METAMORPHOSIS
by
Huda Ab Rahman
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Huda Ab Rahman on Smashwords
Metamorphosis
Copyright © 2009 by Huda Ab Rahman
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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METAMORPHOSIS
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pROLOGUE
Fatima has always known about things that deserved to be known.
She knows that she is special.
She knows that her late husband was special.
Yet she also knows that her children are not…as special.
Special they are, just not up to par, but they are still her lights, in the darkness of life, and if this is her shot in normality, then she shall embrace it during her journey.
Normality conquered the family’s life for exactly twenty-one years, until her first daughter betrothed and tied the knot, as well as the rest stepping on the boat.
Again, she has always known that her children-in-law are quite ordinary.
However, her grandchildren are amusingly…on the contrary.
“Well.” Najhan grabbed the last biscuit on the plate, his eyes glimmered under the fluorescent lights, “That’s…”
He paused, his face void of any expression. Tossing the confection into his mouth, he held a finger to his head, a motion that was terribly foreign to the spectators’ eyes, and devastatingly beleaguering—it seemed as if he was purging the answer from the biscuit—and he was about to utter another word when he suddenly froze, stupefied beyond recognition.
Five pairs of eyes smoldered their gazes on him, intensely waiting for his reply.
He let out a silent chuckle, hoping that the sheer gesture would wash away their inquisitiveness, but he knew—and so did the rest of his cousins in the room—that it was thoroughly impossible.
They wanted answers.
He slowly chewed the soft substance, savoring the taste of dried raspberry and white chocolate that lingered teasingly on the top of his tongue, baked to perfection by the chef most probably, or maybe his underlings? It didn’t matter, because it was supremely delish, and truthfully, he was distressed at the thought of swallowing, because that was indeed, the last piece, but he swallowed anyway, washing the remains with a mouthful of tea, refilling his cup with a fresh brew from the pot, brushing the rim of his teacup with his fingertips—
“Come on, now.”
“Dumb,” he spluttered, startled at Zahari’s unexpected outburst, “Dumb.”
They groaned, they grunted, and one of them scoffed, which irked him even more.
If he wasn’t too perturbed, he would have glared at Arina the scoffer.
But she made him quiver.
“Dumb?”
Arina wasn’t one to hide her disgust, or any expression for that matter, and that was apparent when she loudly snorted, “Just so you know, we’re not talking about you.”
He squirmed at that.
Yet feigning ignorance toward his lovely cousin was perhaps the most appropriate thing to consider while countering her self-esteem, so he swallowed again, nonchalantly expressed, “Well,” but perhaps it backfired, because he found his own self-esteem crumbling before his very own eyes, so he swallowed again, even if there was nothing more to swallow, and said, “Well.”
He waited for the moment when the spectators would leave the matter at rest and open a new chapter in their discussion. He still held on that hope as he deliberately wasted their time, taking another big gulp of his tea. He didn’t want to be the center of attention any longer, nor did he want the sudden affection that was bestowed upon his existence in that particular moment.
To his dismay, the rest of the audience seemed unaffected by his action, thoroughly oblivious by the gesture.
That, or they just enjoyed pestering the little sheep in distress.
Face it; it certainly was the latter.
“Well,” he cleared his throat, his hasty attempt of fading into the wind failed miserably, “Well—”
“Such things would happen, obviously,” Najwan, the savior he was, quickly came to his twin’s rescue. “Freaks who married freaks will produce normal people. Normal people with freaks blood who married normal people with freaks blood will produce freaks.” He snapped his fingers, relishing his genius moment. “Easy-peasy.”
“Exactly,” Najhan nodded eagerly, “So that is why—”
Again, the intense smoldering of curious eyes abruptly muted his voice, disallowing him to express his opinionated mind further. His eyes staggered, struggling to squeeze just another word into the chaotic world, and finally, he succeeded, albeit a little strained, “Dumb.”
Unfortunately, the reply was not the one they seek, for the groaning, grunting, and not to mention scoffing, began to rise in the air yet again. He quickly took another gulp from his cup, wishing that his bladder system would betray him, hoping that he would be excused to use the loo…
They can tell in an instant that he didn’t need to use the bathroom.
And they knew exactly that Najwan was being nonsensical.
Nadirah gave it much of a thought, and while her understanding toward the cousin in question was ludicrously low, she couldn’t help but agree with his theory. The statement was indeed laughable, but it certainly was plausible.
Frankly, such things couldn’t possibly happen as often as he thought. She could’ve gone as far as to say that it might only happen once in a blue moon. But of course, one can’t deny the fact that ugly people could produce handsome people, and a beautiful couple’s precious child wouldn’t always be granted with the promise of an equally dainty face.
A thin nose might look appalling on the mother’s face, while a pair of big eyes might look disastrous on the father. Yet when both were combined, their offspring might possess the dream face, the definition of beauty perfection, sought after by all those plastic-surgery addicts across the world.
A pointy chin on the other hand, might look mesmerizing on the mother, and a wide forehead might give an air of elegance to the father’s entire presence, but when the two properties were coupled, it probably wouldn’t match the standard perspective of current beauty.
What was the standard perspective of current beauty? Frankly, Nadirah didn’t know for sure, and it was a tad exaggerating to generalize the entire world—perhaps part of the world would suffice— especially the part that had been tainted with her breath and presence. The part of the world that blatantly admitted how a precious lady should possess a pair of big eyes; milky white porcelain face, preferably smaller than a disc; sharp, thin nose that curved upwards; small, plump and moistened lips with curvy cupid bow; naturally rosy cheeks—
“What?”
The voice took her by alarm, causing her to unconsciously strew the papers in her hands across the room.
She can feel her heartbeat quickened by Najhan’s sharp, monotonous tone, but he didn’t seem to notice as he further demanded, “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Never in her right mind would she do such a thing, not even to detect the slight differences between Najhan and Najwan.
The differences were uncanny. Only the dumbest of the dumb would have difficulty in differentiating them.
Her reply didn’t coincide with her thoughts though; she really didn’t want to irk him further by rehashing the word dumb.
“I do not.”
