Bringing Characters to Life – Class Blog

Leanna froze as the black cloaked figure appeared again behind the canopy of a fruit stall. She knew it! That was the third time she had spotted the man since she had leaving Gramaine’s and each time he had ducked just out of sight betone she could get a good look at him. The hair on the bach of arms and neck rose and she felt a sudden chill ran over her. She was beng followed.

She should have known that Mr Gramaine would suspect her after the discovery last night, Leanna cursed herself for not hiding the jewellery better. Thank goodness she had been wearing one of the necklaces when he had found her hiding space, or she would have lost them all and the only hope for her and the orphan’s futures. She clutched her bag nervously as she darked her eyes towards the fruit stall again.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

But she knew, as she knew the night was dark, that he was watching her.

Tahlia marvelled at the myriad of glittering diamonds that adorned her sister’s wedding stage. They covered the satin fabric and clung to the ornate pillars supporting the flowery backdrop, creating the illusion of fairy dust. In the warm afternoon light pouring through the chiffon veils across the hall’s windows, they each looked like a miniature sun. Tahlia held her breath, soaking it all in.

The air was heavy with the scent of cream and chocolate from the three-tier cake that graced the table besides Emaan’s wedding throne. It was a masterpiece in and of itself. Tahlia could have spent the day just admiring it.

Guests were aplenty at the venue today. Emaan always was the star of the show and when she got engaged, the whole street knew about it. Tahlia eyed ladies decked out in their finest gowns and men bellowing with laughter, glasses of sweet Turkish tea in their hands. Tahlia only knew a few of the guests, namely her own direct family. While the groom, Mustafa, was by all accounts a friendly and sociable young man, it wasn’t befitting for the bride’s sister to chat with him much. And since he had no sisters, Tahlia had been mostly left out of the getting-to-know-the-family part of the marriage process.

She knew the important details of course (she wasn’t letting her sister marry a complete stranger!) but no more. That his parents owned a chain of resorts across Turkey and that he loved her sister was important. That he could sing beautifully and owned a sportscar was not. That his parents had agreed to the idea of their beloved firstborn son marrying outside their ethnicity was interesting, though Tahlia couldn’t really tell what her brother-in-law’s parents were thinking most of the time. At least she could be assured that for a wealthy and confident family like theirs, they wouldn’t be after Emaan for her British passport. She wondered what Emaan thought of the idea of settling in Turkey with her new family. Tahlia couldn’t picture it for herself. As much as she loved Antalya’s stunning weather and languid lifestyle, she was a London girl at heart.

Turning to centre of the hall, Tahlia smiled as she saw her sister and brother-in-law being congratulated by a host of guests, each bearing gifts and well wishes.

“You look like a queen, my heart, my darling! May God give you a long and plentiful life!” said someone’s aunt.

“Congratulations to the happy couple!”

“To the centre! To the stage!”

Tahlia sighed ruefully as her sister beamed under the attention and her tinkling laugh rang out like chapel bells. She supposed it was time to do her sisterly duties and escort the bride up to the reserved family table for lunch. She stepped quickly down from the stage and started for her sister.

All of a sudden, a young man cut across her path, holding a glass of tea and a napkin. He glanced sideways at her as he passed, and Tahlia could have sworn in the world slowed just for a moment. The man’s dark eyes were deep lakes of the blackest forest honey and he was just tall enough for her to look into them without craning her neck. He moved gracefully, quietly, his slender frame barely perceptible beneath his covert white shirt. He met her gaze and held it. One second…two seconds…three seconds…

Dear lord.

Tahlia’s cheeks burned as they passed each other. What the hell was that? How was it possible for a stare to be so intense? She glanced after him, trying to locate his person but he had vanished. Who was he? She tried to steady her pounding heart. This was absolutely not the time. She was at her sister’s wedding, not in the middle of her own love story. For all she knew, the man could be married to one of the groom’s cousins. Or he could be one of his cousins. Or worse, his nephew. He had looked older than her, but generational age gaps didn’t always make sense.

“Tali!” Emaan gushed as Tahlia finally reached her side, picking up the hem of her sister’s dress. “Where have you been? And why is your face so red? I wanted to introduce you to one of Mustafa’s friends. He’s got a business in Istanbul and he would be just your type!”

