A STRANGER IN THE HOUSE
She appears nervous, as she must be. She is sweating even when seated directly under the ceiling fan, dread written all over her face in bold. Aliza does not look like the one to survive my mother. She appears naive, like a damsel in distress looking out for her husband to save her from every minor inconvenience. But the poor thing doesn't know my brother so well. What made her fall for him? Eww! Yeah, I shouldn't be the one telling this. But there is honestly nothing desirable in my brother, Ahmed. He looks smart, yes. It runs in our genes. And has a decent job with a secure future. But that's it. There is nothing I can say is remarkable about him. I wonder how my parents convinced Aliza.
I am seated exactly opposite her, across the hallway. From here, I can notice the beads of sweat adorning her forehead which she is trying to wipe every two seconds with her soiled napkin. Her eyeballs are rhythmically moving towards the door and then back to my brother’s face. Though I feel a little sad for her, I don't really sense any connection between us. Should I go talk to her or ask her what she wants? I have no idea. But Ma says I need to make her feel at home. It's her first day here after all. But what will I talk about anyway? She was clear she didn't like me the moment she saw me. She did not say it. But her eyes did. The intense hatred, the disgust, the fear of having to start a conversation with a stranger, the anxiety of forming a new relationship with a girl just a few months younger than her - I could see it all. It hasn't changed a bit yet.
My brother Ahmed hints at me to go help her, ask her what she needs and give her something to eat. I know. He said it all in just that single gesture. That is how we speak in any gathering. I hate him for that. He is always the one gesturing me to do this and that instead of doing it himself. If I did not, he would cut my pocket money. So, I have no other choice than to obey.
“Bhabhi,” I call her. It feels strange to call someone that for the first time. “Do you need something?” I ask and she looks up at me, almost thanking my timing.
“Ya Allah, yes Sara. Thank God you came,” she says and looks around quickly. I guess she wants to make sure Ma is not around. “Can I go now to my room or is there any other ritual pending?” she asks.
I know how she must be feeling having all eyes on her. But I am helpless too. I know there is a whole lot of drama coming after.
“Why Bhabhi? Are you unwell? Do you want something to eat?”
“I am fine, Sara. But I am starving. I hardly ate anything in the marriage hall,” she says, her eyeballs rolling subtly to the side.
“Oh, is it? How far can you hold it? I mean the hunger.”
“I will eat your brother alive if I can. That's how,” she giggles.
Oh, this woman! I never thought she would be funny and sarcastic. She is not the dumb kind. Will I like her in the long run? I consider that possibility for a moment. Maybe. There is a slight chance though I hate girls who push themselves into trouble and then search for a rescue. Let me see if we can ever strike it between us.
“Okay, I wouldn't say that is a clever idea. He is so bland,” I smirk, and she frowns at once. I tone down a little to consider what she must be thinking. Is it because she discovered I consider my brother flavourless or because she is worried about a probable future with such a man? It could be both. “Ummm… will milk and fruits do?” I change my tone immediately to comfort her though that is not exactly my job.
“I would love that. Let God bless you. Please bring me some,” she says.
“Oh, don't worry. That is exactly the next ritual they will make you do. You and my brother must share a bowl of fruit and some milk. Don’t forget to have a bit extra. Because who knows when your next meal will be. I will make sure the cup lands on your hands first. Or else that monster brother of mine will not let you have a drop extra.” We both giggle at our private joke. However, I am secretly worried that she might share my jokes with him later and turn him against me. I need to just stay careful before trusting her completely. After all, I know my family so well.
After an hour of waiting, the ritual finally starts, and I see Aliza struggle to get hold of her cup. Regrettably, she fails in doing so. My mother feeds her the first scoop followed by my brother, and the room erupts. Ma stands near her all the while, pride written all over her face. After all, Aliza is a beautiful bride. Ma is happy she managed to fetch herself a daughter-in-law who she can display like a trophy to her neighbours and relatives. Though I feel a bit of sadness for Aliza, there is a strange feeling in my heart, now that I must share space with her in our house. Things may go south from here on, but I must keep reminding her who is in control. Or will she take over soon?
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