Wednesday, July 2, 2014

More Reviews on Doubt

1) A reader Needa Lim recently wrote to me to my email after buying my book Doubt and this is what she says :

"Hello sir! I purchased your book, Doubt two weeks ago. At first, the cover and the summary does not attract me that much. But as I opened the book and I still remember, I read chapter 17 and I was like, this book is non like others (well, as far as I know, not much local writers would write this kind of story). So, I decided to buy it and I read the whole book. It was entertaining, some have made me speechless or in disbelief. And most of the stories, I did not expect the ending of the story would be like as it is. I also love the trademark that you have inserted into that book. The suicide part, where mostly they will go naked and went towards the train? That is like, odd but interesting. I cannot describe how much I love your book. And not forget to mention the randomness of one of your story, the mermaid and the werewolf. Hahaha its hilarious, I don't know what do you expect from your readers reading that but I thought its funny. And the story of An Earth without rain is also one of my favorite, because like I've said, I didn't expect the ending would be like that. But sir, I think what's best describe your book is what madness can cause people do and how mad people can be. Overall, I enjoy your book and it actually triggered my creative side. I actually Imagined all these scenarios as I read them. Plus, most of the short story you wrote, I have thought about it when I was younger and especially when I was playing this one game : The Sims where I always destroy a perfect family when I get bored of it. But, don't get me wrong, I love my family and they are perfect. Its just that sometimes, our mind needs to be open to something else too, that is out of the norm ones, I guess? That's all. Keep it up!"

PS To Needa Lim, I would like to say thank you very much for the lovely compliment. Your letter had brought a big smile to his face


2) Recently I came across that someone from Thailand had bought my book Doubt and has written this review on my book Doubt on his blog:
This is what he says about my book Doubt: 

"I bought this book at Time Square Shopping Mall, KL.  This is one of the best foreign books I ever read. This book helped to boot-up my reading after it had been drought out for years. It's 45 short stories of Life, Love, and Loneliness. I like the technique of the writing and also it twisted stories.  The writer uses the beautiful language to compose all the stories.  This short stories show that short story can keep it short and still remain interesting until the last word. I spent 2 days reading this book until the last page. I have a lot of fun and stunned by the stories. Great work by Bissme S.."  ��

PS: I am glad you love the book and thank you for the lovely review on my book 

Wednesday, April 9, 2014


Chaos By Bissme S

The first time I saw him was at the cafe that my parents run. It was raining like cats and dog. He was cold, hungry and was looking some warm food to eat. He was a photographer from the big city.  He wanted to shoot our small beautiful village. He wanted to feature these photos in some travel magazine.  
“Can I find a hotel here?” he asked.
There was no hotel in our village. Out of kindness, my parents offered our guest room to the stranger. But my parents soon learned a bitter lesson that kindness is not always rewarded with kindness.

Four days later, the stranger had disappeared into the air. The stranger did not leave our house, alone. The stranger had abducted me.  My mother screamed her head off when she learned what had taken place. The doctor had given her a sedative to calm her.  My mother spent her days in bed, feeling dizzy and depressed. My father had a high hopes my tragedy would have a happy ending - I would be found and he would be hugging me.  
But my father had forgotten that sometimes God loves sad endings. My kidnapper was nowhere to be found and I was no longer breathing. The police found my body, brutally raped and badly burned.   

I was only thirteen when my life ended tragically. I have become a ghost, wondering in the house that I grew up in and hanging around my parents who love me with all their hearts.
My parents could not see me. My parents could not hear me. But I could see their agony. I could hear their cries of miseries. I could feel their unspoken sadness.
“It is a norm for a child to bury his parents,” my mother said.
“But when the situation is reversed – when parents have to bury their child – the pain can be unbearable.”
My mother had lost faith in God. My mother had stopped going to church. Our regular priest, Father Danny Fratine, visited our home. He wanted to convince my mother to return to church.
 “I cannot pray to a God who had taken away my only child,” my mother shouted.
“There is no place for God in my heart any more. I wish God will be burned in hell.”
My mother took the broom and literarily chased away Father Danny Fratine from our house.
 “God is my enemy,” my mother shouted
“If you love God, then you are  my enemy, too.  And my enemies are not welcome in my house. ”
My mother had become a bitter old woman who constantly cursed God and anyone who love God. My father was in far worse condition than my mother. 
“The police had made a mistake” my father said.
“The dead body they found is not my daughter. They just want to close the case as soon as possible. They don’t care about justice.
“I have done my research. Most paedophiles are not killers. He raped my daughter and most probably, sold her to some brothels. He is not that heartless to kill my sweet Sophia.”  
One morning, my mother and I could not find my father anywhere in the house. There was a letter from him waiting for my mother on our dinner table.  My father had gone to the big city to find me, the daughter he loved and adored. 
 “I will only come back after I find our daughter,” my father wrote.

