m sorry.”
Now he was sorry.
“Shut up. Hold your ears and do sit ups.” I looked at others. ‘Count until he completes fifty.”
Everyone chimed in with a “Yes, Ma’am.”
Farhan started to do his punishment and others counted the numbers in high tone. They know the drill.
I grabbed the notebook and opened it to check.
“Please, don't.”
I heard him begging. It only makes me more curious to find out what he was trying to hide from me. Farhan started crying as I flipped through pages after pages. I can hear them counting, and Farhan crying and begging me to stop.
“Ma’am, please.”
I didn’t stop. Not until I reached the end of it.
My breath caught. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. But no.
It was me.
My cartoon. In a red bra. Big breasts. Open hair. And those four disgusting words–“I love you Naaz Ma'am.”
The cartoon was ugly. I don't look ugly. It was disappointing, but what’s more disappointing was I didn't expect it from him. He is a good boy. At least, that's what I thought.
Fucking asshole.
I quickly tore it off and made it into a ball. I can hear him begging for mercy already. But today there will be no mercy. Disrespecting me–or anyone–like this isn’t acceptable. Not in my class.
I closed his notebook and slammed it on his bench and marched back to him. He is gone today. And he knows it, too.
“Naaz ma’am, sorry.” He cried begging for mercy. Because he knows if I speak up he will be in trouble.
“What kind of behaviour is this?” I asked with pure disgust. I can’t unsee the image from my mind. My hand curled into a fist, crushing that paper ball.
“Sorry, Ma'am.” His head was bent down out of shame. “You shouldn't have seen it. It was personal.”
The audacity of this punk.
“Tell me, what was it?” A few students asked him, but he ignored them and I gave them a glare making them quiet and eyes low.
I never hit my students... but today, something in me snapped. And it wasn't just about the cartoon.
“Forward your hands.” I ordered.
He followed my order immediately. Then the quiet room echoed with the sound of wooden sticks hitting his hand. Ten times each hand and his muffed crying. When I was done I could see his hands turned red. Those hits were hard. Painful. But he didn't dare to say a word to me. He knows he deserved it.
Today he crossed his line.
If he was here, and saw that cartoon of mine, Farhan would be dead by now.
Even though he doesn't like violence.
Why am I thinking about him?
“Don't repeat this mistake again, Farhan. Or else, I'll throw you out of this coaching center and complain to your parents.” I warned him.
He looked scared.
‘Yes, Ma'am.” He mumbled softly, guilt visible in his voice and eyes.
“Respect every woman, Farhan. You have two sisters and a mother at home. Would you like it if someone would have done the same with them?” My question made him feel more guilty and ashamed of his work. I can see that in his eyes and on his face.
“No, Ma'am. I'll kill him.” He replied immediately
“Hmm! Then respect everyone. Even if that woman is not your sister, mother, girlfriend or wife. Understand?” I said in a calm tone.
My anger was finally reducing, somewhere.
“Yes, Ma'am. I'll follow what you said. I promise this won't happen again.” he assured me, and that made me smile a little.
Farhan is not a bad boy. It's his friends who are bad and had a bad influence on him. Plus his age. He is a teenager, which means his blood is always hot.
“Farhan, you're not a bad boy like them. I would suggest you stay away from them.” I eyed his friends who were giving me a dirty look. I will teach them a good lesson after him.
“Okay.”
“I’m glad you realized your mistake. Now you can go back to your seat.”
“Naaz Ma’am, can I say something to you?” he was hesitant, with a tinted face.
I nod.
“What I wrote there was true. I really like you Ma’am.” he ran back to his seat in a hurry, as I glared at him.
God! I sat back in my place and continued taking their attendance.
“Fourty?”
It was the last one. No response. I called for the second time looking at her regular bench but Jasmine wasn't present today. Weird, but I quickly marked her as absent. She never misses her classes. I hope everything is okay in her family.
“Class is…” I stopped smelling him.
Strong. Spicy. Sexy.
Yah Allah! What’s wrong with me?
“Hello! Sadiqi alsaghir.” His damn deep voice called me in Arabic.
Even his voice is sexy.
Naaz. Stop it.
“Hello! Naaz Ma’am?”
Oh! Now he was mocking me.
I looked towards the door, only to find him standing, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest with a smirk. He looked like some dark romance book hero, clad in all black looking devilishly handsome. But neither he was a devil nor a morally gray man.
He was an angel. A cinnamon roll man.
He always looks handsome to me. But I never dare to voice it out. What if he takes my words wrong and thinks I'm in love with him? I don't want any kind of complication between us. I am happy the way we are.
Friends. Best friends. That's it.
“The class is dismissed.” I announced, and noticed how some girls were drooling over him shamelessly. As if they never saw a man before. A tall and handsome man. I don't know what got into me. I snapped eyeing those girls. “Get out, all of you.”
I could practically imagine him smirking now. I sneakily looked at him from the corner of my eyes, and yes he was smirking.
