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83.33% The Fiery Pit of Love / Chapter 5: Strained relations

Chapter 5: Strained relations

Chapter - 05

"Where are you coming from this late?" As soon as Habiba entered her house, she was welcomed by a deep, questioning voice.

Hearing the question, Habiba, who was smiling ear to ear, lost in her thoughts, clenched her fists in an impulse. She was so happy after getting the nod from Megan that she forgot about all her other worries.

Slowly she turned around to look at the source of the voice. And there he was... In front of her, sitting on the sofa, her father, Gholam Haque.

Mr Haque was a middle-aged man with a long beard on his face and no moustache. He wore loose white Kurta pyjamas and a gauzy skull cap over his head. As he looked at Habiba, his eyes were dead serious, with black cajole adding to the effects.

Mr Haque ran his fingers through his long white beard and put away the newspaper he was reading. He then shook his wrist to look at the time.

"It is already six," Mr Haque said, "Shouldn't you be back home by four?" Mr Haque asked.

Habiba could not help but shiver when her father looked at her with those deadpan eyes, "Father, you are early." Instead of answering her father, Habiba questioned back.

"This is my home, isn't it?" Mr Haque leaned back and supported his arm on the armrest of his sofa chair, "But you did not answer my question. Where were you this late?" Mr Haque asked again.

"I... was at... at the college," Habiba stammered, and looking down on the floor, she lied and avoided eye contact. Habiba knew she would get caught if she looked at her father straight into his eyes.

"This late?" Mr Haque raised his eyebrows and rubbed his beard, "What were they thinking teaching so late?" Mr Haque did not doubt Habiba. It was not because he trusted her, no... It was because he knew she did not dare lie to him.

"We had a practical session," Habiba told her father.

"I don't care," Mr Haque waved his hand, "How long do I have to spend money on that useless course of yours?" Mr Haque asked.

"That..." Habiba felt disappointed hearing her father, and tears began to form in her eyes, "It's one more year."

"It's all because of your mother that I am even wasting my money on you?" Mr Haque angrily folded the newspaper and threw it aside.

"... You should have been like your mother and taken care of the house," Mr Haque stood up from the sofa and walked close to Habiba.

Habiba had no words to refute her father. Or, to be more precise, she did not have the will to take a stand.

"Go inside and help your mother," Mr Haque stood up and said, "Your brother just got home. Unlike you, he has been working hard, earning money and shouldering the responsibility of the house," Mr Haque said and walked out of the room.

Meanwhile, even after Mr Haque left, Habiba stood rooted at her spot, with her head hung low. Her eyes were red, and her body was still shivering. It took her some time to bring her emotions to check. Habiba did not want her mother to know about this.

Soon, Habiba rubbed her eyes, and when she thought she looked okay, she made her way inside towards the kitchen.

In the kitchen,

When Habiba walked inside, she found that her mother was not the only one present there. On the dining table sat a boy, tapping his spoon impatiently.

"Look who finally decided to show up," The boy commented with a smirk as he watched Habiba walk into the kitchen.

"... Her highness, the royal princess," The boy taunted Habiba.

"Shahid, enough blabbering. She is older than you... Show some respect," before Habiba could reply, a voice sounded. From the kitchen, a middle-aged woman with her head covered with an azure blue coloured scarf very much like that of Habiba walked out. She was Habiba's mother, Haseena Haque. Mrs Haque slapped a plate on the table and said, glaring at the boy, "Take it and go to your room."

Hearing the lady, the boy did not show any displeasure. Instead, he smiled and got up from his chair.

"How long do you think you can save her?" The boy asked his mother as he picked up the plate, "After all, I am not the only one."

And with that, Shahid walked past his mother. But he soon stopped beside Habiba and whispered.

"You better not get cocky because she is behind you," Shahid said, "You are nothing but a tool for father... Better behave that way."

And whispering those words, Shahid walked out of the kitchen, leaving Habiba and his mother behind.

This was not something new for Habiba. She would go through this humiliation time and again. One would think that after years of abuse and hate, one would get used to it, but maybe Habiba was not just that thick-skinned. These words managed to pierce her heart every time she heard them.

"Habiba..." When Habiba's mother saw Habiba stand there without moving, she wanted to console her. But before she could do so, the teary-eyed Habiba left the kitchen and rushed to her room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In her room,

As soon as she entered her room, Habiba threw her bag in the corner and jumped on the bed, burying her face in a pillow, trying not to cry out loud. This was a regular day in her life but what she hated most was that she had not been able to grow a thick skin yet. Every time something like this happened to her, she would come to her room and cry herself out.