I do not didn’t equal to I wouldn’t dream of it, did it?
“You do.”
That hearty, injustice accusation made her whole composure burned with rage.
Oh, how she loved to counter back with a brilliantly cunning reply that would crumble his self-esteem, bearing the fate just like those scattered biscuits’ crumbs—
She must not.
After all, his self-esteem had long crumbled, hadn’t it?
“Fine,” she ground out, busily rearranging the papers back into her hands. Her heart was loudly protesting over her early withdrawal from a potentially hefty argument, but she shoved the thoughts away, letting her rage died down naturally.
Indeed, she didn’t want to succumb to the evil side of her personality and made another human suffer just for her own pleasure. His unjust insinuation did make her heart suffer inside however, because truly, she didn’t look at him in the first place—at least, not consciously.
She paused.
Now that she gave it much of a thought, her eyes might have absentmindedly fixated on his face during the flyaway of her mind.
But she couldn’t be blamed, could she? Where else should her eyes rest during her brain’s crucial assessments of Najwan’s grand theory?
Oh, the teacup might’ve been a fine substitute.
“Fine?”
Zahari’s response made her startled yet again.
This meeting was not good for her heart.
She glanced up, fully intended to stare Zahari directly in the eyes, taunting him to further read her mind, or perhaps, shut him off completely from uttering another word, anything to overpower his arrogant existence, but suddenly, an overwhelming sensation of attention mercilessly blinded her eyes.
The cousins had found their latest victim, or so it seemed.
They waited for her elaboration like they always did, waiting for miracles to blurt out of her mouth, and even if the said miracle was sometimes nothing but mere blabbers with close to zero significant, they never relented.
It was troublesome, it was definitely that, but her cousins had always loathed incomplete sentences, especially those that were out of their comprehendible mind. She truly had no choice but to bow down to their command.
She might as well do that, just for the heck of it.
Grinning, she stretched her lips in what she hoped was plain mockery, and said, “Dumb?”
The room erupted with frustrated anguish once more, and judging by their reactions, they were definitely on the verge of insanity.
And she enjoyed every second of it.
Still, she wasn’t the cruelest person on earth.
Probably.
She sighed, and after regaining her composure, she bluffed her way out. “Dumb?” she deliberately creased her brows. “I don’t understand.”
At once, those fearsome eyes shifted their penetrating gazes back at Najhan.
She tried not to smile.
Najhan swallowed convulsively, his throat probably dehydrated from the excessive swallowing, or perhaps startled that out of all these people, she’d be the one who had the nerve of asking him about the significance of that particular word.
But he knew fairly well on how Nadirah equally hated the attention, so he held his chin high, mustering his confidence and repeated, “Dumb…”
Those eyes were still fixated on him.
He blinked, swallowing yet again, “Well, dumb—”
“Please,” Widad sighed in a dramatic flair, but no one was oblivious to the pronounced irritation under her painted face, “The thought of sitting here all day long, hearing nothing but mere words with countless of pauses couldn’t possibly be good for my brain.”
Najhan nearly slurred the words as he hurriedly countered, “Dumb seems to fit the occasion—”
“Dumb seems to fit your occasion, you mean,” she sneered. “I wouldn’t disagree with that.”
The comment, insensitive as it sounded, did nothing to torment his soul. He was used to such insults from his own sister, but once in a while, it was nice to exchange the same irritation and let her taste the bold sensation of humiliation.
Unfortunately, his grand effort had failed yet again.
“That is not nice, dumb,” he licked his lips nervously, his mind running in frenzies of brilliant ideas, but none were able to escape from his mouth, “I…” he blinked, swallowed loudly. “I…” he blinked again, but then he momentarily sighed. “I need a new word.”
Perhaps I really need to teach him another word, Nadirah thought, because the word dumb had indeed, been quite old already.
It was high time he began muttering another word aside from that.
“Admit it,” Najwan’s voice gained Nadirah’s full attention again, largely because it was dangerously smooth, challenging even as he locked his eyes with his cruel sister, “Dumb is the perfect word to describe the situation. I mean,” he clasped his hands together, his tone was altogether pensive, “It’s dumb for Grandmother to be amazed at such situations since clearly us, the grandchildren,” he nodded at everyone in the room, his palm raising to his chest in profound gratefulness of his heritage, “Are bound to be awesome.”
Zahari quirked an inquisitive brow.
“Before you ask any further,” Najwan expertly cut him off, “I have every reason in the world to believe that what I’ve just proclaimed is true.”
And now, both of Zahari’s brows were up.
“Because…” he paused solely for the effect of suspense, “Because…” he grinned mischievously, “Because…”
When no one said anything, or did anything for that matter, he repeated again, “Beca—”
“Say it already!”He was taken aback by the unison outburst, but his expression never faltered from that arrogant grin of his. He crossed his arms, his eyes twinkled under the lights. “Do you seriously want to know?”
“No, I don’t,” said Arina flatly.
Najwan narrowed his eyes. “Then shut your filthy ears.”
She scowled. “You’re getting on my last nerve.”
“You’re always on your last nerve.” He said that almost too casually, as if that was the most natural thing to say, “Shut up and don’t listen.”
Arina was about to open her mouth, probably to retort back with her usual scathing remark, but he quickly cut her off and proudly announced, “Because we are the phenomenal grandchildren!”
A unison sigh escaped from their mouths.
Najwan waited for the words to sink in their brain, for them to acknowledge his sudden genius streak, for them to gasp in admiration at his logical thinking, but after a few second, he got nothing of that sort, which prompted him to concentrate his attention fully on the decoration of the china teapot.
If anyone thought that Najwan could at least provide a solid basis to his blunt reasoning, then they were dead wrong.
After all, the phenomenal grandchildren were all likely candidates for the mental hospital.
Yes, each of them.
“Exactly,” Najhan nodded in agreement.
To which he was agreeing on, Nadirah wouldn’t know. Her cousins always had a knack of reading her mind, or so she thought.
Najhan averted his attention to Arina, shoving the empty plate under her nose. “Call your butler. More biscuits. Now. Same one. Tea is cold. Replace. I want coffee. And juice. With ice. Now.”