Fuck! Even some students were giving us a teasing smile.
“Get out!” I screamed in anger. Embarrassed.
This time Siddique gave me a disappointed look. He didn't like the way I was behaving so rudely with everyone, especially those girls. As if I care.
I am not a jealous type of a person but what's mine is fucking mine.
He is mine.
No, not in a lovey-dovey way. But in a friendly way. He is my one and only friend and I don't want to lose him at any cost. To anyone and for anyone.
Our future partners have to adjust with this condition only then they can have us. Otherwise, fuck off! Go to hell. Burn in hell.
“Stop cursing them.” he said, reading my mind.
No. He is not a mind reader, he just happens to read mine only. I guess he knows me too well. And that scares the shit out of me
“I wasn't cursing them.” I half lied. I not only cursed them, I cursed everyone who would dare to come in between us.
“Don't be so rude.”
His all time favorite job is to give lectures and advice to people. Even to strangers. It's irritating but I am adjusting with it like a good fucking sadiqi alsaghir. I doubt his future wife would do it for him.
“Sadiqi…”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.
“My little friend.” Now he had to call me by this name in English. Honestly, English sounds easy and good. But damn, when he says it in Arabic in his deep voice, it's hot.
I need to control my weird thoughts.
“I wasn't rude.” I lied.
“Yeah, right.”
Huh! Taunt master.
If he comes to know what Farhan did with me then it will be the last day of his small life.
“What are you doing here Siddique?” I finally asked, changing the topic.
“Siddique? From when you started to call me that, Naaz? Wasn't I always your Siddy?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous smile.
He is so evil, still so perfect.
How? I always wonder.
“Maybe you didn't notice their look.” I told him. They were still looking at us. Fucking bitches and assholes. “Leave.” Finally they started to move out. Eyes locked on us. “Fast.”
He looked at them, gave them his infamous glare and all ran out from the classroom in a hurry to save their life. His glare is dangerous. I get it on a daily basis.
The reason why I work here is silly. I want to earn some extra pocket money until I do my masters degree and get a job. Plus, I love to teach small kids. But here, there's no small kid. This coaching is for class 7 to 10.
“Well, what kind of look was that?” he asked, looking back at me, acting innocent.
This asshole.
“Don't act innocent Siddy, as if you don't know. They think we are a thing.” I said, pissed.
He laughed seeing me irritated. “Let's get out of here.”
I nod.
We reached outside only to realize he didn't get any of his vehicles. “Where is your fucking car? Bike?” I asked in irritation.
“Language.” he warned. I ignored it. “I forgot to take one.”
“What a lame excuse?” Who forgets to take their car or bike while leaving for work?
Until someone wants to irritate you?
“You did it on purpose. Didn't you?”
“What? No.” He snapped. “Why would I do that?”
“Obviously, to piss me off.”
“I would never.” he said getting defensive; but I know him too. “Come on, we will take a ride. Happy now?” His words made me smile.
Finally, I don't have to walk. Yes.
“Lazy girl.” I heard him murmuring to himself as he pulled out his phone.
Yes, I’m lazy. So what? I was ready to snap at him but didn’t–couldn’t.
“I booked a car for us.” He informed me.
“Cool.”
Our car arrived exactly after ten minutes. We quickly got in the back seat and the car started to move, picking up speed.
‘Why did you come to my coaching? And where are we going?” I asked.
“I came here to meet you. It's been a long time since we hung out. So, yeah.” he replied, not bothering to look at me.
“Are you sure? Because, we met four days ago. It's not that long.” I am doubting he is either lying to me or hiding something from me. But my gut feeling is telling me, it's both.
“Don't act like a police officer, Naaz. I'm not a criminal, who you're interrogating here.” he looked annoyed.
“Fine. I trust you,” I lied. I do trust him but not on this topic.
“Thank you Naaz for trusting me. Your trust means a lot to me.” His words were making my doubts clear. He was upset or in trouble with something.
“Are you okay?” I kept my voice soothing to let him know I'm getting worried for him. But he didn't say a word which means he is not fine. “Are you missing Razzaq uncle?”
“Naaz!”
So it's Razzaq uncle. His father. He must be missing him and that's why he is upset and wants to spend some fun time with me to make himself happy mostly to distract his mind from him. I feel really bad for him. Why does Allah SWT give good people so much pain? I always wonder about it, looking at him.
He is a good man.
I grabbed his hand and locked it with mine. He didn't care to look at me or our interlocked hands. It's natural for us. We always hold hands to comfort each other when we are upset.
“Siddy, we can visit him if you want.” my voice broke and my vision got blurry.
I can’t see him upset. It always happens to me, not because I'm an emotional or sensitive person, but because I know what pain he went through. How much does he suffer without his father? I know everything about him. At least, as much as he tells me or I can see through his eyes.
He has beautiful hazelnut eyes. Which speaks more than his mouth does. He has expressive eyes which I love a lot. And envy a lot
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