And this time, it was not different either, but before she could dry all her tears, Habiba heard her phone buzz. Habiba lifted her head and looked towards where the sound was coming from. Wiping her tears, she lazily got off her bed and went on to grab her phone from her bag.

When she checked the phone, it was a message from an unknown number. Usually, she would ignore it, but in the mood she was in, cursing the person who sent her the message at such a wrong time, Habiba opened it.

'I know I have been hard on you today. But let me welcome you to the family. I hope you become an inseparable part of this family. ~Megan."

Reading the message, Habiba closed her eyes. Family? She chuckled... It was a self-mocking smile. Will she ever experience the warmth of a family?

But thinking about Megan, Habiba remembered what happened earlier this afternoon.

Just as everything was about to be set in stone, Megan put forward a couple of her conditions.

She wanted Habiba to draw a couple of designs for them to evaluate. Megan gave Habiba a theme and an hour to draw something unique for them. This was a test. And like earlier, Amber protested, but this time, her protest was not strong enough, and she soon agreed to have Habiba do the task.

And with that, Habiba spent the next hour coming up with something unique. But it was hard, especially with Megan swinging over her neck like a sword. And by the time she was done, she had some doubts. But contrary to Habiba, Amber had a smirk on her face. She looked at Megan smugly, clearly convinced of her win.

And true, even Megan could not argue with Amber after looking at the designs in front of her.

"You have potential," Megan said, "I will give you that."

And just with those few words, Habiba was already on cloud nine.

"But you still have a long way to go, and I can't pay you this much for raw potential," Megan continued. She was back to her shrewd businesswoman avatar.

"... And so, I have decided that for the next three months, you are going to be an intern at this company," Megan announced.

"... And I want no more discussions on this. Let's get done with the details..." Megan went and sat on her chair.

"You really are shameless," Amber said, grumbling to herself, but she also went ahead and sat on the chair without making much fuss.

And with that, Habiba failed to get a full-fledged job. But she did get herself a place in the company. There was very little hope.

'She is really smart,' Habiba thought to herself. Even though Megan was creating one obstacle after another for her, Habiba did not feel any malice from either Megan or Amber. She knew that for them, everything was professional. So she had no reason to blame Megan for taking advantage of her desperation and hiring her for a much lesser salary than initially offered.

'I will work hard and make sure she stays true to her words,' Megan thought as she looked at the message on her phone one more time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You really tricked the poor girl, didn't you?" With a small vodka glass in her hand Amber commented when she saw Megan put down her phone.

"Why don't you pay her from your salary then?" Megan hit back at her friend.

Megan and Amber were in a bar, enjoying their evening with some drinks. There was no tension like what they had in Megan's office. It was like the two of them were playing good cop, bad cop in front of Habiba.

"No, thank you..." Amber leaned back and refused right away, "I have a daughter to take care of. I was hoping that you would increase my salary instead. But looks like you cheapskate won't do it, and all I can do is sell your designs to some big companies," Amber sighed.

"You know what? I sometimes believe you might actually do it someday," Megan shook her head.

"... Please show some pity on this poor soul. My dream, my savings and everything is riding on this. If I were to fail, I wouldn't even be able to afford a two-by-six piece of land for my burial," Megan pleaded to Amber.

"Oh well, What can I do? I am your friend after all," Amber shrugged.

"... But in return, you are taking Mia to the amusement park this Sunday," Amber quickly put forth her condition.

"Mia?" Megan frowned, hearing the name.

"Is there a problem?" And the scrunching of the nose by Megan did not go unnoticed by Amber.

"Don't get me wrong," Megan said, "I like Mia. Your daughter is quite adorable. But, I am not very good with..." Megan tried to get away from the plan, but Amber interrupted her.

"Since you like her, then it's decided. You are taking her out this Sunday," Amber gave the final verdict. Then she looked at her watch and picked up her stuff, "I need to go now. Mia is home alone..." Amber said and walked away, without saying even goodbye to Megan.

"Hey... At least pay for your stuff..." Megan could only fruitlessly call out for Amber, who had walked away.

"And they call me a cheapskate." Megan sighed as she banged her head on the table.

* * * * *


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