Nine months passed. There was no sign of my father. I had lost any hope that I would see my father, again. Then, one evening, my father was in my living room.
“I am so glad you have returned home,” my mother said while hugging my dad.  
I thought my father would have realized that his idea of finding me in some brothel home was a crazy one and would finally accept the bitter truth that I was no longer alive. But I was wrong.
“I found Sophia,” my father said.
“Our daughter is not dead.”
I was shocked listening to what my father had uttered. There was no way I could be alive.
“I went from one brothel home to another to find my daughter,” my father said.  
“I could not find her. I felt helpless. I felt defeated. I wanted to kill myself. But killing yourself is not easy. I was sitting on the road, crying my heart out. Then, God had shown me his mercy. God had shown me his greatness.  I saw my daughter on the opposite road, begging. I rushed towards her. I hugged her. I whispered in her ears: I will not let you go.”
Looking at my mother’s expression, my father said: “I know you don’t believe me. Let me prove to you that our daughter Sophia is alive.”
My father called out my name. A girl appeared in front of my mother. She looked like me.  She dressed like me. But she was not me. My mother slowly walked towards her. My mother hugged her.  There were tears in my mother’s eyes
“Your father is hero,” she said to the girl.  
“Your father has found you. My daughter is alive... My daughter is alive....”

The girl was willing to adopt my name. The girl was willing to wear the clothes I wore. The girl was willing to tie her hair just like my hair.  The girl was playing me.  The girl did not care that she did not have an identity of her own.
I suspected that her life on street was a hell. In my house, the girl has food to eat, clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in and the love of my parents.  My house was like a heaven for her. And most people always choose heaven over hell.

My mother wants to embrace God, again.  My mother wanted redemption for saying unkind things about God.
“God has given my daughter back to me,” my mother said.
“God has been kind to me. I have a lot to be grateful for.”
When Sunday came, my mother and my father proudly entered the church with their new daughter. I was sure the villagers will not accept their reality... I was sure the villagers will bluntly tell my parents that that girl was not me... I was sure the villagers will force bitter truth- that I was no longer alive - down their throats.   
But I was wrong. Just like parents, the entire village had gone insane.
They wanted me to see what they see. They wanted me to hear what they hear. They wanted to smell what they wanted to smell.  They wanted me to believe what they believe. They hugged my parents. They hugged the girl that supposed to me.
Watching my parents and the people in my village jumping with joy was like watching a bandwagon of madness.  I cannot make sense of the chaos that surrounded me.   
I thought our church priest Father Danny Fratine will bring calm to the chaos that was taking place in my village...I thought Father Danny Frantine will bring  sanity to the madness that had erupted in our village. But he did not.  Instead, he joined the bandwagon of madness.
In his mass, the good old Father said: “God works in the most mysterious way. God had brought back Sophia to us. What God have done here is a miracle and we should always be grateful to God for this miracle.”

Two years passed. Initially I was furious that my parents and the people in my village had easily replaced me with a girl that my father found roaming in the streets. I did not want to be replaced. I did not want my identity to be taken away. I wanted them to mourn for me. I wanted them to remember me, forever.
But, now, I am no longer furious. I have learned to rationalize their madness. I have learned to rationalize the chaos that surrounded my life. I am looking at my parents and the people in my village with the eyes of sadness than with the eyes of anger.
They came from a village where nothing bad really happen. They are simple folks. They are not trained to handle my kind of tragedy. My tragedy had broken them. My tragedy had pushed them into the world of madness.
They were tired of living in sadness. They wanted happiness. They wanted hope. They wanted me to be alive. They wanted my tragedy to have a happy ending.  Madness is necessary when you cannot handle the truth.

