Chapter 157 : Ibrahim's childhood part three.

Mrs. Habiba wasn't your typical teacher. She was a strange person. She wanted to be seen as a woman of importance and authority. And she had a certain arrogance about her, perhaps because she taught at a school where only the kids of the elite families of the city came to read. 

In Mrs. Habiba's classroom, fear motivated the students. She thought being strict was the way to succeed, and she gave a lot of homework, wanting her students to be perfect. If a child couldn't finish all the work, Mrs. Habiba didn't hesitate to punish them.

Her punishments weren't the usual detention after school or lines to be copied. No, Mrs. Habiba employed a more...creative...approach. One such punishment involved the liberal use of bricks

Behind the school there was an ongoing construction project. From there, she'd collect heavy bricks. These hefty bricks, each one several times heavier than a textbook, would be shoved into the students' backpacks. 

Mrs. Habiba would then force the students to stand in a stiff "surrender pose," arms outstretched to the side and the strap of the heavy backpacks digging into their backs. For a full hour, they were forced to stand under her watchful eye.

The students who showed up late in class, she'd sentence them to the "Sunshine Special." This meant standing in a designated spot in the schoolyard, directly under the blazing sun, for the entire recess period. No shade, no water, just the relentless heat to remind them of their mistake.

And for those caught talking in class, Mrs. Habiba had a particularly nasty surprise. She kept a jar of small, fiery red chili peppers on her desk. If she caught students whispering, she'd march over, grab a pepper, and hold it under the culprit's nose for what seemed like an eternity. The fumes from the peppers would sting their eyes, making them tear up and sneeze uncontrollably. The burning sensation left them gasping for breath and the students vowed never to talk in class again.

Another cruel tactic involved something she called the "squirm bench." This wasn't an average school bench – it was a small, narrow plank balanced precariously on two uneven legs. Sitting on a regular chair could be uncomfortable for a child for long periods, but the squirm bench was a different kind of torture. The slightest movement sent the plank tilting, forcing the student to constantly adjust their posture to avoid a painful tumble.

Maintaining perfect stillness on this chair was nearly impossible, especially for a fidgety child. The constant struggle to stay upright caused leg cramps, backaches, and a growing sense of frustration. But, Mrs. Habiba would make them sit for hours.

To ensure her methods remained a secret, she instilled more fear in her students. She threatened her students with a chilling promise: double the punishment for anyone who dared to tattle to their parents.

However, Habiba always treated little Ibrahim differently. She was keenly aware of his father, Zafar's reputation. But the day Ibrahim dared to slap her in front of the entire class was the day her patience shattered. From that moment on, Ibrahim wasn't exempt from her harsh punishments.

The weight of the brick-filled backpack became a daily torment for Ibrahim. Unlike his classmates who endured the hour-long torture, Ibrahim was subjected to it for twice as long.

By the end of it, the five-year-old's small frame would be trembling with exhaustion. The straps of his backpack left red marks on his back. 

This was the reason why Ibrahim started to take bath himself without the caretaker. The red marks on his shoulders were something he couldn't bear his parents to see otherwise his punishment would be doubled too.

And there was no leftover enthusiasm for playing after school with friends or to talk with anyone like previously.

Aliya clutched Ibrahim tightly in a hug, tears soaking his small shirt. "Why, Ibrahim? Why didn't you tell us, son? Why did you go through all this alone? I'm your mother. You didn't even tell me?"

Ibrahim burrowed into his mother's embrace, "I didn't want you to worry, Mom. And Dad… he said if I misbehaved again, he'd send me away to boarding school. What if there are teachers there like Mrs. Habiba? Besides Samir needs you and dad more than I do now. He's little."

Aliya's heart clenched at the fear in his voice. Here was her little boy, burdened with anxieties far too heavy for his small shoulders. He shouldn't have to worry about harsh teachers or strict punishments. He should be playing with friends or enjoying his childhood. 

She thought she wasn't a good mother. She had been planning to return to her job as a surgeon once Samir turned one. Yes, she was a talented surgeon. But in that moment, she realized those lives of patients paled in comparison to the two beating hearts nestled against her.

Doctors were replaceable. There would always be another skilled surgeon, another healer to mend broken bodies. But Aliya, she was irreplaceable to Ibrahim and Samir. They needed her love, her presence. 

The decision to leave her demanding career wasn't easy. It meant sacrificing a part of herself, a part she'd spent years cultivating. Yet, Aliya knew this sacrifice was a testament to a mother's love, a love that burned brighter than ambition. 

Yet Society had a peculiar way of viewing women. The term "gold digger" was thrown around carelessly. A label attached to women who sought financial security in a relationship. But what of the sacrifices women made? The careers they put on hold, the dreams they deferred, all for the sake of nurturing a home and raising children? These sacrifices, these acts of love, were rarely acknowledged. 

Women are perfectly capable of digging their own PLATINUM and make palace with it. They can sacrifice their career in need and also build it later if they wish.

That night when Zafar returned from work, Aliya disclosed the truth about Habiba to him. Zafar wasted no time in rushing to Ibrahim's room. How could he have been so blind? His son had been suffering in silence, and he'd been too focused on his own world to see it.

He'd spent an hour to scold Ibrahim that day, and now for the next three hours, Zafar apologized to Ibrahim.

The parents had been so focused on providing a luxurious life for Ibrahim that they had failed to see the another side. They had let their son suffer in silence. Now both were cursing themselves. 

There are no definition of perfect parents. Parenting is a journey filled with missteps and lessons learned during the journey. Many Parents may believe that apologizing is unnecessary for them, but asking for forgiveness from their children doesn't diminish their image. It demonstrates humility, teaches accountability, and strengthens the parent-child bond.

The fog of misunderstanding had lifted. Now, a single purpose remained – to address Mrs. Habiba's cruelty.

However Zafar wasn't seeking justice through conventional means. He believed this was an opportunity for Ibrahim. A harsh lesson, yes, but one that would equip his son to go through the realities of mafia life. Though this wasn't a world for children but the thought of Ibrahim facing similar pain in the future was unbearable.

Mrs. Habiba Ansari, the woman who dared to harm Zafar's cub, wouldn't just be dealt with. Her Entire Generation will. And Habiba Ansari would be made an example of. A reminder that Zafar Rahman did not tolerate threats to his family. 

And the message wouldn't be subtle. It would be a proof of how he would go to in order to protect his own – a message had to be delivered not only to Mrs. Habiba but to anyone who dared to even consider causing harm to his sons. No mercy would be shown. No life would be SPARED.