Love Shot X Shot of Love

Visit X Visit

I went to visit that weekend. Or more like the Mac forced me, and I refused to agree.

When I walk into their over-designed home, decorated with the most excellent furniture and D.

Mr. Ahmad sits on an all-white loveseat. A throw pillow surrounded him in a floral pattern, making the tanned man, with his thick dark hair, and just like a full-grown beard, stand out.

But that's not really what caught my bashful eye. He is a body without his shirt. Only a white bandage snaked over his left shoulder, then wrapped snuggly around the area of his chest. Even my young mind knew that a large bandage, covering a large amount of skin, must cover a wound of the same size.

As soon as I stopped imagining what might lie under the protective wrap, I locked his face. His eyes were closed, but his forehead was wrinkled, leaving a pile of folds on his forehead.

It seemed like he was thinking, but also like he was in pain.

Even other parts of his body were sprinkled with bruises, and drew less attention. The combination all made him look beaten. And I don't understand how it will help people produce these results.

I felt bad staring, so I looked towards Mac, who if he felt the unease I did when he saw him was still very scary dad, then he didn't let it show.

"Dad, Zara's here."Mac sings, skips over to his father and perches slowly in the spot next to him, realising his spastic body and making sure not to tousle him. "We'll play in the backyard for a little.”

The next time I will always remember. No matter how young, Mr. Ahmad's image opened his eyes, practically peeling off his cover, what I saw behind them shook me.

His eyes were naturally dark, but they had managed to deepen in the shade somehow. It seemed as if nothing was put behind his problematic features.

It's not the anger, nor the sadness I see. It is pain. Probably emptiness.

I think he's dreaming. I could only tell by the way his eyes pondered unnoticed at me. It only lasted a moment, and what I saw so briefly I would most certainly miss. He blinked back to reality quickly, and eased his face folds slightly.

"Ah, little Zara Ariffin."He turned his beaten hand to his lap. "It seems you are stuck around with this one after all.”

He joked, but there was no humor present in his expression.

"Anything, daaad," he went in to hit the shoulder, but hesitated halfway and settled for a light knock. "I tell you that we will be best friends, and guess what?! We.”

She smiled magnificently, as I stood awkwardly at the entrance to their living room. Picking my nails and wiggling from side to side.

It really amazes me how Mac can come from his two parents. She was so full of light and eastern energy, while her mother and father always looked so gloomy.

"I understand."His attention to me. "How is school?”

"Umm, it is good I taste.”

Xxxxxxxxx

When I walk into their overly designed home, decorated with the nicest of furnishings and decor.

Mr. Ahmad sits on an all-white loveseat. The throw pillows surround him with floral patterns, making the tanned man, with his thick dark hair, and just as dense growing beard, stand out.

But that’s not really what catches my timid eyes. It’s his shirtless torso. Only a white bandage snapped over his left shoulder, then wrapped snuggly around the expanse of his chest. Even my young mind knows that a bandage that large, covering that much skin, must be covering a wound of equal size.

Once I stop picturing what might lay beneath the protective wrap, I lock on his face. His eyes are closed, but his brow furrowed, leaving a stack of creases on his forehead.

It seems like he’s thinking, but also like he’s in pain.

Even other parts of his body are sprinkled with bruises, and less attention grabbing cuts. The combination of it all make him seem beaten up. And I don’t understand how going to help people result in this outcome.

I feel bad staring, so I look towards Mac, who if she feels the uneasiness that I do when looking at her still very intimidating dad, then she doesn't’t let it show.

“Daddy, Zara here.” Mac sings, skipping over to her dad and perching gently on the spot next to him, being aware of her spastic body and making sure not to tousle him. “We’re going to go play in the backyard for a little bit.”

The following moment I’m sure I’ll always remember. No matter how young, the image of Mr. Ahmad opening his eyes, practically peeling the lids apart, what I saw behind them shake me.

His eyes are dark naturally, but they’ve managed to deepen in shade somehow. It’s as though nothing laid behind his troubled features.

It wasn't’t anger, or sadness that I saw. It was pain. Possibly emptiness.

I think he was having a dream. I can just tell by the way his eyes stare unknowingly at me. It only lasts a second, and what I saw was so brief I’m sure most would have missed it. He blinks back to reality quickly, and eases the creases of his face slowly.

“Ah, little Zara ariffin.” He shifts his beaten hands into his lap. “Looks like you stuck around with this one after all.”

He’s joking, but there’s no humor present in his expression.

“Whatever, bye,” she goes in for a shoulder smack, but hesitates half way and settles for a light tap. “I told you we were going to be best friends, and guess what?! We are.”

She smiles triumphantly, as I stand awwardly at the entrance to their living room. Picking at my nails and swaying side to side.

It really amazes me how Mac could have come from her two parents. She is so full of light and easy energy, while her mom and dad always seem so grim.

“I see.” His attention’s on me. “How’s school?”

“Umm, it’s good I guess.”