#ahmad jadmani

[thornedrose44]

Hi! Love your fics ♡

Either dialogue prompt 2 for leatin or 8 for shoni? 😊

Rana’s shoulders caved forwards, finally allowing herself to feel the weight of the day as she pushed open her front door and stepped inside. Her head was pounding and her jaw ached from clenching it tightly during throughout the mediation sessions aimed at producing an amicable divorce - impossible, Rana had scoffed, he’s on trial for sponsoring an insane experiment that tortured our daughter, I am getting custody and the house or I am burning his entire world to ashes. 

(Her lawyer, a far too charming woman that made Rana’s heart do funny hiccups in her chest, had smiled and said if you only get custody and the house, I haven’t done my job right.)

Rana dropped her bag in the hallway, moving further inside, her headache easing in counter to standard wisdom as she approached the noise and ruckus that could only be generated by her children. She stopped just outside the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as she watched Fatin and Leah competitively roll out pizza dough, debating toppings and proper kneading methods as they were cheered on by Kemar and Ahmad. 

“Kemar, don’t listen to Leah, I’ll teach you everything you knead to know.” Fatin winked, throwing the dough in her hands down on the countertop for emphasis.

“Hey Ahmad,” Leah said, nudging the other boy with her elbow, “what kind of person doesn’t like pizza?”

Ahmad, cheeks red and eyes squinty already from multiple bouts of laughter, shrugged, “Don’t know.”

Leah leaned forward, putting on a conspiratorial air, “A weir-dough.”

Ahmad and Kemar both let out simultaneous groans, whilst Leah threw her head back and laughed maniacally. Rana took in the scene quickly, but couldn’t help but focus on Fatin in the burst of noise and motion.

Fatin was watching Leah with the softest of smiles, eyes wide and vulnerable as if the sight of Leah laughing was something to be utterly transfixed by. She could see her daughter’s breath catch, could see her light up, the walls Rana wasn’t even aware she was still holding up falling down to ground level for the briefest of flashes.

Rana blinked and Fatin was laughing bright and brilliant, moving from awe to something settled once again.

“Leah, that was terrible.” Fatin declared.

“What?! It was brilliant.”

“You stole my pun.”

“I re-purposed your pun.”

“Plagiarism!” Fatin accused, throwing the dough down once more like a gavel, rallying the boys to her side. “Creative theft!”

“You are such a dork.” Leah chuckled, shaking her head fondly.

“Yeah, well, your pun game is weak.” Fatin scoffed, tapping Leah on the nose to leave a flour-y fingerprint. 

Rana took the slight lull that followed, Fatin and Leah staring into each other’s eyes for a long beat as the boys tried to steal some grated cheese, to walk fully into the kitchen. 

“Mom!” The boys yelled, abandoning their cheese heist to run over to her and give her a hug; Rana accepted their embraces immediately, swallowing down the lump that formed in her throat, not yet used to her children being excited and happy to see her. It was always Samad they ran to hug, never her and she was finding that whilst she lost her husband, the trade-off was so much more in her favour than she could ever have anticipated.

“Hey, Mom,” Fatin greeted, approaching slower than her brothers but giving her a quick, light hug that really made Rana’s eyes prickle. “We’re making pizzas.”

“I think you’re actually making terrible puns.” Rana teased earning an over-the-top pout from Fatin and giggles from the boys. “Leah, it’s lovely to see you again.”

“Hello, Ms Jadmani.” Leah replied, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

Rana sighed and glanced at her daughter, “Is she ever going to call me Rana?”

“Unlikely.” Fatin answered fondly, “She wants to make a good impression.”

Rana hummed, holding herself back from saying Leah would be welcome in her house forever if she continued to make Fatin smile like that, make Fatin look young and carefree in a way that Rana had never allowed her to be for years and now regretted more than she could bear to admit.

“She already has.” Rana settled on simply.

“I’ve told her that.” Fatin huffed.

“Need any help with dinner?” Rana offered.

“No, we’re all good Ms Jadmani.”