“And fruits!” said Najwan.
“And fruits,” he nodded, and added some more, “With ice cream.”
Arina gaped at them in disbelief, nearly snarling, “No. My fridge is not yours.”
Najwan looked at her innocently. “We didn’t ask for your chocolates.”
She huffed. “Biscuits only.”
The twins sighed in a much identical and extremely exaggerated manner, obviously disappointed at the lack of agreement. But then Najhan murmured quietly to Najwan, “Later?”
He crooked a smile. “Tonight.”
They grinned mischievously, which infuriated Arina even more as she further screamed on the top of her lungs, “Butler!”
“He has a name, didn’t he?” Najwan inquired thoughtfully to Zahari.
Zahari didn’t feel comply to even nod.
Moments later, the door creaked open.
“Yes, miss?” the butler stood rigidly against the door, his posture stoic, oblivious to any emotion thrown at his way.
Arina handed him the empty plate without much of a thought. “More biscuits.”
He took the plate and after a swift nod, he murmured, “Yes, miss,” before quietly shutting the door.
Sighing, Widad drained her tea with her extremely flawless etiquette. Or so she thought.
“Kids these days,” her eyelashes fluttered toward Arina’s direction, “Know no manners.”
Arina ruminated on her earlier behavior, and shrugging, she faced the door, slowly enunciating the word, “Please,” with the gentlest voice she could muster. She couldn’t be bothered, and it was too late for her to scare the butler with her rare kindness anyways, but nitpicking was a tradition in their relationship, so upon hearing that, Widad heavily rolled her eyes, which caused Zahari to blink in amusement.
“Slow down, lady. Someone is maturing a bit too fast.”
“Of course,” Widad smiled sweetly, “Girls are not as callous as boys.”
“Of course,” he grinned gleefully, “Impossible it is for a boy to become a grandfather overnight.”
The twins broke into a huge laughter, and as much as Nadirah was eagerly attempting of keeping her mirth to herself, she couldn’t help but let out a little snort. She too adored the rare moments of Queen Widad’s dethroning.
Yet the sensation was too short to relish.
For a moment, the binding power of Widad’s lethal stare caught their breaths, suffocating their throats, blurring their visions with its magically nauseating sensation, waiting for them to bow down to the Queen.
Fortunately, the loud knocking from the door cracked the spell and interrupted the connection, sending relief down everyone’s spine.
“Come in.”
The butler suavely entered the room upon Arina’s command, carefully placing a plate of biscuits on the table. “Anything else, miss—”
“No.”
He bowed, readying to exit the room.
“Thank you,” said Zahari, perhaps a bit too loud.
“Right,” she muttered, understanding the gesture. “Thank you.”
The butler politely excused himself, indifferent to the sudden politeness of his employer’s daughter, or the sharp answer to his dutiful inquiry.
Once he was out of the door, Najhan, in his extremely uncouth behavior, popped another piece of biscuit into his mouth, munching with supreme vigor as if he hadn’t eaten for days. Imitating his twin, Najwan popped another biscuit into his mouth as well, joking around until the whole room was booming with laughter.
Yes, her cousins were easily distracted.
For a while, Nadirah wondered if their whole enthusiasm in this whole investigation was just a scam, but then, they were indeed the one who specifically requested for her help, practically begged for her cooperation. It seemed lately that everyone was aware of the oddities in their lives, eager to unravel more of their own mysteries, to discover more of their true potential.
Naturally, she gladly offered her information. They did sincerely look concerned and thoroughly desperate.
But now, she wasn’t so sure anymore.
Glancing warily at each of their faces, she asked, “Should I continue?”
“Ah,” Widad—as if just remembering the reason for the gathering—nodded, and remarked, “Of course. We should carry on, honestly,” which earned a whole lot of head nodding from the rest of the cousins.
Perhaps distraction overwhelmed the enthusiasm. It was a typical thing to happen in their odd household. They might’ve inherited the trait from their ancestors for all they know. She ought to understand that by now.
But she digressed.
Shrugging, Nadirah cleared her throat and resumed her reading.
If there is one thing that Grandmother Fatima has always known, it’s the fact that her wishes, most of the time, if not all, have come true.
She wished that she will marry her husband, and she did.
She wished that her son will not marry his phony college sweetheart, and he didn’t.
She wished that her children will become successful in their lives, and they did.
Grandmother Fatima knows that her specialty is amusing, yet she didn’t feel compel to share the amusement with just anyone.
Perhaps, her spouse is excluded.
“So, it’s not yet certain whether the late grandfather knew about this stuff or not,” slurred Najwan, most probably due to the overload biscuits in his mouth, “I think yes. No secrets—no, scratch that, nothing could escape the matrimony bonding.” He shuddered. “Don’t you agree?”
Nadirah shrugged.
“Which son was that?” Zahari was genuinely intrigued, his eyes sparkling in interest. “Was it my dad, or was it your dad? Oh,” he grinned, unable to contain his excitement, “I bet it’s mine.”
Again, Nadirah opted to shrug.
“It doesn’t matter,” Widad brushed him off impatiently, “Hurry up to the good stuff.”
Nadirah decided to ignore any further intrusion, averting her eyes back toward the paper.
Grandmother Fatima must have thought that she knows everything. However, she didn’t know that her words are highly contagious and infectious. Nevertheless, when such words were coupled with the worse of the worse, surely, the good would appear, or at least, in the most twisted way.
When her sole daughter birthed a daughter, Grandmother Fatima looked at the eldest granddaughter and said, “Oh, this one will charm the world.”
She tried to name her Widad, but her daughter persisted to call her Azwa.
In the end, they decided to let the baby choose, so they reached for her and cooed her name, hoping that the baby would side with them…
Of course, the baby responded to Widad.
“Of course,” Widad beamed. “I’m a genius, right from birth.”
The twins gagged, Arina clamped her mouth shut, Nadirah buried her nose into the papers, but Zahari decided to clap his hands and said, “Right you are.”
They gasped.
