Taint

Who are your Parents, son?

Slowly I stretched out my hand, and I grabbed the picture frame. I looked closer, and I was more and more flabbergasted by it. Painting of teenage girls smiling while hugging a doll. Although he was wearing beautiful clothes, but his body looked thin and a little pale, maybe at that time he was sick.

I still did not take my eyes off, the sketch of his face was really able to grab my attention. Although I did not find the inscription of his name, I am sure he is Arina, the son of Fatimah. If according to him, my eyes look very similar to him. But to me it is not so. I don't think it's just the eyes that look alike, it's also the face. Staring at Arina's photo, it felt like I was staring at a painting of myself.

"Why is it like this, who is Arina, and .. who am I?" ask me on a picture I still see.

For a long time I remained silent, thinking of the most reasonable theory. Is there a blood relation? Obviously impossible. I never mentioned the name of Fatimah. If we were relatives, I would know her.

Just coincidental? Yes, maybe this answer is more suitable. I once read an article about the physicality of man. In this world, every face has seven identical twins. I wasn't sure, but now I'm starting to believe. Perhaps, this Arina is one of the faces similar to me.

I put Arina's picture back on the table. I reviewed the sweet smile before leaving her, as if she was a teenager who had a form and a life.

Not far away I walked, I stopped and turned back. I looked at Arina's photo with a stick. His smile and gaze were neutral, as if he were pointing at me.

"I'll take a break for a while, I'm tired after a long trip. In the future I'll stay in this house, we'll be friends" I said to a picture of a mute, who could not give an answer.

If anyone had looked, they might have thought I was crazy. Talk to inanimate objects that are impossible to hear, let alone respond to. I was also surprised by myself, I don't know why I did that. Before, I never knew who Arina was, but her gaze was truly capable of knocking on my soul. Although he is just a painting, but my heart feels disinclined.

"What's up, Ma'am?" ask the middle-aged woman, who is probably the servant in this house.

"There's nothing, Bi. I'm just amazed to see that flower, so beautiful." I pointed at the large flower placed in the corner of the room, near the photo of Arina.

"Yes, it is indeed beautiful," Aunt replied quietly.

I saw the tail of his eyes glancing in that direction, and in an instant his gaze turned wistfully. I don't know what makes it so, flowers or maybe a photo of Arina.

"Yes I've stayed, yes. Want to prepare dinner," said Bibi, in the next minute.

"Do I need help, Bi?" bargain him.

"No need, Ma'am. Just rest, you must be tired." My aunt smiled and then stepped into the kitchen.

I went into the room and laid myself on the bed. I took a deep breath while staring at the blue ceiling. Kuresapi a little taste that stuck in khalbu, a taste I do not know where it came from. Then I grabbed the bolster, and buried my face there. I don't know why this feeling is getting more and more uncomfortable.

The next second, I stood up and sat by the window. I enjoyed the star-studded night, while poring over the past stories that danced in illusion. Sometimes I smile, and sometimes I shed tears. My love story with Daniel, too beautiful to forget, but too bitter to remember.

The rustling of the wind shook the leaves, becoming a melodious harmony that accompanied my morning. Amongst the fragrant flowers, I sat on the swing. I stared at the expanse of pool water that reflected the elegance of the sun, a very charming morning painting.

"Austenance!"

I turned my head, looking at Fatimah who was stepping towards me.

"What's wrong, son?" He asked while sitting in front of me.

"Nothing, Mother. Just comfort the eyes, let's not sleepy." I answered with a smile. This morning I was drowsy, either because I was tired after a long trip, or because of pregnancy hormones.

"If you're sleepy, just sleep, it's okay. Sometimes babies are born like that," said Ms. Fatimah.

"Yes, Mother. But ... later sleep," I replied.

"alright. Mmmm how about we tell each other." Fatimah looked at me with a smile.

"News?" I repeated his words.

"Yes. We'll both have a bitter story, there's no harm in sharing. Who knows after that, our burden becomes lighter.No need to explain in detail, just outline it. So that we can give each other input, and encourage each other. You want?" replied Fatimah, without turning her gaze.

I thought for a moment, should I tell you all my problems? Once there was a sense of shame in my mind, but I thought back to when I could hide all this? I have decided to stay with him, even I am also willing to call Mother. It felt impossible to cover all these problems forever.

I took a deep breath, and then I poured out slowly. I repeated it over and over again, in order to calm an increasingly troubled heart. After my feelings were rearranged, I looked at the shady face of Ms. Fatimah.

"I don't know where to tell it, Mother. But ... I am willing to answer, whatever your question," I solemnly said.

"Who are your parents, son?" asked Ms. Fatimah, after a pause of a few seconds.

I gasped a little, I didn't think that was the first question he asked. I thought, Miss Fatimah will ask about pregnancy, but I was wrong.

Seriate...