The End

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Born To Be Mothers

I am posting another short story... Enjoy reading it ...

Born To Be Mothers By Bissme S         

My mother could have gone to the police to get me back. My mother could have gone to the courts to fight for my custody. But my mother did not do any of these. My mother packed her bags and left town. I never saw my mother again.

Years later, when I was an adult, I asked my grandmother why she took me away from my mother.

"The moment I got married, I wanted to be a mother," said my grandmother.
"But I could not conceive. The doctors could not figure out what is wrong with me. I prayed so hard to have a child.
“Finally, after many years, God answered my prayers. God gave me a child I wanted so badly. Your mother is my only child and I love my daughter with all my heart.
“But my daughter is not fit to look after you.  Some women are not born to be mothers."

That was the only answer that my grandmother was willing to give. Nothing more, nothing less.  

I was not the only one who lost my mother. My brother, Maurice, was 15 when this incident took place in our lives. My brother has not forgiven our grandmother for snatching us away from our mother.

“I hope you rot in hell when you die,” he shouted at my grandmother. 

A year later my brother run away from the house. My brother left behind a letter. He wrote: "Every son needs his mother. I am going to find my mother. I am destined to be with my mother.”

My brother didn’t get far. The authorities found my brother and forcefully dragged him to my grandmother.

“Nothing will stop me from searching my mother," my brother shouted.
 "You cannot keep us apart forever. I belong to her."

The moment my brother came to an age where he needed no more guardian, the first thing he did was to leave my grandmother’s house.

"Please, do not find your mother," said my grandmother who was literarily on the floor begging my brother to change his mind
"She will only ruin you," my grandmother added.  

Nothing my grandmother said could change his mind.  His only mission in life was to find the woman we called mother. My brother was obsessed with our mother.

The night before my brother left my grandmother's house, my brother came into my room.

“I will find our mother where ever she is,” my brother said to me.
"Once I find our mother, I will come and get you. Then all of us - mother, you and I will live in one house like one big happy family."

I was a kid, then. I was hardly six. Innocently, I asked: "What will happen to our grandmother?"
Angrily, my brother answered:"That heartless monster has no place in my heart and in my house."

A year later, I received a letter from my brother. He had successfully tracked down our mother. She had a house in some rural place, far from the madding crowd.
He also sent me a picture of him with our mother. My brother was holding a cat on his lap. The cat was my mother's pet. My mother named the cat, Samson. Happiness was written all over my brother's face.
My mother was standing a few feet away from my brother. Oddly enough, my mother was not smiling. Her eyes give me the impression that she did not want to be found...She wants to remain lost forever. 

Eight months later, my brother was waiting for me, outside my school. I had a high hopes that I would see my mother, too. But my hope was dashed.
One morning, my brother woke up and he could not find our mother anywhere around the house. Her clothes were no longer in the cupboard.  Our mother had disappeared again. Our mother did not left any goodbye letter.

"What happened to Samson, the cat?"  I asked
"Our mother has taken Samson with her," my brother answered
"Our mother has taken Samson but had abandoned us, again. Samson is very lucky, don't you think so?" I said

Sadness and disappointment were written all over my face.

My brother hugged me and said:"You must understand that it is not our mother's fault. She became a widow at very young age. She loved our dad very much. Coping with our father's death was not easy for her. 
“It is our grandmother's fault that our mother is no longer in our lives, anymore. Our grandmother had brainwashed our mother to think that she is not fit to look after us... She is not fit to be our mother. 
“That is the reason our mother had ran away from us...That is the reason our mother has not come to see us. Our mother believes staying away from us was best thing that she can do for us.
“I will find our mother where ever she is.  I will make our mother understand that her place is with us... With her children...We deserved to be together like one big happy family."

I learned love and hate have the power to make you irrational. In my brother's eyes, our mother would always be a goddess who can do no wrong and our grandmother would always be the devil who brought us misery.

“Our grandmother wants to bury the truth. But the truth cannot be buried forever. One day, you will learn about the truth."

My brother was drunk when he uttered those words to me. We had just celebrated our birthdays in his apartment. Our birthday falls on the same day. I had turned 21 and my brother was 36. My brother had consumed too much liquor. My brother had tears streaming from his eyes. My brother was shaking in fear.