Tahlia laughed awkwardly. “Emaan this is your wedding. What are you talking about?”

“So? Doesn’t stop me finding a good man for my little sister, does it? Besides, when else do men look their best other than scrubbing up for a wedding? Come!”

Emaan dragged Tahlia to the centre table where they sat, waiting for the servers to bring out the appetisers. Her brother-in-law gave her a good-natured smile before pecking her sister on the cheek and going to find his mother. Emaan lowered her voice as soon as he left, nudging Tahlia’s arm and pointing across the table. “Over there, in the maroon suit. What do you think?”

Tahlia forced her face into a neutral expression and dutifully looked and saw a man in a deep red three-piece talking with the mother of the groom. He was smiling widely and the way he leaned back in his chair told her he was entirely assured of himself. He was handsome, she supposed, in a traditional kind of way.

“He’s nice,” Tahlia shrugged and Emaan grinned, her mascara covered eyes glittering. “I told you. He would be such a good match for you. Baba already has his eyes on him.”

Tahlia frowned slightly. Across the hall, the door to the kitchen opened and waiters streamed out, carrying trays of Turkish bread, hummus, salads and oils. She looked back at her sister. “Why is Baba after him? Is he rich?”

“Oh, very. Even Chacha back in Pakistan has heard of their clothing line. Apparently, Chacha and his dad studied together at Oxford back in the day, would you believe.”

Tahlia murmured appreciatively. She had always loved pleasant coincidences and unexpected relations came under that particular category of delight. Most of the time.

“He sounds like a catch,” Tahlia said, focusing on laying her napkin across her lap. Her head felt a little fuzzy. She wanted to put her face right into the cosy basket of bread one of the waiters had set down on their table and close her eyes for a few moments. “Why hasn’t he been snapped up already?”

“Who knows? Perhaps he’s meant for you, “Emaan winked at her. “Perhaps it’s destiny.”

Destiny. Love finds you when you least expect it. That’s what all the fairytales said. That’s what she tried to believe when she was alone at night.

“That’s ridiculous. More likely his family can’t find anyone good enough for him. But you’d be a catch, Tali, especially if Mustafa puts in a word.”

Tahlia watched the man-in-maroon tuck his chair in and reach for the breadbasket. The waiters were shuffling around their table now, setting down bottled water and bowls of olives and yoghurt.

“I’m not sure,” she said. She could feel that frown tugging on her brows again. “We’re not even Turkish. Mustafa’s family may be chill with it but what’s to say anyone else will be?”

“Oh Tali, you worry too much. He’s a perfect fit for you and his salary is more than 3 figures. What’s not to like? The rest we’ll figure out.”

Tahlia was about to respond when a waiter leaned between their chairs to set down a platter of kebabs and sauces from his serving tray. She shifted politely as he laid the tray and arranged their napkins again.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at the arrangements of starters across the table. They looked delicious and she was hungry.

“You’re welcome.”

Tahlia glanced up at the waiter, surprised at his perfect English voice. Most of the hospitality staff and chefs knew only broken English and spoke with heavy Turkish accents. The waiter looked up and met her eyes. Her heart stilled.

It was the young man from earlier. Those were the same eyes, darker than the night and framed by the longest, most lovely lashes she had ever seen. Her brain stopped working. For a moment, it was just the two of them locked in a timeframe of their own. She, with her hand frozen by her ear, still touching the loose strand of her hair, staring at him in wonder. And he, leaning down to set the tray down before her, a hundred unspoken words hidden in his stare.

He dropped his gaze and straightened up, carrying the tray away with him. Tahlia blinked and opened her mouth but no words came out. She realised a moment later that Emaan was talking to her and she nodded absently, her heart racing.

“Was that a waiter?” she interrupted her sister. “Not a guest?”

Emaan frowned. “Who? Just now? Yes, of course that was a waiter. Why do you ask?”

Tahlia just shook her head. Tali felt her heart sink and they exited the building. Of all the 300 people in this building, she’d fallen for the waiter!