“Shut up,” snapped Widad, knowing from an instant that those three words were not exactly a compliment in any way. However, instead of tormenting Zahari further with her silent weapon, she proceeded to flash her icy, yet hypnotizing gaze at Nadirah, beckoning her to carry on.
Nadirah sighed.
Widad had always been an accomplished hypnotizer, or in this case, charmer, and it had always driven them up the wall.
Troublesome for others, but of course, convenient for her.
When her first son sired a son, she looked at the eldest grandson and said, “Oh, this one will see everything in this world.”
She tried to name her Zahari, and it had been proven easy, since the parents of the baby liked her bossy.
Of course, the baby didn’t mind the name, really.
“It’s not as if I have a choice,” muttered Zahari.
“Which wonders me,” Najwan stared at him curiously, peeking under his face for a clearer view, “How do you manage to keep your fringe so long? I haven’t seen your forehead in ages. I bet it has changed colors already.”
Zahari looked at him in amusement, desperately controlling his laughter.
“Your teacher…” Najhan trailed off, clueless for a couple of seconds before finally finishing his sentence, “Must be angry.”
He grinned, unsure whether he was being ironic or the opposite, but he answered just the same, “I styled it, of course. It’s not as apparent when I keep it flat and hard. I can’t bear to lose my fringe,” he shivered. “Not if you have eyes like me.”
“At least you know that you’ll never have cooties,” Arina snorted.
Not just cooties, he could even detect the miniscule imperfection of his artfully gelled hair, which made his statement of deceiving the teachers foolproof. Overly sensitive eyes, it was not a wonder that he was germaphobic, especially when he could see every single germs in the world. Spooky to their ears, but of course, much spookier to his eyes.
When her third son sired a daughter, she looked at the granddaughter and said, “Oh, this one will know every single word uttered in this world.”
She tried to name her Nadirah, and her third son accepted without a question, for he knew very well on the hardness of changing her mind.
Of course, the baby just blinked silently and learned her first word.
Arina pinched her lips thoughtfully. “I thought the first word is the Adzan—”
“Well, you don’t…” Najhan clamped his teeth, “You can’t remember that anyway.”
“Yeah,” Najwan acceded, “It says, you learned, not, you heard, dimwit.”
Nadirah was certain that she heard a tiger growling somewhere in this room.
Or perhaps it was their stomachs.
“I wonder if Grandmother has called you that before you were born,” Widad looked at her, amused, and then began to say animatedly, “Like, oh Nadirah, how are you doing Nadirah, how do you like your psychic power Nadirah…”
Nadirah loved to retort with how her ears were probably fully covered with whatever there was in a mother’s belly, which made it impossible for her to hear anything, but she just shrugged.
“Wow, I bet they didn’t do that to me when I was still a mere fetus.”
It was hard to detect the underlying motive behind Widad’s sneering tone, and the bad thing was—Nadirah didn’t know for sure if Widad was plainly fascinated, or viciously jealous.
It didn’t help either when Zahari suddenly cringed, his words smoldered with loathing as he said, “Don’t let me visualize any of those fetuses, especially yours.”
She could predict on what would happen to Zahari next; the Queen’s rancorous behavior was gruesome, humbly said, so Nadirah quickly averted her eyes toward the remaining cousins, who seemed to whine for her attention.
“And where is mine?” Arina munched her biscuit much in the same manner as the twins, but her eyes were forceful and deliberately large. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about me.”
“Yours would be last, stupid,” Najwan said matter-of-factly. “It’s our turn next.”
That was true; it was the twins’ turn next. But she didn’t feel compel to utter it aloud, not when Arina’s cheeks were considerably red, and possibly hot.
“I’m just asking,” she returned irritably, “Thanks for the extra courtesy, dumbo.”
Yet another fancy fight to be forever engraved in Nadirah’s brain.
The funny thing was, even if a million years had passed and she was miraculously still alive in this world, she would still remember the insults thrown about between her lovely cousins at this very room, perhaps even recite it flawlessly in front of them without breaking a sweat. Useless thing to remember, but nothing she can do about it.
Simple, she remembered all the words uttered in this world within the radius of her ears, and she had the pleasure of rewinding all those conversations to her heart content.
No one could lie to her face—that was simply impossible.
When her sole daughter birthed a pair of identical male twins, she looked at one of them and said, “Oh, this one will be the world’s book of knowledge,” and then, she looked at another and said, “Oh, this one will be the world’s book of wisdom.”
She tried to name them, but failed miserably.
Therefore, she let her daughter do the pleasure, and after a brief study in the list of Muslims name, they have decided to name the twins in nearly identical names, Najwan and Najhan.
Of course, the twins were oblivious by the absurdly identical names.
“So, which is which?”
Najhan looked at Arina suspiciously, unconsciously enunciating every syllable in his sentence. “Which is what?”
“The book of knowledge,” she rolled her eyes. “And the book of wisdom.”
“Ah,” Najwan chuckled, “That.” He smiled, motioning her to lean in. She contemplated for a while; unsure of his exact intention, but then decided to take the risk and lunge forward, conveniently placing her ear near to his head.
“That…” Najwan whispered, pausing for effect before finally continuing, “…is not for you to know.”
Arina sat back on her seat, grunting in disgust. She shifted her attention to Widad, but before she could speak, Widad just waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know.”
Najhan lowered his eyes. “You never asked.”
“As if you could answer.”
“I could,” his hard voice took Nadirah by surprise, “If you could just…” he paused, or perhaps he bit his tongue, “If you could…” he blinked, and swallowed. “If you…”
“If you could just stop using your little charm and treat us as if we’re your little minions then perhaps we can have an agreement.” Najwan finished the sentence gravely, eyeing her with deep remorse.
“My charm,” her voice was bursting with proud, “Is my specialty.”
“Our secret,” Najwan pressed, “Is plainly that. Our secret.”
“Or maybe you don’t have a clue.”
Nadirah blinked, realizing that she had uttered her inner thoughts aloud. She raised her head, only to be startled yet again, but this time, she was feasted with a venomous glare from the other twin, Najwan, and not from Najhan, or their sister, or the other two, or anyone else for that matter.