Before I could asked him any questions, my brother continue to say: "Please do not ask me what the truth is. The truth is not important. The truth is irrelevant.
“But what is important is when you learn about the truth, you must not hate your mother. Every child must realise his mother is not perfect. “Promise me, you will not hate our mother. Promise me, you will love our mother till our last breath...." 

Naively, I made a promise that I could not keep.

My brother had found my mother, again. My mother had joined a religious monastery, somewhere in Thailand. My mother had refused to see my brother.  He built a small tent outside the monastery.

"I will stay at the monastery's doorstep till she sees me," he wrote.
"My desire to see my mother is stronger than her desire to shut me out of her life. I will bring our mother back to us. Mother, you and me - we are meant to be together like one happy family."

But you can never stay awake forever. One night when my brother was sleeping, my mother quietly slipped out from the monastery.  This time we are not the only ones who got abandoned.
Samson – my mother’s cat- got abandoned, too. When my brother woke up, he found Samson, sleeping next to him. My mother did not leave any goodbye letter. My mother was never to be found again.

The day that my brother feared most had arrived...The day where the truth cannot be buried anymore...The day where I will learn about the truth. 
My grandmother had spent her whole life keeping me in the dark why she took my brother and me away from our mother. Then one day, out of the blue, my grandmother finally told me the whole truth.
Of course, my grandmother did not do it willingly. My grandmother was not aware of her action.  My grandmother had become old, ill and forgetful. My grandmother thought that she was taking to a priest, not her grandson.

My grandmother said:"I didn't want to hurt my daughter. But I had no choice. I had to take away her children from her. I did the right thing. Didn't I, Father? God would forgive me, won't he, Father?"

I pretended to be a priest and kissed my grandmother's forehead and said" Of course, my child, you did the right thing. There is nothing to forgive."

My grandmother just hugged me and cried her eyes out.  After my grandmother's confession, everything finally makes sense. I could understand my brother's obsession for my mother... I could understand why my mother did not want to see me... I could understand why my mother was not happy when my brother had found her... I could understand why my mother had stayed away from our lives ... I could understand our grandmother took us away from our mother. Everything finally makes sense. 

A week after my grandmother told me the truth, my grandmother passed away. My brother showed up at her funeral. My brother had tears in his eyes. He hugged me and I did not hug him back. I just stood still like a lifeless mannequin. From my body language,  y brother  knew that the truth has finally reached my ears .

"You promise that you will not hate our mother ... You promise that you would love our mother till your last breath," he said.
"Some promises are meant to be broken and some women are not born to be mothers," I said. 

That was the last time I saw my brother. I sold our family house. I did not want to have any connection with my past. I want to forget that I have a brother.... I want to forget that I have a mother...I want to forget that I existed.


Ten years has passed since my grandmother's funeral. To a certain degree, I had made some peace with the truth. And now, I am ready to tell you the truth that my grandmother had told me ... the truth that was buried in my heart... the truth that has been torturing me for years.

The man I believed to be my father is not my father.  My brother and I did not share the same father. The man I believe to be my father died in car crash long before I was born

My mother had loved the man I believe to be my father with all her heart and she could not accept the fact he was no longer in her life. My mother was depressed. My mother had lost the will to live.

My brother, who was only 13, had become my mother’s pillar strength during her terrible moments.  My brother feed her. My brother clothed her.  My brother made her laugh. My brother made her smile. My brother was a father to my mother. My brother was a mother to my mother. My brother was a clown to my mother. 
But my mother wanted more. We often forget that mothers are women with desires. My mother did not want to wake up to an empty bed... My mother was tired of sleeping alone... My mother wanted someone to hug her... My mother wanted someone to kiss her passionately... My mother wanted someone to whisper words of love into her ears.....My mother wanted to be desired.
So, my mother seduced my brother. My mother turned my brother into her lover. They became sinful lovers. I was born out of their love. My brother was only 15 when he became my father.
My mother told the world lies that a man had seduced her and made her believe that he would take care of her. But once she got pregnant, he abandoned her.... He just disappeared into a thin air and could not be found anywhere. Everyone believes her lies.
My mother was extremely happy. My mother had a man to love her. My mother had a child in her arms, to love. Life was a paradise for my mother

"All my life, all I ever wanted was to love and be loved," said my mother.