The rest of the afternoon disappeared in a blur. Her heart kept thumping wildly as she scanned the floor looking for a glimpse of his face. It wasn’t until the guests and wedding party were preparing to leave that she caught sight of him again, standing by the drinks counter. Her heart soared. This time he was with another man, older, probably the service manager. Their heads were bent together, the older man smiling slightly.

Ugh!

How was she supposed to approach him now? Tahlia wanted to squeal in frustration. The young man looked over at her and then looked away, before glancing back and searching her eyes, like he couldn’t be sure she was interested in him. Tahlia held her breath. She knew she was being rude but couldn’t bring herself to look away. The other man bent and whispered something in his ear and the two of them started to laugh, the waiter turning slightly pink. He busied himself with arranging the cups.

The other man grinned at her and Tahlia’s face burned. She quickly turned away and hurried to join her sister and mother. Tahlia knew only one thing for certain as they exited the building that afternoon. She was in big trouble.

Kite hesitated for a moment in the middle of the front room. The pink rug was soft under his feet, moulding itself around his heels and toes, his bandaged soles protesting at the caress. He knew he shouldn’t be here. He should walk right out of the house and away down the street, back to his dingy apartment. Jess was in the kitchen. He heard her turning the kettle on and cluttering around looking for crockery. The sound was so mundane it almost made him laugh. What was he playing at? Happy homes? He would have sucked at that game even as an innocent child.

“Do you take cream or sugar?” Jess’s voice filtered through from the kitchen. He glanced up to see her looking over her shoulder at him. A lock of her lovely hair had fallen across her eye and she tossed her head to dislodge it, hands occupied by cutlery and saucers. Kite’s lips tightened. For God’s sake…

Was fate mocking him, teasing him with glimpses of a life he could never have? Kite knew he didn’t belong in this house, in this world. Jess’s world. He stood there in her perfect little front room, with souvenirs on the mantlepiece and a mahogany clock with roman numerals, and his knuckles were still bruised from the window he had punched out last week, the healing scars itching wildly still. He backpack was tossed across the sofa, spilling textbooks and stationary, sticky notes in the shape of love hearts and a lone lip gloss. And his? His was full of cash that wasn’t his and cold hard metal.

“Kite?” Jess raised her eyebrows expectantly at him.

“Umm, one sugar,” he said, muting his thoughts. “No cream.”

“So you’re not going to join the family. You’re going to go off and do your own thing again.” Her mother said it as a statement, not a question, her voice tight and hard. Kawthar looked up in surprise.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Oh, nothing. What could be the matter with you just going away to further your career. We will manage the family without you.”
The room hushed as her siblings exchanged uneasy glances, then looked back at her and their mother with bated breath. The air in the room stilled, silence stretching like thinning thread, ready to snap. Kawthar set her jaw. It was going to be like this again? Seriously?
“It’s just a one-off event,” she said, striving to keep her tone respectful despite her mounting irritation. Whenever she needed to get something done, there was always a hurdle in the way. “This fundraiser is going to help me meet the competitors and give me a running chance. It’s not even that long an event.”
Their mother shrugged and started folding laundry. “It’s fine. You didn’t ask me for permission anyways so you won’t listen if I say no. Go, do what you like.”
Kawthar hated when her mother got like this. She hated the faux noncommittal responses and the passive aggressive words. Why make things more difficult than it needed to be? She wasn’t even asking for much. It was just a few hours at a company event. Why the big fuss? She felt her temper rising.
“What’s the big deal? We go to Nani’s house almost every weekend. I’ll probably even be back before you guys leave-“
Her mum slammed the laundry basket onto the desk, sending Kawthar’s perfect array of pens and paper skittering to the floor. Her sister jumped.
“You think the world revolves around you,” her mum’s eyes blazed at her, her lips tight with anger. “Do you ever stop to think who is left behind while you’re galivanting off after your career? Who’s going to have to manage everything while you’re away, your brother is a mess, and your sister is ill? Do you ever think who has to pick up the pieces? Building your empire off your family’s back! You’re selfish!”
Kawthar’s heart stuttered. The whole room was pulsing with the raw the lights were burning her eyeballs, the air hot and dry. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother flinch. Kawthar realised she had been holding her breath. Her mother had never said this to her before.
Her voice caught in her throat as she tried to speak. “I-I didn’t think-”
“That’s right. You don’t think.”