Not that there were anyone else in this room.
“Just carry on,” he spat impatiently.
It was rare of him to succumb to the evil emotion of rage, and for him to suddenly attack in such a ferocious manner made the situation terribly amusing that she couldn’t help but smile.
“And stop smiling.”
She couldn’t resist the urge to snort either.
“And snorting.”
She clasped her mouth with her hand, finding the situation far—actually beyond—amusing.
“And that too—”
“Shut up.”
At once, no sound emitted from the room, all obeying the low, yet alarming command from the irritated Zahari.
Irritated Zahari was definitely terrifying.
Nadirah tried to regain her composure, burying her nose back into the papers. Still, she wondered if Najwan was truly clueless about his ability.
If there was something that remained a mystery in Nadirah’s life, it was the fact that she had yet to crack the uniqueness of the twins.
Perhaps the only people who knew about their specialty were they, but it was not as if they were distant or aloof in any way either. Everyone seemed to be the twins’ acquaintance, and everyone seemed to know them well. Yet their level of secrecy outmatched every single person in this room, who more or less, definitely were brimming with endless secrets themselves.
Nevertheless, Nadirah decided that it was time to read the last paragraph of her investigation, since a fidgeting and impatient Arina was never a good sight to behold.
Like brother, like sister.
They wouldn’t like that.
When her first son sired a daughter, she looked at the youngest granddaughter and said, “Oh, this one will somehow…be like me.”
Arina spluttered her tea. “What?”
“Shh,” Zahari placed his finger on his lips, “Shut up and listen.”
She tried to name her with a name that matched her own, but after continuously racking her brain for the most suitable name, she failed yet again, most probably due to her delighted mind. Therefore, her daughter-in-law took the responsibility, and named the baby, Arina.
Of course, the baby didn’t mind that her name didn’t resemble her grandmother’s name.
“Thankfully not.”
Zahari patted Arina’s back. “Or else, your name might be Fatiha.”
“That name is splendid and all,” she retorted, not oblivious to Zahari’s scheme of aggravation, “But my name suits me better.”
He pondered over the possibility, and shamelessly asked, “And why would Arina become like Grandmother?”
“Because she’s old?”
A loud spanking noise escaped from Najwan’s back, but Nadirah tried to ignore that.
“Obviously…” Najhan blinked.
And there was a short silence.
As always.
“Obviously,” Nadirah tried to finish the sentence, suddenly eager to get this done with, “Arina’s words are as meaningful as Grandmother’s—”
“Hey,” the caustic voice caught her full attention, and as she stared at the bearer of the voice, she realized that Najwan was still narrowing his eyes at her. “That’s supposed to be my job.”
“It’s not,” Najhan replied nonchalantly, draining his cup of tea.
“It’s not,” Nadirah echoed playfully, reaching for a piece of biscuit.
“It’s not,” Arina joined the banter, spanking Najwan in the head again.
It should be noted that if Arina agreed on anything at all, that particular anything would usually mean the truth. Much resembled the unique quality of their grandmother; it was a no-brainer that her words were just as powerful as Grandmother Fatima.
Nevertheless, it was known that all of Arina’s wishes were done in an unconscious mind.
Or was it?
Nadirah didn’t care, for what mattered now was her job had finally done.
“So,” she grinned, waiting for their outburst, “I am finished.”
They blinked, and as if their head were suddenly knocked by an invisible force, they began to reach for her papers, skimming it directly and thinking loudly.
Najwan glanced at her papers, messily scattered from one hand to another, and decided to inquire suspiciously. “How could you find all these information anyways? I thought you can only rewind conversations. Is this even legit?” He sniffed the paper. “Smells fishy.”
Her grin became broader, trying to ignore the last sentence. “I’ve undergone my own metamorphosis,” she said triumphantly, “I’ve become a full-fledged freak.”
“Oh,” Zahari mouthed, and averted his gaze toward Widad at once. “Please don’t embrace your ability any further than necessary.”
She scoffed. “Are you talking to me or yourself?”
He raised his brows. “You are freakishly impossible.”
“Haven’t you heard?” she rolled her eyes. “Welcome to the world of freaks.”
“Yeah,” Najhan grinned. “Welcome to the world of freaks.”
chapter 1
Five months earlier
“Your hair is hideous. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
How hard was it to keep your most ominous thoughts—yet honest nonetheless—to yourself, and only to yourself, instead of announcing shamelessly to the world?
It couldn’t be too hard, but when you had such a lecherous mouth as Nadirah, you knew that a painstakingly fierce practice and determination were necessary in order to diminish the natural habit.
She’d learned that it was wise to follow up a harsh critic with an equally helpful advice, which she always did by quickly amending her negativity with a consolation such as, “At least your toes are nice,” but who cares about toes, really?
She’d also learned that it was wise to give an insightful advice, and she did try that in multiple occasions. In this case, she would say, “Maybe you should try some hair styling product,” but no one cares. They had long since gone with tears in their eyes and rage on their faces.
Since then, she had given up trying to be the rude yet nice person, and opted to be the mute yet nice person.
At least, she had gotten rid of the rude trait, which didn’t sound too bad.
But it seemed that instead of reaching toward the nice factor, her reputation began to slide into the snobbish and arrogant character.
Well, at least she wasn’t openly creating havoc with her sharp tongue.
How dreadful.
More than that, she was ashamed to herself for not following the advice of an elderly person that she met at her grandmother’s soiree. He was nice enough to bear with her antics, and even if she was being exceptionally rude with a person that was significantly older than her parents were, he didn’t mind at all. On the contrary, he gave her some very insightful comments.
He knew about her ability of rewinding conversations. He knew about her uncontrollable urge of criticizing a human being. He even knew that she wasn’t content with her life. She had no friends, at least, none that didn’t share the same blood as her.
She knew how unwise of her to unlock her vault of secrets thoroughly to a stranger, much less the mother of all secrets— her unique ability— to anyone but her relatives, yet the grandfather, who never told her his name, proved to be such a gentle person to lean on, which she often yearned from her late grandfather.