Problem arises in her paradise when my grandmother showed up at her door steps. My grandmother wanted to see her new born grandson.
 "You have just given birth. You need to rest. You need someone to look after you and the children," my grandmother insisted on extending her visit. 

And one day, my grandmother caught my mother and my brother, totally naked, in each other's arms. It didn't take long for my grandmother to guess that I, her new born grandchild was a product of incest. All hell broke loose.

 "How could you do this your own son...How could you make your son to be your lover... How you could make your son to be the father of your child.... Have you gone mad? You are not a mother... You are a monster," My grandmother shouted.

Immediately, my grandmother took my brother and me away from my mother.

“If you go to the police or court to get back your sons, I will tell the whole world what you did to your son," my grandmother said.
 “You will spend the rest of your life in prison. If you have any shame of what you did, you will just disappear from our lives. You will never see us again. Go somewhere far from us. Leave us in peace ... Leave us in peace....Leave us in peace...."

And that is what my mother did.

When I first heard the truth, I was angry beyond words. Over the years, I have become less angry.  I learn to be compassionate. I put myself into their shoes and tried to see the world through their eyes.

I learned that loneliness and sadness can drive people to do the most insane things. My mother was lonely. My mother was sad. It is not easy losing someone you loved with all your heart ...It is not easy to be a widow at a young age.

 As for my brother, he was young, naive and was desperately making sense of the chaos that enveloped his life – the death of his father, a mother who clings on him for everything and becoming my father at the age 15. Indeed, life must have been difficult for my brother.      
Yet I pray that our path should never cross. I believe there should be a distance between my mother and me...A distance between my brother and me.  No matter how hard I try to justify their actions, I am not ready to forgive them.  I have not mastered the art of forgiveness. Sometimes, dying is easier than forgiving.

The End

Tuesday, February 18, 2014


I am posting another short story.

She By Bissme S

“We could have been have been happy. Why did you choose sadness?” 

She whispered those words in my ears before she disappeared. I dreamt of her, again. She will haunt me for the rest of my life.

He wants her to haunt him. He wants to dreams about her. He will not allow himself to forget her. He is obsessed with her. He loves her like a priest. The only difference is the priest worships god and he worships the ground she walked on.

She wanted me to leave everything and everyone behind. 

“We can go to Paris,” she said.                                      
 “You could paint and I could dance.”

I did not have the courage to fulfil her dreams... to fulfil my fulfil our dreams.

“If we go to Paris, we will break the hearts of everyone who loves us,” I said. 
“I would rather have my heart broken than to break their hearts.”

She held my face with her two hands and showered me with kisses. 

“I just want to spend the rest of my life in your arms,” she said.
“Only you give me the happiness I want. Sometimes, to be truly happy, one needs to be a little selfish.”

But I did not give the happy ending she wanted. I broke her heart…I broke my heart...I broke our hearts. Furious, she left for Paris, without me 

"Till my last breath I will hate you," she wrote     

When she was in Paris, she never stopped writing letters to him. Almost every week, he received a letter from her. Her letters were full of hatred and contempt for him. He doesn’t need her letters to punish him. He did not forgive himself for breaking her heart ... for bringing tears to her beautiful brown eyes. He tried to hide his pain. He tried to fool the world that he is happy. But I could read him like a book. He was a tortured soul.

I had written countless letters to her in Paris, trying to explain why our love story could not have the happy ending that she wanted....begging forgiveness from her. She refused to listen to reasons. She refused to forgive me. She was determined to make me the villain in our love story.

He did not tell me about her... He did not tell me about her letters....He did not tell me about their love story.... He did not tell about her hatred.... He did not tell me about her anger. But he should have known that husbands are not born to keep secrets. 

She did not stay in Paris, forever.

“Our past is water under bridge,” she told me.  
“Let us begin our relationship on a new fresh page,” she added.

But when she introduced her husband to me, I knew she had not let go of the past...She had not forgiven me....She wanted to punish me for giving a sad ending to our love story. 

He got careless, one day. He forgot to lock his drawers.  I found her letters. I found his dairy where he wrote about her…where he wrote about their love story. She was his first love. She would probably be his last woman he loved. She is the love of his life. He married me to forget her.  But he was not successful. 

He wrote in his diary: “She taught me what love is. After her, I cannot bring myself to love anyone else. Love begins with her... and love ends with her.”