Standing in the kitchen, Daniel, drinking his first cup of coffee (one of many he will have throughout the day), was staring out the window and thinking about his day. He stands thinking about his meeting with the newlyweds and the designs of their new home. After that he has a lunch meeting with his partner, Bill, about the new account. After that he has that model he has to make for the complex bid he is trying to get.

Olivia comes into the kitchen and looks at her handsome husband in deep thought. She shakes her head, walks over to him, and wraps her arms around him. “You think too much, you know, “she says. Daniel turns to her, smiles, and holds her for a moment. He then puts his cup in the sink.

“I have a busy day, “he says. “I’ve got meetings, and I have to get that design and start the model. I probably won’t be home for dinner.

Olivia walks away from him, mumbling to herself, “What else is new? The kids and I will go to my parents’ house for awhile then.”

Later that day Daniel gets a call at the office. “Sir, your wife has been in an accident! She’s in a coma!”

I was watching them. One by one. Taking all my time so they could feel the weight of my gaze, my big eyes moving lazily from one face to another. Some of them were ticking noisily the beads of their rosary. Were they asking God forgiveness for their sins? Others were crying. Nobody shed tears for me at the time. Here they are. THE FAMILY. They invaded my big living room, leaving no empty armchair and chair, even the carpet, sweating in their big bubus and headscarves. Some of them defied the August sun by adding a long shawl on top of their headscarves as the traditional liturgy requested.

My aunts and uncles. From my mother’s and father’s sides. Twenty of them. My mother was sitting in the middle. Her big body slumped against the back of the sofa, between two uncles. She seemed alien to me. I wanted to cry. No tears came out. As my best friend Arame told me one day, with a melodramatic voice: “They dried the well of your tears.”

I was probably eight when he first crept in my bed. I was too lazy to open my eyes to see who it was. Shhhhshhhh, one hand on my mouth. Before I could realize it, he was between my legs. I fought clumsily. I didn’t want to wake my sister up. We’ve always slept in the same bed. She had her back turned towards the wall… for the next four years. By the time I pulled through he was gone. I remained with the burning sensation between my legs, the pungent stench of rancid tobacco breath in the air and the drops of his sweat in my eyes. Though I was trying, I couldn’t control my body. The bed started to shake. Nobody moved. Something started in the lower part of my belly, climbed up my throat. My mother found me the next morning. She started to shout at the sight of the vomit near the bed.

“Lalla! Your butt out of bed! Clean up this mess.” That was all.

She didn’t notice my horrified stare. She didn’t perceive my volatile mood. She would blame the tears on my unpredictable character.

One day, I passed out while cleaning the bathroom. Only then she noticed. And she called THE FAMILY. A public meeting with my aunts and uncles all sitting in the small living room. Filling it with rebuke and blame. All of them eager to hear a voyeuristic story about how I got pregnant. Eager to show how lousy my mother was. Eager to tell the world what a debauched girl I was. I’ve brought shame to the family. I had to pay. I was standing in front of them. I don’t know why I thought about my appearance. I had a worn-out t-shirt with a faded red and yellow logo of Maggi cubes and an equally washed out pareo. My long toenails were getting out of the flip flops I had on. I was trying to hold back my tears in my not yet developed breast.

“Who did this to US!” was shouting one my my aunt. I couldn’t tell which of them, I had closed my eyes as tight as I could. US. It’s always about them. Then I heard him say:

“…I’m doing all I can to give them a better life…” I went down on my knees, banged my fists on the floor and I let it break out. All the anger and the deceitful world of the adults. I could guess from the surprised silence that wrapped my lean figure on the floor. The lump in my chest became smaller and smaller. I stopped shaking. I don’t know how long it took and I didn’t care. It was clear that I was all by myself so I pulled myself together, cleaned my face with my T-shirt. I stood on still wobbly legs. The voice that came out didn’t seem mine.

“In this house they got me pregnant, in this house I will have this child.”