“Rather than blatantly criticizing a person,” he used to say, “You should take a moment to rethink about your words, and try to counter it with an equally helpful advice. None likes to be compared to a jackfruit’s rag, but they always love to find a substitute to cover their bloat, even if they insisted that there are no such things.”
Nadirah spluttered into a huge laughter at the soothing consolation, and even more when he said, “One day, you’ll find a friend that wouldn’t care for your imperfection, wouldn’t care for your blatant remarks, and of course, most importantly, wouldn’t care about your so-called freakish ability,” he smiled. “It’s just a matter of time, but when it comes, it is vital for you to recognize it at once, for such an opportunity often appeared once in a blue moon, and if you missed it,” he sighed, “Then you might as well miss it.” But then he smiled encouragingly. “I expect you won’t.”
“You don’t know for sure,” she retorted back, “I am conceited.”“Glad for you to recognize your imperfections,” he laughed, “Isn’t that enough to prove your brightness?”
What should one say, when one was complimented in such a twisted way?
“Nevertheless,” he continued, “I adore you, so I might give you a clue.”
She held her tongue, rigidly waiting for the clue.
Yet the answer was both odd and foreign to her ears, because the only thing he said was, “Follow the butterfly,” and how on earth would a butterfly lead her to the perfect friend of her life?
“Not only would you find a friend,” he added, “You would find a journey that you would cherish, and you might even experience your own metamorphosis.”
That did it.
Ever since that day, she had clamped her mouth shut from unnecessary criticizing, and concentrated on searching for the butterfly, whatever that meant.
Unfortunately, she had been clamping her mouth for as long as she remembered, to the point that her freedom of speech that once had been dangerously buttery smooth, had went on a rocky road and transformed itself into chunky peanut butter.
Not that she cared—her incompetence in the mechanism of speech had proven useful in more than several occasions, too useful that time seemed to stretch farther than necessary, because of her lack of social life.
What should one do, when one had too many times in her hands?
She admitted that she liked to read. She liked to learn new words. She liked to study the plot. However, if there was anything that none knew and only she—and possibly her cousins—was that she could recite an entire book flawlessly with her eyes closed. The words seemed to engrave forever in her heart rather than floating about in her brain.
It was truly an advantage in her part—she could rewind any conversations she heard within the radius of her own ears to her heart content, and even memorized every word that she saw without breaking a sweat.
Call it skill, call it talent, but Nadirah had a hunch that it was more than that.
What could it be? She concluded by recognizing herself as a freak.
After all, her grandmother often greeted her guests with the phrase, ‘Welcome to the House of Freaks!’ incredulously so, and her cousins had adopted the name and greeted the bewildered guests with an equally wacky phrase, “Welcome to the World of Freaks!’
None of the guests really knew what lied beneath the phrase—they never really displayed their level of freakiness to any of them, saved for those occasional outbursts or two. She liked to think that perhaps, in their minds, the freakiness really referred to their freakishly tight relationship, rather than the actual freakiness of their abnormal life.
Admittedly, their bond was great, but she couldn’t be exempted from being envious.
Her other cousins shared the same abnormal life with their siblings, but her, being the sole child in the household, were left alone in the cold night in a house that consisted of only her and her normal parents.
At least her cousins treated her like their own sister, thus she didn’t have much to complain. That was why visiting her grandmother’s house was always blithely blissful.
That, and the fact that her grandmother’s library was phenomenally humongous and amazingly stocked with countless of leather-bound books.
From the tales of Napoleon to the tales of the Islamic Prophets, she had it memorized by heart. The life in the ancient age had always enthralled her, mesmerized her with the delicate language and fashions, so much that she intercepted those qualities right into her real life. She loved to prance around the house with her petticoat, but of course, never to the eyes of the strangers. She loved to gaze at the articulate historical remnants, but of course, never to abduct them and lock them in her room. She loved to speak with such impeccable manners and bombastic words, but of course, only to…only sometimes, if she could speak at all, of course. Which she couldn’t. Not without pausing for several minutes in order to concoct the sentence in her brain and out from her mouth.
Basically, she loved everything from the 19th Century, and it drove her mother crazy.
Yet, why was it that the one who met the psychiatrist was she?
Oh yes, her lack of enthusiasm concerned her parents, and so she was sent to the hole of the shrink.
Acknowledging about her state of mind was not such a devastating action, for feeble as she was, she was intrigued by the idea that she might suffer from a mental disorder, resulted by her own negativity and unsocial life.
However, she knew that admitting it aloud would probably shorten the lifespan of her parents, so she decided to be a good girl, showing improvement in her chart in order to release her parents from the tension of forking their hard earn cash on the overpriced doctor.
She liked the doctor, but the friendship wasn’t cheap.
It was a good thing that the doctor’s upcoming house party was free—providing you have an invitation—and Nadirah had decided to attend, forcefully so by her cousin Widad, who wanted to have a piece of the party for herself.
She didn’t mind. Arguably, it was nice to have a companion to the party and enjoy the free food, rather than having none and filling the stomach with some typically bland meal from the fast-food restaurant.
“Hey.”
Widad abruptly snapped her fingers right in front of Nadirah’s face, and while she wasn’t supposed to be startled, she startled anyway.
She was about to say, ‘I am perfectly aware of my surroundings, thank you,’ but the word that flew out of her mouth sounded something like, “What?”
“Yes, I know that I haven’t said anything,” Widad smugly smiled, “I’m just checking out if you’re still in this world with me. I wouldn’t want you to miss my spectacular remark.”
Nadirah doubted that Widad’s spectacular remark would prove satisfactory when she had her as the companion.
“Oh, I know,” Widad sighed matter-of-factly, and Nadirah touched her cheek, wondering if her face wasn’t as inscrutable, “My creative juice doesn’t flow that well when talking to you. But,” she hastily skimmed the hanging clothes on the rack—outrageously so if one might add—that for a second, Nadirah shuddered for the fate of the fabric and potentially her own, since it might provoke the lioness side of the boutique’s assistant, thus chasing them away from the boutique, or worse, banning them forever from the store, and she really, really wouldn’t like that.