I had a locksmith to make a spare key to his drawer. Whenever my husband is at work, I unlocked his drawers to read the new letters she sent him from Paris read his dairy....I want to know everything about their love story.

Her husband was Rizwan Hakeem. I had envied him, all my life. He was my school mate. There was a silent rivalry between us. We would compete from grades to sports. If that year I was not a top student, he would be the top student. Both of us entered medical school. But he dropped out. Most believed he was not able to cope with the stress. But I knew him better. Rizwan Hakeem was no quitter.

I could never understand how a man like my husband could be envy of a man like Rizwan Hakeem. There is nothing to admire about Rizwan Hakeem. Truly, Rizwan Hakeem has a moral worst than a pimp.

Many years later, I saw Rizwan Hakeem in the news. He is an artist and an activist. His work of arts was cutting edge, provocative and received world-wide recognition.

He said in an interview:  “I never wanted to become a doctor. But my father wanted me to become a doctor. I love my father very much. So I tried to become a doctor because I wanted to make my father happy.
“When my father passed away out of the blue, I realized I have not lived my life the way I wanted...I realized how sad I was. …I realized how miserable I was. 
“I was so busy making my father happy that I forgotten about my happiness. It was then I decided to quit medical school and followed what my heart desired. I wanted to be a painter.... I wanted to be an artist... I wanted to be happy.”  

For once in my life, I really envied Rizwan Hakeem. He is living the life he wanted and I am too busy making everyone happy including my late father.

Rizwan Hakeem is no artist He who uses art to create havoc. I remembered years ago, he had exhibition where he did a series of painting depicting an older woman in the nude.
It wasn’t the nudity that bothered us.  But the older woman in his paintings was his mother. Most of us gasped in disgust to learn a son had painted his mother in the nude and had allowed the world to see these works.
There was huge call from the public to ban his works. But the gallery owner had refused to give in to the request.

“I believe in the freedom of expression and I will not let anyone to pressure me in changing my mind,” said the gallery owner whose name I cannot remember. 

There was a huge of demonstration in front of the gallery. Police had to be called in to control the situation. 

“What you have here is not art but the death morality of our society,” says one of the demonstrators in an interview.
 “The day we allowed a son to draw his mother in the nude and allowed the works to exhibited so openly then we are no different than animals,” added another demonstrator.  

Then, one night, someone had burn down the gallery and all of his art work turned into the dust.  Of course, most of us speculated that Rizwan and his mother had a relationship that was beyond a mother and son.  

“Just because I draw my mother in the nude, it doesn’t mean that I am sleeping with my mother,” Rizwan said.
“My mother and I do not have an incest relationship. There is nothing wrong for a son to draw his mother nude. My mother and I have done no wrong. It is not my art is that dirty. It is your mind that is dirty.”

Of course, most of us do not believe him. A decent man would not draw his mother nude.

The day his mother died, Rizwan Hakeen cut his ties with his motherland.

“With my mother’s death, I have no reason to live in this fucking country anymore,” he says.
“This country does not like me and my paintings.”

He went to stay in Europe. He never stayed one place for too long. Every three years, he moved from one city to another .She took the trouble to track him down. Once she found him, she seduced her way into his heart. She convinced him to put a wedding ring into her finger...She convinced him that they should return their homeland. She purposely got a house next to mine.

“You playing with fire here,” I told her.
“You do not love with Rizwan Hakeem.”

She laughed loudly.

 “Of course, I do not love Rizwan Hakeem,” she said.  
“There is only man I have loved in my whole life and no one can replace him. But sad to say, the man I love is a coward. 
“He does not have the balls to make me happy. He is too busy making others happy except the woman who had loved him with all her heart.
“He brought pain into my life. I want him to suffer like me.  Now every time he looked out from his window, he would see the life he wanted is just a door way.”

I pretended to be happy when she told me that she would be my neighbour.

“We can hang out like the good old days,” I lied.

But in reality, I wish that she was not staying in the same region as my husband...I wish that she was not breathing the same air as my husband.
I lived in constant fear that she would grab my husband away from me. I am obsessed with husband in the same way my husband is obsessed with her.
My husband is my first love. I really believe I was born to love my husband and no one else. I cannot afford to lose my husband at any price. I am not designed to lead a lonely life.

