A Kiss on the Forehead

Arsalan Khan

Description

A Muslim boy and Hindu girl get into a forbidden relationship, realize that they must choose between tradition and love, and are forced to make some of the most uncomfortable life choices they’ve ever had to make.

Marriage is considered one of the most sacred bonds between two people. Its outreach extends far beyond a simple promise to be loyal and faithful to one person and one person alone. However, when infl uenced by the push and pull of cultural stigmas, religious boundaries, and differences in generational mindsets, it can also be one of the most complex and daunting experiences anyone can go through.

A Kiss on the Forehead is an attempt to tell a story that happens far too often and isn’t discussed enough. Shaan, a fi rst generation college graduate from a conversative Muslim, Pakistani household, falls in love with Alisha, a Hindu, Indian girl. What’s supposed to be a celebration of love and a bond built of trust, compassion, and empathy quickly becomes a tumultuous whirlwind of emotion, rejection, and ultimately, reconciliation. Relationships like these, where two supposedly incompatible worlds come together to create a new harmony, are becoming more prevalent, and yet they are still heavily looked down upon. We’re slowly moving towards a more accepting world with the freedom to exist as yourself, but it’s still not happening fast enough.

Sujets

• hindu
• Inspirational
• Philosophie et théologie
• Religion

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 25 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665727464
• Langue: English

Extrait

A Kiss on the Forehead
 
 
 
 
 
 
ARSALAN KHAN
 
 
 
 
 

 
Copyright © 2022 Arsalan Khan.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.
 
Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2747-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2745-7 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2746-4 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022913679
 
 
Archway Publishing rev. date: 10/25/2022
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Author’s Note
About the Author
DEDICATION
In loving dedicatio n to
For my parents and sister:
I love you more than words may ever be able to fully describe, and I owe everything to you. I know that there are a lot of things that you may not agree with me on, but I know you’re still proud that I fought like hell for what I believed in.
For Alisha:
This was more than us. I hope this does us justice.
 
The story presented before you was written to start a conversation within the Pakistani, Indian, and immigrant communities; all the people and events presented play a pivotal role in having that conversation. I did my best to tell my story to the best of my ability, but I have to stress that it ’ s MY story and no one else ’ s. Everyone ’ s names have been changed to protect their privacy. All events were presented as recollections of my experiences over time, and some events have been compressed for the sake of telling the story cohere ntly.
Chapter 1