Rana left them to it, going to shower and change into more casual clothes, the pizzas were coming out of the oven as she came back downstairs. They ate at the table, the boys telling her all about their days whilst Fatin recounted with pride how Leah had scored top marks in their last English exam. Once done, Rana insisted on washing up and pushing the children to pick a film. Kemar and Ahmad dragged Leah away to help them pick from the favourites they were desperate to share with her.

Rana was halfway through washing up when Fatin appeared at her side, accepting the rinsed plate from her hands with a small smile, offering to dry.

“So how long have you and Leah been dating?” Rana inquired, trying to keep her tone light and encouraging.

The plate in Fatin’s hand slipped and she juggled it for a few seconds before regaining her grip on it.

“Uh… I would say good save but that seemed needlessly dramatic.” Rana mused.

“We-I-... Leah and I aren’t dating.” Fatin stammered, staring straight ahead, holding tight enough to the plate that Rana feared she would snap it in half. 

“Oh… I’m sorry, I… I assumed and that was wrong of me-” Rana began, mentally reprimanding herself - her relationship with Fatin was more fragile than china, or fractured glass, and she had seen a lowering of her daughter’s walls and tried to pole-vault over them without invitation. 

“I’m that obvious, aren’t I?” Fatin murmured despondently. “God, I’m such a fucking dork around her…”

Rana resisted the urge to reach out and make contact, the task of washing up seeming to make Fatin feel less scrutinised. “I think that’s one of the things Leah likes most about you.”

“Pfft… yeah, right.” Fatin said, shaking her head. “No offence, Mom, but I know what gets people’s attention.”

Rana grimaced at that, acutely aware of her daughter’s proclivities that Samad had knowingly encouraged; she knew her daughter used to go out drinking but knew she was sensible and had assumed the parties she attended were a few degrees more innocent than she was now knowledgeable of. 

“And anyway, it wouldn’t work out.” Fatin mumbled, head dropping low.

“What makes you think that?” Rana prompted.

Fatin side-eyed her, lips pursed tight, and expression defeated. “You and I both know I’m more like Dad than we care to admit.”

Rana froze, heart splintering in her chest at the confession. 

There weren’t many occasions where Rana felt like she was a capable mother, like she knew what to say and do in any given moment. It was probably the worst part of mother-hood, not knowing if she was actually helping, not knowing her impact until years later when she could finally see what had grown from the seeds she’d sown.

There was the time Fatin came home crying because a boy had pushed her over, mud on her new clothes and knees bloody - Rana had cleaned her up, wiped away her tears and told her she would take care of it; Fatin had hugged her tight and believed her, especially when the boy was removed from Fatin’s class and stayed as far away from her as possible. There was the time Kemar struggled with his algebra homework and Rana had helped him every night for a month, watching his understanding grow and grow until he stopped throwing his pens and paper across the table in frustration. There was the time Ahmad grew obsessed with a new video game and Rana took the time to play it with him, to listen and learn all about it, Ahmad practically glowed with pride and even now came to her so excited to share new theories about the game series.

It wasn’t often that Rana knew she could fix something, say the exact right words. But she knew in that moment that she could and it was the single greatest relief of her life.

“Your Father isn’t a dork.” Rana said, drying her hands and turning to face Fatin directly. 

Fatin frowned, “Yeah, I know. He is an asshole though.”

“Agreed, however, I mean your Father was never anything other than polished and charming. He was a smooth talker at all times, he didn’t make pun jokes, he didn’t do silly or whimsical. And…” Rana hesitated, “he didn’t let me do those things either.”

Fatin’s expression shifted from confusion to sympathy, and Rana could not fathom how her and Samad’s selfishness had cancelled out to create someone so empathetic.

“We had to be perfect. We had to be charming, and enviable. I never got to be… messy. If I told a terrible joke, he would roll his eyes, not in amusement but in reprimand. You are not your Father, Fatin. You are not me, either. And I am so unbelievably grateful every day of my life for that fact. You get to be dorky and tell puns, and you love it when Leah does the same. You don’t ask for perfect and neither does she.”