When we were kids, I teased her...I taunted her... I loved playing pranks on her. But the older she got, I stopped teasing her... I stopped taunting her. ...I stopped playing pranks on her.... and I fall madly in love with her. I never had the guts to reveal what was in my heart. I got extremely jealous when guys shown any interest in her. But she was different. She was daring. She was not afraid to show what she felt about me. Passionately, she planted the first kiss on my mouth and the rest was history.

I was desperate to hold on to my sanity. ... I was desperate to hold on to my marriage...... I was desperate to hold on to the man I loved.  And desperate people resorts to desperate measures. I invited her and her husband, Rizwan Hakim to a dinner at our house.

After the dinner was over, I said: “I have good news to share with you. I am pregnant. I am going to be a mother.”

My husband was surprised

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked
“I wanted to surprise you,” I answered.

He got up from his chair and hugged me.

“This is a surprise but I am extremely happy,” he said.

I purposely got pregnant. I knew my pregnancy would trap my husband forever.  My husband is a good man and a good man never abandons his pregnant wife.

“Aren’t you happy for me?” I asked her.

She lied.

“Of course I am happy for you,” she said.
“I wanted to be the godmother to your child and I will be the best god mother in this whole universe,” she joked.

Did you get her pregnant just to spite me because I got married to Rizwan Hakeen,” she shouted.
“I did not know that she was pregnant,” I said

She did not believe me. She slapped me.

“I am the only one who has the right to be mother of your children and no one else,” she said.

I meet her first before I met my husband to be. I was her friend first before I became the wife to the man I love.  My family has become her new neighbour. My parents are born again Christian. So was hers. And that bonded us. She was the one who introduce me to the man I love. 

“Let me now introduce to the irritating specimen of my family, my brother,” she said.

How do you tell your wife that she is not the love of your life? How do you tell your wife that you are in love with your sister? How do you tell your wife that you are having sex with your sister? You just don’t. You keep these secrets buried in your heart forever.

Her brother was a true gentleman. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted him.  I was jumping with joy when he wanted to marry me. Only much I later learn he married me not out of love. He married me to forget her. And I had failed him.  He can’t forget her and I can’t forget him. He could not let her go and I could not let him go. What a mess we are in...

Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her?  Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t forget her?

With the pregnancy I thought he will be mine, forever. But God has the last say.  The stress of losing my husband was too much for me to bear and I suffered a miscarriage.  I was not sad of losing my baby. I was more afraid of losing my husband. I have nothing to hook him.  

She came to the hospital to console me. But I was cold towards her.

“You must be happy that she has a lost a baby,” I said.
“I am not because the losing the baby had brought so much sadness to you and I cannot see the man I love in pain,” she said.

Like a baby, I cried in her arms and she kept hugging me  

I waited for her husband, Rizwan Hakeem, to be totally alone in the house. I showed him the letters she has sent from Paris... I showed him the dairy that my husband wrote.  Rizwan Hakeen is no longer ignorant of what is happening between his wife and my husband.

I told Rizwan: “I love my husband and I do not want to lose him. If you love your wife and you do not want to lose her, then you have to take her away from this town.... You have to take her away from this country...  You take her away from my life”

Rizwan did not say much. I returned home. I put back the letters and my husband’s dairy where they belong and locked the drawer.

I received a call from the police. Rizwan Hakeem had shot the woman I love. Then, he shot himself on the head. She was still alive. She was barely breathing.  She was rushed to the nearest hospital.

I did not expect anyone to die... I did not expect anyone to get hurt... I did not expect anyone to end up in hospital.   I just wanted her to disappear from my life.

What provoked Rizwan Hakeem to kill her...To take his own life? What really took place in the house? I have so many questions but no answers.  

She was in coma. After two days she woke up from the coma. She looked at my husband and said: “We could have been happy. Why did you choose sadness?”
Then, she stopped talking. She stopped breathing. She stopped existing. She was gone. Finally God has listened to my prayers. She has disappeared from our lives, completely and I no longer have to live in fear of losing my husband, any more.  

I dream of her again. We were not talking. She was in my arms. She was smiling. We were enjoying a sunset. Only in dreams, I could give her the happy ending she wanted.

I wish I have the power to erase her memory from his mind... I wish that he would stop dreaming of her....

The End