2024-12-24 08:08:05The days stretched into weeks, and Hakimi and his children slowly adjusted to a new rhythm of life. Each morning began with a familiar routine—the rush to get ready for school and university, the aroma of coffee brewing in the kitchen, and the comforting hum of familial chatter. Despite the warmth of these moments, the shadow of their struggles loomed large.
Hakimi sat at the dining table one particular morning, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, his eyes scanning the horizon beyond the window. Amira and Khadija, dressed in their neatly pressed uniforms, chattered animatedly about their school projects. The sight of their bright smiles brought him fleeting relief, but the weight of his responsibilities was ever-present.
As the day rolled into evening, Hakimi returned home after a grueling shift at work. The moment he stepped into the house, his eyes fell on the stack of bills on the coffee table. With a heavy sigh, he removed his tie and sat down to face the mounting pile of financial obligations. Water bills, electricity bills, rent reminders—each one felt like a fresh blow.
"How did it come to this?" he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his long hair. For a fleeting moment, he thought about how different things would be if Rashvia were still with them. His grief, though dulled with time, lingered like an open wound.
Hakimi opened his laptop, his fingers hesitating over the keyboard as he began searching for part-time jobs. The idea of online tutoring caught his attention, but the thought of adding more to his already overburdened schedule felt exhausting. Frustration mounted, and almost absentmindedly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
As he lit it, the acrid smoke filled his lungs, and he coughed violently. The taste was bitter and foreign—a stark reminder of a habit he'd left behind for years. Shaking his head, he stubbed it out. "What am I doing? This won't solve anything," he said aloud, his voice laced with self-reproach.
The sound of the front door opening pulled him from his thoughts.
"Dad, I'm home!" Akashi called out, stepping into the room and kicking off his shoes.
Hakimi quickly straightened up, forcing a smile. "Over here," he replied, waving from the dining area.
Akashi entered, his sharp eyes immediately scanning the room. "Why are you home so early? Everything okay?"
Hakimi hesitated, then gestured vaguely. "Just a slight headache. Needed to rest."
Akashi’s brows furrowed. "A headache? And… is that…?" He sniffed the air, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Dad, is that cigarette smoke?"
Hakimi’s smile faltered. "What? Cigarette? No, I don’t…"
Akashi walked straight to the kitchen trash, his face darkening as he spotted the stub. "Dad! We talked about this! You promised you were done with smoking. What is going on?"
Hakimi sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I’m sorry, son. I… It’s just the stress. The bills, the… everything. It’s overwhelming."
"And you're trying to smoke it away?" Akashi’s voice was firm but tinged with disappointment.
"No Hakimi admitted, pulling the pack from his pocket and tossing it into the trash. You’re right. No more. I promise."
Akashi sat down beside him, his gaze softening as he looked at the bills spread out on the table. "Dad, I want to help. There’s a new bar near the crib's mall. I can take a shift or two to ease the load."
Hakimi shook his head. "No, Kashi. Your focus should be on your studies. The medical field is competitive, and you have to carry on your mother’s legacy."
"I know, Dad. But I can manage both. Please, let me do this."
Hakimi studied his son’s determined expression. For a moment, he saw Rashvia in him—the same resilience, the same unyielding spirit. "Fine, he relented as he desperately needed a help, but only on one condition: if your grades suffer, you quit immediately."
"Deal." Akashi extended his hand, and Hakimi shook it firmly.
The weight on Hakimi’s chest lightened slightly as he pulled his son into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Kashi," he whispered. "You’re a good man."
------------
Later that evening, Hakimi was roused from a restless nap by the sound of his daughters calling out.
"Daddy!" Amira and Khadija’s voices echoed through the house.
Hakimi sat up, rubbing his eyes. "You’re back?! How did you get home?"
"Akashi picked us up," Amira replied, setting her bag down.
Hakimi nodded, relief washing over him. "Your brother is so responsible."
As he changed into more comfortable clothes and headed downstairs, he found his children bustling around the kitchen. The aroma of spices and freshly cooked food filled the air. Hakimi paused in the doorway, watching them with a mix of pride and gratitude. His family was his anchor, his reason to keep pushing forward.
"Dinner is ready!" Akashi announced, carrying a steaming pot to the table.
"Not for Amira, though, he teased. She didn’t help."
"Hey! That’s not fair!" Amira protested, sticking her tongue out at him.
"Alright, enough," Hakimi interjected with a chuckle. "Amira, you can have my portion if you’re still hungry."
"Thanks, Daddy," she said, shooting a triumphant look at Akashi.
"Not fair," Akashi grumbled, but his grin betrayed his amusement.
As they sat down to eat, Khadija placed a hand on her stomach dramatically. "Can we eat already? I’m starving."
They all laughed, and Akashi suggested, "Amira, say grace."
They joined hands, bowing their heads as Amira spoke. "Almighty Allah, we thank you for this meal and for each other. Bless our family, guide us, and give us the strength to face tomorrow."
Hakimi’s heart swelled with emotion as he looked at his children. They were his everything—his reason to endure, to fight, to hope. As they ate and laughed together, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. No matter how heavy the burdens, they would face them together, as a family.
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The faint chime of the restaurant doorbell had barely faded when Akashi's expression froze. His chest tightened as he recognized the two men who stepped in-a man in a dark coat with a fat cigarette dangling from his lips and another with a menacing, thug-like presence. Riqqo and Zafir. His uncle and his right-hand man.Riqqo's sharp eyes surveyed the restaurant like a predator scanning its prey, a slow, smug grin curling across his face when he recognized his nephew and brother. Zafir trailed behind, exuding quiet intimidation. They moved like they owned the place, taking a booth at the far end, their imposing presence souring the cheerful atmosphere of the family's restaurant."Uncle?" Akashi's voice was barely above a whisper as he stared, stunned and terrified.From across the counter, Hakimi noticed his son's frozen posture and followed his gaze. His blood ran cold. His pulse quickened, but he steadied his breath and forced himself to walk toward his brother. Hakimi knew Riqqo's p