After the birth of my son, my mom couldn’t stay with me in the same room. We couldn’t stay in the same house. He looked so much like him. I had to leave and I did. I decide then that I will be the one to decide what my body was worth. Now here I am. Facing the same eyes that condemned me years ago. Asking me to pay for his funeral. Of course, they expected me to pay. Of all my mother’s children, I was the richest. A big funeral for the big man. I thought I would feel better seeing now, that I would take my revenge. Where were the joy and satisfaction? Their bend forehead, their sweaty hands, their shifty eyes. They knew. From the beginning. They didn’t do anything. The swift taste of satisfaction turned sour in my mouth. My stomach churned. I leaped towards the stairs. None of them will see me cry again. I vowed so many years ago. I went into my room, opened the wardrobe, took some banknotes hidden under my ironed clothes. How much? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just wanted them out of my house. I closed the gate, sat on the entrance stairs… then I burst into tears.

Tyler Mavrick. In case you wondering who that is, nobody. At least that who he was at first. He was merely a boy toy. Someone who she could satisfy her sexual desire without any commitment. That was who he was. But now her head and heart didn’t agree and she fell for him without even realizing it until he broke off their risque relationship because he fell for some other girl.

She looked down at the ground as she sobbed rather ugly. Snot running from her nose and big plump tears down her face dropping on the floor. Her heart hurts but her brain jumps for joy. She got up and looked in the mirror. Her face was red her eyes looked more droopy than usual and the eyebags she always had were darker.

She had holed herself away leaving everyone, including her closest friends, confused. She wanted to still tell him, at least her heart did but she also wanted to let him go. This way she wouldn’t get hurt again and he would be happy with the girl he likes. Indeed, she wasn’t that pretty but she wasn’t exactly ugly like her crying was. She was sure whoever he wanted to be with was gorgeous. A girl with light blonde hair closer to white than yellow and eyes blue as ice. Or maybe eyes green like emeralds. Unlike her boring brown eyes. Although Tyler always claimed he loved gazing into her eyes. Different shades of brown and gold around her pupil.

There was a knock on the door but she ignored it like all others. Until she heard 3 words that made her knees buckle and heart thump.

“Ally, it’s Tyler.” His voice traveled perfectly well through the door and into her ears causing intense emotions racking her body. “Okay, I’m going to come in.” He said as she heard the key put in the lock and the knob jiggled. He was using the key she gave to him when he decided to give visits. It made it more thrilling when she didn’t know when he was coming. The door opened revealing the tall yet slim built Tyler. His body was semi-toned and his eyes were almond shape. He wore some glasses that were only needed for reading. But damn he looked good in them. And she told him that so many times. She sank to the floor as she looked at him. He immediately went to her after shut the door and hugged her. She sighed in content as she sank into it until she realized it wasn’t right. She shoved him away.

“N-no! Don’t touch me!” She said between a few sobs that managed to escape. His arms were empty now and he looked at her scooting towards her again. She simply scooted backward. He took her hands in his.

“Ally, when I told you there was someone I wanted to be with… It was you. I want to be with you.” He said. Her brain screamed that he is lying but her heart jumped at the hope of having him. To be with him even if it didn’t last. Did she want to take that risk? Having her heart shattered again the way he had a week ago and made it feel like she was going to die? Yes. The answer was clear as day. Of course, she was because she loved him. He pulled her into a kiss and she embraced him holding their bodies close.

I used to spend endless hours listening to my father and mother discussing issues related to the psychological health of my sister. My mother used to blame my father saying “my daughter suffers from all of these problems because of the genetics that she inherited from the members of your family.” My father answered her saying that “this is mostly related to God and you can not blame me or blame anybody about anything”. I always felt that my father’s words were right and he was wise enough to say the truth. I was not able to express my opinion to my mother and tell her what my father says is true. These issues affected me psychologically and made me feel very responsible for my sister and very much attached emotionally to her.

My sister’s condition deteriorated year after year, and for this reason, all the members of the family were suffering and very much worried about her and about her future and how her life will be in the long run.

Years passed and her health deteriorated. My parents sent her to the best psychiatrist in the country but they all confirmed that not much can be done in order to improve her health and make her psychologically feel better.

Have just signed up and received the first lesson.
Just wanted to say hello and explain that as I live on a rock in the middle of the Irish Sea, I’ll be using British spelling & grammar in my posts.
Looking forward to see what others have done and also to sharing some of my own work with you.
Thanks.