“But-” Fatin began, still unconvinced and uncertain.

“Do you love her?” Rana asked.

Fatin swallowed, looking away before nodding slowly.

“And I assume a large part of that is due to things you would not normally associate with getting people’s attention at parties, correct?”

Fatin nodded once again, brow furrowing thoughtfully now.

“Fatin, you are not like your Father but if you think you have to appear perfect all the time and expect the same of those you love, then you will be. Be dorky, be brave and for the love of all that is holy, tell that girl how you feel.”

“I don’t know many pep-talks that involve telling someone to go make a fool of themselves.” Fatin grumbled, but there was an uptick to her mouth.

“All pep-talks are about that, they just make it sound like it's the cool thing to do.” Rana replied.

Fatin considered this, “Fair.” She smiled at her, “Thanks, Mom. I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s all I ask.”

They watched an animated film that Leah had picked from the boy’s suggestions; popcorn bowl moving between them all. Rana sat on the sofa with the boys, whilst Fatin and Leah occupied the smaller loveseat, Fatin watching Leah’s profile thoughtfully for most of the film until Leah shifted and rested her head on Fatin’s shoulder leading to Fatin looking like she had won some impossible prize in response.

Once the film finished, Rana ushered the boys up to bed as the girls tidied and Leah prepared to head off. With the boys safely tucked into bed, Rana headed back downstairs intent on pouring herself a glass of wine as she read a chapter of her book, only to come to a stop halfway up the stairs, not wanting to interrupt whatever was happening at the front door.

Fatin’s head was ducked shyly forward, and she was shifting nervously in place in the doorway as Leah stood on the other side of the threshold, expression so unbelievably fond and proud. Rana couldn’t hear what was said, but she could see Fatin tensing up as she finished saying something and then there was a pause and Leah was leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Fatin’s cheek. 

Fatin’s jaw dropped and Leah pulled back, said something, winked and walked away leaving Fatin stunned and gaping in the doorway. 

Rana finished moving down the stairs and approached her daughter.

“You took my advice?” Rana guessed, causing Fatin to jolt in place, jaw snapping shut.

“Uh… yeah, I… took your advice.” Fatin shrugged, failing to regain a sense of cool composure (Rana couldn’t help but think the ruffled, flappable look suited her).

“And?”

“And… she thinks I’m a dork, but she also… likes that about me.”

[halcyon-hyacinth]

“I’ll be fine,” Leah insists. “You don’t know that.” There was a period of time where Fatin wasn’t sure if Leah was ever going to wake up again, and she’s not putting either of them through that again.

Happy New Year! Chap 6 of my leatin ghost hunters au is up!

Reblogs appreciated :))

[comic-book-jawns]

Can We Hang On? (part 4)

Rana Jadmani isn’t a kid person.

That’s what she told herself. She was a mother, of course. Always knew she would be. But she wasn’t a kid person.

So when Samad had to go on a last-minute business trip, or so she believed, and six-year-old Fatin asked her to chaperone the kindergarten field trip “to chase butterflies” — which begged the question of what exactly they were paying 20k for? — she said she had to work.

And when eight-year-old Ahmad accidentally super-soaked her blouse as she stepped out of the car — after a listing fell through and all she’d wanted was to go upstairs and, ironically, take a bath — she said his father was going to take the toy away. Samad undermined her, as usual. But Ahmad never did it again.

And when 10-year-old Kemar started to tell her about his latest novel while getting ready for bed, she said he could tell her tomorrow. Then she forgot, and didn’t realize she’d forgotten until she found him in his teenage sister’s room, reading the book propped open in her lap while she snored into his hair.

Rana never owned up to any of her mistakes, her regrets, as the years went by. Because she didn’t make mistakes. And regrets were a foolish notion.

Indeed, with Kemar now about to graduate from Yale and Adhmad interning on Capitol Hill, no one could accuse her of being a bad mother... if they were her only children.

Because people in her circle simply don’t have children like Fatin.

Read more @ ao3