“Hi Dr. Abbasi, hope everything is well with you. My name is Shaan, and I was hoping that you’d be able to help me. I have some stuff going on; stuff that’s really messing with me. If I have to be honest, it’s really eating at me, and I’m really, really scared right now. I’ve been searching for therapists, and you came up as a top search for a Muslim therapist. I was wondering if I could schedule some time with you. Please call me when you get the chance. Thank you.”
Everything was racing in my head, and the room just kept spinning. I felt this lump in my throat as I was fighting to hold back tears from pouring out of my eye sockets.
Was this the right move? I can probably handle this on my own. She’s going to hear this message and call someone to come get me…she’ll think I’ve lost my shit.
Looking around the room, everything just felt incredibly stagnant; the air felt stale, my body felt frozen, and all I could hear was just a faint whirring of the fan behind me. It didn’t take long for the emotion to rush over me. A faint whimper grew slowly, and emerged more and more into a painful sob, fit with all the hysteria and emotion that comes with a breakup. I fell to my knees, wondering how on earth I got to this point. The situation wasn’t perfect, and things could have gone better if I could somehow make a deal with God, but hey, I gave it my all, right? I gave it every last thing I had.
It was all gone.
Alisha was gone. Five and a half years of love gone. All the effort of nitpicking all of my parents’ conversations, all of the time beating my head against the wall and coming up with new solutions, all of the painful conversations with myself, all of it. Gone. I tried to pick myself back up enough to go get some water or a drink or even a shirt to clean myself up, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. I almost felt like I didn’t deserve it.
“ You lost her! How you could you lose her? ”
I kept replaying the drive back in my head, how I flew down the interstate with no regard for the speed limit, having to navigate through blurred vision from all of the tears, weaving through what I couldn’t figure out was either a semi or a line of individual cars. Everything around me just felt like a painful jabbing reminder of what was just taken away from me, from the scent of her eucalyptus green tea lip balm in my car to the jacket she gifted me that I was wearing when I left her place to all of the furniture she helped me pick in my apartment.
Looking at my bedroom window, I saw a bird land on the outside ledge. It sat there, just watching me in my sorry state, pitying the so-called “advanced” species crumpled up into a mess in front of it. Even as it turned around and flew away into a distance of rain and gray clouds, it almost felt as if it was looking at me, saying “You’re not worth it.”
I finally managed to break free of gravity’s debilitating grasp on my lower body, and began to trudge to the bathroom, each step feeling like quicksand that was trying to take me out of my misery. I didn’t even have the energy to turn on the light, but still managed to run cold water over my face and neck. Turning the water on in the shower, I began to take off my shirt, followed by my pants, my socks, and then my underwear. I could practically hear her voice as I did.
“ There’s a hook on the back of your door, why would you leave all your stuff on the floor! It’s all going to get wet! ”
I used to hate hearing that so much, and would always begrudgingly respond, “Yes, I know! I got it, I got it!” before just tossing them all to the side in a “neat” little ball.
“Ehh, it’s going in the laundry anyway.” I’d say.
But this time, it didn’t feel the same. I quickly picked up everything and hung up everything before preparing to step foot in the shower. The same voice groans.
“And you have a fresh towel, right? Ugh, why are all guys so disgusting!”
Switching on the light, I cracked open the linen closet to reveal all of the neatly folded towels and sheets that she had helped me fold a week ago. I could feel the wetness in my eyes starting to build up again.
Goddamn, this is getting old.
I took the one towel that was always hers and threw it up on the towel bar.
Guess that’s one thing I won’t need to ask for back.
I finally made my way into the shower. A searing pain ran up my leg to my shoulders and back down again.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
I jumped out, falling out the side of the tub, and landed on my shoulder onto the floor beside the toilet. It didn’t occur to me until I had tasted the cold bathroom floor that I had turned the hot water knob instead of the cold and was essentially walking into a boiling cauldron. Nothing was working, and it felt like the world was just telling me that I should just go fuck myself. I slammed my fist into the ceramic, over and over again, just begging for everything to just stop.
“I get it, I get it! She’s gone! Why can’t you just let me deal?!”
At this point, I didn’t even try to hold in the tears, and laid there in a puddle of my own sweat, tears, and pity. Suddenly, I felt an embrace around my forehead and neck. It was a warmth that I could tell even if I was blind and deaf.
“ Shaan, Shaan! Are you okay? ”
I closed my eyes and just breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just being stupid.”
“ Are you hurt? Can I get something for the pain? Oh my goodness, honey you need to be more car eful! ”
My tears of anger and frustration suddenly melted away, and I began to smile.
“I know, it was just me being stupid. Baby, you have no idea. It’s only been an hour and a half since I left your place, and everything has just been like a scene out of a nightmare! Everything’s just been off the rails, stuff just isn’t making sense. But, it doesn’t matter now, because you’re here. You’re—”
I looked up to see my hallway, with nothing but my thoughts lingering around me. She wasn’t there. For the first time in a very long time, I felt the distance between the different rooms in my apartment. I could hear the neighbors entering the apartment next to me, as well as the footsteps of my neighbors that lived above me. I had moved out of my parents’ house a little more than five years ago, but for the first time since, I felt alone.
Mustering the energy to get up, I wiped up the floor and stood up, staring into the mirror at what looked like one of those soap opera characters that had gone through eight straight episodes dealing with the same heartbreak. I put on my clothes and walked back into the bedroom, my body giving out as I fell face first into my pillow. This was all just feeling like a huge dream.
There was always a “ what if this didn’t work out? ” in the back of my head, a “ this is going to be one hell of