Don't Show Me Your Faces Again

"You do things you don't like just to make me happy."

...

After listening to Mr Roy, a drama teacher, talk about his fascinating play for the entirety of my lunch break, teaching for three hours straight, without a break in between, the bell finally rang and I head to catch the bus so I can go home.

"I've had the longest day ever," I groan and place my head at the back of my seat after being seated. I feel the movement of the wheels over the road and sigh, relieved that I don't have to wait for long in this hot weather. I wipe the beads of sweat that trickle down my face.

"Fuck you, dick," somebody shouts. I turn my head in the direction of the voice and notice a boy in his teens, holding his head tightly, clenching his jaw in pain. I assume the boy next to him must have hit him on the head because of a quarrel. I feel bad for them because everyone in the bus knows what will happen next.

Our senior supervisory head calls them to the front with the motion of her hand. Mrs Singh is something else altogether. Whether it be teachers including me or the students, everyone was terrified of her. Nobody has the strength to ever correct her even if she's wrong as she would affront that person in public without feeling an ounce of regret. I try to stay clear of her way unless it can't be avoided. I've seen pupils change their path if they see her approaching. If a group of children happened to be in the corridor, she would walk up to them- she never increased her pace as her presence itself was enough to make a person rooted in the spot- and give them one look of menace and they would be scurrying off like mice.

I flinch when I see both of the students getting slapped. It's not allowed in our school to curse, especially in front of the teachers although I've heard the supervisory head swear more than once. Other teachers are silent while the students are grinning, they got some entertainment.

"Don't show me your faces again," she dismisses them. Nobody says anything as they go back to their seats.

Rest of the bus ride is silent as nobody dares to utter another word. On her stop, after she gets down, everyone starts whispering and talking about what happened. I can see one kid mimicking Mrs Singh's actions. I break in laughter on seeing that but then reprimand myself for laughing. I get down the bus when I reach my stop. Our school routes don't go near my house as there is no student who rides the bus from there so I have to walk for twenty-five minutes everyday to reach my house. Exhausting, I know. Ansh rarely drives me home because he has work and I never learnt how to drive. I regret that daily. One day, I will surely learn. I shake my head at that thought.

After walking continuously for five minutes, I see the park I pass daily but this time, I notice a child of perhaps four or five years of age, struggling to reach the top of the slide. He's alone in the park. I go inside the park and walk up to him, keeping sufficient distance so as to not scare him.

"Hey. Where is your mother? Why are you in the park alone?" I ask him.

His upper lip curls in a scowl, "Mommy has told me to not talk to strangers."

I give him a warm smile and back a few steps away. "You have a wise Mommy. I'm not going to come close to you. I'll just wait till an adult comes for you. Is that fine?"

"Okay," he shrugs and continues to try to reach the top of the slide.

"Do you want me to help you?"

He takes a few seconds to decide. He places his finger on his chin and says after a while of thinking, "Okay but only if you promise that you won't harm me."

"Of course." I place my bag on the ground so that I can help him.

"Pinky promise?" he extends his pinky finger to me. I grin at him and move closer to him and extend my pinky finger as well. We lock our pinkies so that a promise is made.

I pick him up and place him on the third step of the ladder of the slide. "You're heavy."

He frowns at me but it only looks adorable to me. I really have a baby fever. Ovaries, please give me a baby. Just kidding. Please don't.

"Mommy says I'm chubby but not fat. So you're wrong. I'm not fat." He huffs. I help him to climb on the fourth step. He does that slowly so as to not fall.

"I never called you fat. I called you heavy. That's different, kid." He pushes my hand away so that he can place his feet on the next step on his own. I still place a hand on his back to be careful.

"Blah blah blah. Say I'm not fat."

I chuckle. "Yes, you're not fat."

He moves on the next step but slips slightly. I quickly grab his arm and then help him to reach the top of the slide.

"Why is there nobody with you?" He sits on the top and slides down while grinning.

"He's with me." I hear a familiar voice and turn to face him.

"Ayu," the kid runs to Ayan and hugs his legs. Ayan picks him up in his arms.

He has the same round dark brown eyes, that sometimes appear black, deep-set in his face like Ayan. If I look carefully, I can see similarities in their faces. They both have black hair that falls on their forehead, a slight dent in their cheeks, and long eyelashes that would make any woman jealous.

I look at him wide-eyed.

"You have a son?"