The Daffodils

The pitter-patter of rain notified me it was still raining. The clouds were dark, as if agony had engulfed every corner of the sky.

The thunderstorms seemed to plead on behalf of the clouds, expressing their outburst.

My eyes welled up, but no tears fell yet. I closed them, hoping the salty water would be released.

And those displeasing revelations

flashed in front my eyes as if the video was playing.

“No, it is not even a question?”

I heard my father’s voice.

My feet stopped on their own, near the courtyard.

My parents couldn't see me, but I could see them, and the tension in the air, made me halt there.

“What do you mean, Usman?” my mother asked, baffled.

“Naeema, you know I have only two options:

Either I choose myself or I choose , her dream,” my father replied softly to my mother.

I grew more curious—the expressions on their faces were alarming.

“What the hell are you talking about?

What will she do with her dream if her biggest cheerleader wouldn't be there?” exclaimed my mother.

And my inner voice murmured, “It’s about you, Mahnoor.”

“If I choose myself, my Mah will be alive, but she will lose the treasure of her soul, a part of herself.

And I am aging, Naeema, so it’s not so necessary,” my father said in an almost resigned tone, as if he had tired explaining to Amma.

“Ageing!

Just because you are getting old doesn’t mean you will willingly serve yourself on the path of death,” Amma replied, also in a resigned tone.

And my heart stopped. “Dying!”

The word echoed in my head as if someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water on me.

“You have three major blockages in the main arteries of your heart, and the CABG (Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting)—”

Amma paused, and the abbreviation CABG entered my head like a slow poison.

" Mahnoor can pursue something else, but your alternative isn’t available."

Amma cried.

Abba sat near Amma and took her hand. “Naeema, I have seen what was destined for me.

Now it’s her time to fly high. Here, it’s either my surgery or my daughter’s dream of studying law at NLSIU.

And I choose the latter one. Her smile comes first.”

Abba softly tried to pierce every word into Amma’s mind.

It was the last straw for me; I could not stand there any longer.

I ran towards my room, the only thought racing through my mind: “My father prioritizes my happiness over his life.”

When did I become this lucky?

Or was I always?

I was always, because I have them as my parents.

I cried!

I screamed in my room.

Once I was done, I decided to meet Abba, who was sacrificing himself while smiling for me without telling me.

I knocked on their door.

Amma opened it; she didn’t try to mask her anxiety.

I looked over her shoulder and saw Abba sitting in one corner of his bed.

I reached him.

“Abba, what will I do with the garden when my favorite flower wouldn't be there?” I asked calmly.

He became alert; his shoulders stiffened. He looked at my face, and I knew he knew that I knew.

“How?” was the only word that escaped his mouth.

I felt Amma standing just behind me.

“I heard you both in the courtyard,” I told them. I neither had the energy to confront him nor to interrogate him; I was just there to talk.

Abba exhaled. I continued,

“You know, a garden may have the most exotic flowers, but if it doesn’t contain my Daffodils, I won’t visit it.

I know they are all beautiful, but my eyes only catch daffodils.

I search for daffodils amidst every flower.”

I felt Amma place her hand on my shoulder, but I wanted to tell them everything on my mind.

“Abba, you are my daffodil, whom I will search for, amidst every flower in every garden.

And you know, NLSIU is just the leaves I pluck before keeping the daffodils.”

By the end, my tears were trailing down my cheeks.

I felt Amma rest her head on my shoulder from behind and her tears were soaking my shoulder, Abba stood up embracing me in his warmth.

We cried. No words were exchanged, but so much was said.

I moved toward my room and stood near the window.

I opened my eyes and realized the way I felt now was the way I saw the world.

The rain seemed like tears.

The dark clouds seemed like the darkness that had engulfed me.

And the thunderstorms seemed like my screams.

I prayed to God:

To give my Abba, my daffodil, back to me.

The next day, Amma and I took him to the hospital.

The doctor gave us the date of his surgery, which was after ten days.

And I knew what else I had to do.

I applied to Delhi University—the university of my city.

On the day of surgery, he was on a stretcher. He took one of my hands and one of Amma’s and just squeezed them.

With glassy eyes, I said with trembling lips,

“You have no right to empty my garden.”

Beside me, Amma just looked at him. He looked at her, and their eyes spoke.

I had rarely seen them say I love you, but today their eyes were screaming it.

I realized love is also being together through every thick and thin.

The operation theatre’s door closed,

Amma and I went to the prayer room.

I sat down on the prayer mat my eyes were shedding tears with every nafl I was just begging to my Allah.

"Allah! Oh my beloved Allah!

Your servant is very weak she can't endure the departure of her heartbeat, I know he is yours but don't take him away from us.

Please! Please!

Return my favorite flower.

Please I know I am sinner but please forgive me and grant my Abba a new life." I ended my dua.

And near me I heard Amma whispering,

"Rabbul Aal meen the man inside is my pillar I am standing because I know I have shoulder to lean on don't take him away from us.

I will fall in the way I will never stand up.

My heart shattered listening her. I just hugged her again no words were exchanged, sometimes only presence matters.

Time was slipping so were our tears.

With every second our heartbeat were frantic.

Whispers of something ominous echoed in our ears.

But tongue were whispering prayers.

After an anguished six hours, he was out of the OT the moment we saw him so escaped our mouth he was breathing with support of machines, eyes closed. we just saw the glimpse later he was shifted to the ICU.

We just saw him through glass.

After two days, he regained consciousness we saw him, when he saw us he smiled, and we were grinning. And out soul whispered Alhamdulillah.

Abba’s lips moved as if saying, “Your daffodil is back.”

And his eyes went to Amma, and again their eyes screamed "I love you."

After meeting him I prayed salat of gratitude so Amma.

After few days Abba was discharged with strict instructions.

Days were passing. Abba's health was improving.

Some medicines of Abba were finished so I went to market to get it.

When I reached home, I got an email saying I had been admitted to a prestigious college of DU at affordable fees.

Again, I stood near the window.

The rain started pouring. The clouds were dark, and the thunderstorm echoed.

But this time, the rain felt like a melody to me.

The dark clouds felt like precious diamonds to me.

And the thunderstorm felt like echoes of joy.

Then it clicked—I realized it’s all about perception.

The way I feel shapes the way I see things.

One day, this rain held one meaning; today, it held another.

I smiled,

and the raindrops fell on my face as if whispering, “We get it, Mahnoor. We get it.”

"Your daffodil is back so are your leaves but in different shape."

I opened my diary and wrote a poem which describes my overwhelming emotions, as if talking to the rain.

It starts as-

Whispering shoots sprout,

Breaking winter's long dormancy.

Like a child opening his eyes,

In the foliage of mother's arms.

Chuckling tendrils support the branches.

Like a child's tiny fingers

cradling mother's finger.

Painting skies in blue lights,

Radiating joy all the while.

Like a child painting

Colours of love

In a father's life.

The rustling leaves,

The soft breezes,

Chirping birds,

Radiate joy.

Like the serendipity,

A child brings-

With every smile.

Hifza.