Yet that seemed unlikely. Not when you had Widad here to hypnotize the assistants persistently that they were framed for such act, so it was a good decision to scratch the thought from her head because such thing would be impossible to happen if Widad was by her side. Furthermore, Widad was rattling around like a rattle and Nadirah only caught halfway into the speech which sounded like, “—a girl. So tell me,” she unlatched a one-piece garment from the rack and laid it on an invisible body, if there was an invisible body, but Nadirah doubted there was any, but anyway, Widad hadn’t stopped talking, “Isn’t this pretty?”
She stared at the garment, examining the bodice, scrutinizing the decorations, trailing the stitches, gawking at the frocks—
Widad snapped her fingers again, taking Nadirah back into reality before she could lose herself in the world of frills and bows.
“Now tell me about this dress.”It should be noted that today was Widad’s 3rd Anniversary of flying solo, and in commemoration of such event, it had been their tradition to spend the entire day in a mall that was filled with countless of expensive guilty pleasures. Granted, it had only been three years, but it felt as if the tradition was long established since they were children, or maybe it was, since it had only been formalized three years ago.
Rebellious and hot-blooded, Nadirah wasn’t certain about Widad’s true intention, except that she was going to prove to their grandmother that she would become a spinster until the end of her life if she were to wait for the prince in shining armor instead of hypnotizing the first person she met with her love charm.
She was surprisingly adamant about the whole turnabout, much more certain than her college graduation.
Truthfully, there was no explanation as to why she needed to act that way, since indeed, she had only reached the mere age of eighteen.
If she were a woman who reached the unpleasant age of twenty-eight without a partner, then Nadirah would have understood.
Human was such a complex creation.
Moreover, if there was anything more that she couldn’t understand, it was the fact that Widad had been hinting her interest in a frilly dress.
Nadirah wondered if all those boiling blood had went to Widad’s head, and in her attempt of cooling down the blood system, she obeyed the queen and ran her hand over the fabric, vaguely answered, “Silk?”
Apparently, that was not the answer Widad had in mind, because she too was taken aback, and after a short glance with a gentle caress of the fabric, she said impressively, “I suppose it is, different label sure can make you blind—”
“Or cotton—”
“You’re not serious, are you?” Widad narrowed her eyes.
Nadirah nonchalantly smiled, expressively insinuated her lack of talent in differentiating types of fabrics.
“Cotton feels coarse.” Widad enunciated the words slowly, “Silk feels soft.”
Funny, that. Nadirah had always thought that almost all of her clothes consisted of fabrics that felt both coarse and soft at the same time.
What was she wearing all this while?
It was not her concern anyways.
Her impression of the dress was her main concern at the moment apparently, because Widad was getting impatient as she repeated, “Now tell me about this dress!”
Honesty was not Nadirah’s strong virtue any longer. “You don’t like this,” that sounded harsh, “…type of clothes.”
“I don’t,” Widad made no effort to hide her resentment, “But you do.”
“I do,” Nadirah raised her brows, “So?”
“So,” Widad echoed her word, her face glowed underneath the soft fluorescent pink lights, “Wear this to the house party.”
Nadirah was tempted to retort with a ‘Have you gone insane?’ or at least, ‘Are you out of your mind?’ or ‘Are you nuts?’ for the sake of it, but decided not to because that was such a mouthful and possibly didn’t worth her saliva.
She glanced at the lovely garment, back to Widad’s eager face, again at the splendor dress, and finally back to Widad’s beleaguered face—most probably sparked by the long seconds she’d wasted for her single reply—before finally answering, “Nah.”
Not such an amiable reply, but the word alone conveyed her utmost reluctance in agreeing with her cousin.
“What do you mean by, nah?” she mockingly mimicked her tone, yet Nadirah found it to be exceptionally endearing. Nevertheless, if it were anyone else, she had long unleashed her vilest glib tongue to the imbecile prat.
“Clothes,” she surveyed the hanging racks, “I have them.”
“Of course you do,” Widad rolled her eyes.
Nadirah wondered if one day the pair of eyes would roll all the way back to Widad’s head, rotting and messing with her brain, and Nadirah further wondered about the corruption of her own brain that permitted such diabolical thinking to trespass her mind.
She blamed it on Zahari.
Zahari’s hobby was badmouthing Widad, you see.
“Who doesn’t?” continued Widad.
If Nadirah didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that Widad was blessed with the special talent of reading her mind.
Widad wasn’t that blessed, thankfully.
Nadirah stared at Widad intently, watching her as she examined the one-piece thoroughly, checking every single detail—defective merchandise didn’t sit too well with Widad, even a stray thread can get on her nerves—while concocting a simple sentence in her mind.
Taking a deep breath, Nadirah spluttered, “Why are you buying me stuff? I’m not the—”
“Yes, it is I who is the rebel,” she lazily intervened, waving the garment in front of Nadirah’s figure to have a good measure, “But it is you who is going to the house party.”
Nadirah wanted to retort with ‘So do you,’ but her words came off as, “House party…” she turned over as Widad measured the garment on her back, “Is just…a house party.”
“House party,” Widad replied scathingly, “Is not just a mere house party. Not when I’m attending. Especially with you. We must look equally mesmerizing. Wait,” she called a nearby assistant who’d nearly succeeded in escaping the likes of her cousin, but alas, it wasn’t possible under the clutches of Widad, “What do you think of this dress on her?”
Upon closer inspection, it should be noted that the assistant wasn’t trying to unleash himself from the clutches of Widad, but rather, he was attempting to flee before the entire population of this store could blame him for unconsciously infecting them with his feverish virus. Nadirah wasn’t certain if his nose was red underneath the half-mask on his face, but judging by his watery red eyes, it did look dangerously infectious.
“It looks good,” he answered, and judging by his coarse voice, Nadirah had no doubt that she might be the next great contender for the flu since she had weak body resistances.
“See?” Widad said triumphantly, oblivious to the danger state of her health.
