I was so depressed. And how ironic can it get? The man whom I was supposed to hate could make me feel so sorry and worried on his death even after what he did to me.
I didn't attend school and sent an application for sick leave and instead, I went to the Islamic centre to consult with the Imam about my problems which kept on growing. When I entered, I found him sitting on a pulpit with his fingers counting the prayer beads and his mind deep in meditation. I took off my shoes and strode in his direction.
"Asalam Alaikum sahib," I greeted. His eyes followed and he nodded with a smile and ceased his worship. "Walaikum Asalam my child," he welcomed; his fair face blithe. I sat down across from him and my head sank between my shoulders as the last ounce of depression kicked in.
"What is it