But one would expect such things from her since she was not Zahari, or at least, possessed the same ability like Zahari. Nevertheless, she did possess a much more lethal weapon than he, and she was using it now when she icily said, “It looks good, and don’t,” she jabbed her forefinger at Nadirah warningly, “Say that you don’t like it, because you obviously do. Now,” she tossed the garment literally on Nadirah’s head, “Hold this. I need to find some other options.”
Nadirah pulled the garment away from her head, half-wishing that she was at least as tall as the mannequin was. That way, she could top her cousin and piled all those revenge on her head, and not only that, she would have the great advantage of buying her clothes straight from the mannequin if the clothes had been sold out. She could demand even, although she wasn’t sure how she would fare in the demanding department…
It was not until much later did she realize a pair of eyes gazing intently at her. It might due to the amusing fact that she was pretending to be a dazed mannequin, or her cold manners toward another human in sight; nonetheless, the staring was annoying at its best, so she swiveled her attention to the masked assistant, haughtily said in her customer pride, “We are still browsing.” So shoo. “So shoo.”
She didn’t mean to openly chase him away, treating him like a stubborn feline, and she was halfway trying to amend the sentence with a much more hideous concoction, when the assistant swiftly cut her off with his not quite brittle yet not quite daze voice, “Yes.”
Something must have knocked him on the head, because his tone started to change into a much more compromising state, “But I let you know,” he pointed at the piece of garment in her hands, “That is our store’s exclusive dress. Limited edition, only one in production and the lucky one,” his eyes flickered to the garment, “Is in your hand. Better grab it fast.”
“Oh,” she grinned, “Hot from the oven.”
“Technically, yes.”
“Oh,” she wasn’t sure why she was grinning, but it seemed appropriate and highly ironic, and might’ve been a little dry, although that wasn’t her intention, “So I am lucky.”
He contemplated on answering, overwhelmed by the dryness most probably, but he replied with a polite, “Yes.”
“Well—”
“You like it, don’t you? I can see it from your face.”
Nadirah touched her cheek again, dreading the fact that she definitely wasn’t as inscrutable as she liked. “Maybe I should wear a mask,” she answered, much honestly than sarcastically, but she was reminded by her sudden danger in being too honest, so she quickly amended, but unfortunately, it came out as, “Like you,” which came out as dry and insensitive anyways.
She never had been good with amending her words.
She should have known that by now and memorized it in her heart to never, ever amend her words.
But she hadn’t been amending her words for years, so that was odd. It felt as if something was unlatching in her heart, revealing the contents for the world to see.
Her Pandora box.
She shook her head, and concentrated on the assistant.
Strangely, the assistant wasn’t pissed at her insensitivity. She didn’t see him tearing up, although that might due to his eyes already watering down by the virus, but those said eyes were crinkling into a smile, smugly said, “I have my reason, as obvious as it is.”
“Why don’t you take your day off, then?” the words felt like butter, smoothly spreading out from her mouth. “That’ll save our lives.”
Oh no.
“I have,” he answered, “And I was just trying to exit the door when your sister drags me over.”
“My cousin,” she corrected him. “You should leave. You wouldn’t get paid for doing overtime anyway.”
That was conspicuously blatant, and again, she wasn’t intending on shooing him like a mighty empress.
But she just did.
“You’re right,” his voice was strangely strangled—with what, Nadirah couldn’t tell. Maybe he was affected by her remark? She hoped not. Maybe he can read her mind? Impossible.
Well, nothing was impossible, but she sure hoped that if there was a tiny impossibility left in this world, it would be this.
“But if it helps, I truly think that you’d look spectacular wearing that.” He must have smiled under the mask, but it was hard to see, and before long, he had politely excused himself and out of the door, leaving Nadirah quite pink in the cheeks and a sudden lemming toward the little dress.
The assistant certainly was an expert in negotiating, and she wondered if her gullibility was worse than she thought.
She needed to bury that trait down, along with this stupid Pandora box.
“So I think—” Widad stopped sidetrack, craning her neck left and right. “Where’s that assistant?”
“Dismissed,” Nadirah was still dazed, lovingly staring at the dress.
“Why?”
“Sick.” Obviously.
Widad hastily nodded, beginning to pile a truckload of frilly clothes on Nadirah’s hands, “So I think—”
“This,” Nadirah gestured to the exclusive dress, “Will suffice.”
Widad’s lips curled into a smile. “I know you like that all along.”
She liked that all along, but not enough to buy it.
Now, she wasn’t so sure. She might as well love it, but she opted not to reply.
Yet, it would be quite a mood-breaker to not answer, so she tried to steer the conversation to the converser—a great trick she discovered when one was unwilling to discuss about oneself, “You?”
“Me?”
“Yours?”
“Oh,” she smiled secretively, “Mine is not here.”
Of course, it would be a nightmare if Widad were to show interest in the overly sweet Métamorphose collections. She would be caught dead before wearing any of these frilly dresses.
“Not your store,” Nadirah stifled a chortle, “Of course.”
Widad laughed tauntingly. “Not mine, but yours.” She had always been the woman of elegance and simplicity, and Nadirah knew that the thought of pastel and overwhelming decorations were not Widad’s cup of tea. She was about to retort on the blandness of Widad’s high taste, when a foreign voice pierced their ears with her gentle, “Excuse me,” which ultimately saved Nadirah from further fooling herself with the future useless amending nonsense.
Not that she needed that. She had always bitten her tongue before uttering the amendment aloud.
Except that one minor slip with the male assistant, of course. That was a special case.
They swiveled their head, only to see a smiling assistant handing them a decorated basket. “Would you like a basket?”
“That’s not necessary I’m afraid,” Widad took no notice of the assistant’s mannerism, and instead, absentmindedly unloading the pile of clothes onto the assistant’s hands. “We’re ready to pay.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, staring down at the garments. “All of these?”
“Of course not,” Widad laughed incredulously, her finger pointing at the garment in Nadirah’s hands. “This one.”
“Oh.” The way the assistant pronounced the word was tactfully suspicious that Nadirah felt a cold slosh of anxiety splashing all over her face. It was probably due to her sudden premonition of Widad’s future behavior toward the assistant, because her skin was further prickled as the assistant added, “But—”
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