Amin Home

1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 979-8-31781400-7
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 188 Seiten

Reihe: Home

Miraj tried to do it right the first time. He found love. He built a life. He left the streets behind. Now years later, with a wife he loves and a future he's still learning to believe in, he finds himself on what should be a simple road trip home. Instead, a detour cracks the illusion wide open, exposing a dark chain of crimes, stolen lives and a network of human exploitation that threads back to the very moment he tried to erase. As the layers unravel, so does Miraj. Each mile brings him closer to a truth he isn't sure he can survive, and further from the safety he thought he'd earned.

Dahsheen Amin is a novelist, screenwriter, independent filmmaker, and Licensed Mental Health Therapist. She has worked for over 20 years with the Department of Juvenile Justice providing mental health therapy and mentorship, along with screenwriting and book clubs for incarcerated youth. Dahsheen is also the Founder and CEO of Good News Productions LLC and the 'Good News Project', a film apprenticeship program that provides hands on skills in the arts of Literature, Screenwriting, Photography and Music and which offers support, mentorship, networking and guidance to cultivate and inspire the talents of youth and young adults. Dahsheen currently resides in Virginia with her husband and three children.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Amin, Dahsheen

Leseproben

Chapter 2

GREENWICH CT. 2011

A red and pink sun gently sets along the beautiful coastal private beach of Tod’s Point. A large sign reads: Old Greenwich Yacht Club. The last streaks of sunlight softly brush against the lush green trees along a beautiful hiking trail and wrap around a long curvy road leading to the Woodlawn Oaks Subdivision.

Miraj Deen, thirty-two, and his wife, Stephanie, thirty, stand on the front steps of a large elegantly structured brick faced two-story home. Miraj, ruggedly handsome, with a stocky muscular frame, and Stephanie, the perfect blend of poise, natural beauty, and unwavering calm. The couple stand with their hands intertwined, exchanging brief glances of fatigue and excitement. The yellow hum of the porch light glows from a dull halogen bulb. Miraj leans forward and presses on the doorbell. They wait. The sound of dinner music and laughter permeates through the door. Miraj leans forward to press the bell again, and the door swings open.

Dr. David Williams, late sixties, stands with wide welcoming arms. “Steffy!”

Stephanie jumps into his arms. “Daddy!”

Dr. Williams embraces her. Miraj watches the exchange and smiles. He waits for a pause before he cordially extends his hand to shake. He desperately wanted this visit to go well.

“How are you, Mr. Williams?” Dr. Williams turns toward Miraj, his reception, somewhat chilly.

“It’s Dr. Williams . . . you never could grasp that . . . could you, son?”

The air goes silent. Miraj swallows and turns toward Stephanie, clearly taken aback. He gathers himself.

“I apologize . . . Dr. Williams.” Dr. Williams bursts into laughter and yanks Miraj in for a hug.

“Boy, I’m just messin’ with you!”

Miraj breathes a sigh of relief.

“Where you get your sense of humor, the flea market?”

Dr. Williams explodes into another round of laughter as he ushers Miraj and Stephanie into the house.

“Mona, Steff is here!”

Mrs. Williams, mid-sixties, hurries down the hallway still cloaked in her apron. The soft lines on her face, a hint of pink lipstick, and soft brown curls cascading down her back define her as a gracefully aging beauty. She smothers Stephanie with a barrage of hugs and kisses.

“I’m so glad you guys made it in ok.”

Mrs. Williams pulls Miraj in for a comforting squeeze. “Good to see you, Rajji.”

Miraj smiles; the hug felt like home. “Good to see you as well, Mrs. Williams.”

“You can call me Ma . . . stop with all that Mrs. Williams talk . . . you hear me?”

Miraj relaxes a bit and smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Williams guides Stephanie and Miraj toward the dining room.

“Now get on in here and have some dinner. I know you must be pretty hungry, driving all the way from Jersey.”

Dr. Williams interjects. “Sweetheart, that’s only about two . . . three hours.”

Mrs. Williams shrugs, “Well, Steff said it was four hours with traffic . . . probably felt more like five.”

Miraj cuts in. “It wasn’t too bad.”

Mrs. Williams monitors her husband’s captious glances in her peripheral. She cuts in.

“That’s right, Rajji, as long as you get here safely . . . that’s all that matters. Alright, you guys go wash up so we can eat.”

A long oval teak wood dining table is draped in a feast of curry chicken, lamb, sweet potatoes, rice, cabbage, greens, rolls, and various beverages. Mrs. Williams places the last two dishes of candied carrots and fried catfish on the table and plops down in her chair with an exaggerated sigh.

“I think I made enough to feed the whole neighborhood.”

Dr. Williams grasps her hand and looks into his wife’s eyes lovingly. “Thank you, baby . . . it looks delicious.”

Miraj looks over at Mrs. Williams. “Yes, everything looks wonderful, Mrs. Williams . . . uh...Ma, Mom.”

Stephanie chimes in. “You really put your back into this, Ma, thank you, it’s a beautiful spread.”

Mrs. Williams laughs. “My back, my feet, the arthritis in my left hand . . . but it was all worth it, I hope you enjoy it.”

Dr. Williams pulls off a piece of catfish and pops it into his mouth. Mrs. Williams slaps him on the hand.

“David, you didn’t even say grace!”

“You’re right, you got everything smellin’ so good I couldn’t help myself.” Dr. Williams turns to Miraj. “Miraj, would you like to bless the table?”

Miraj looks at him hesitantly. “Um . . . yeah sure . . . I can say a little somethin’.” Stephanie looks over at Miraj encouragingly and places her hand on his lap. They all bow their heads.

Miraj clears his throat. “Thank you, God, for . . . thank you, God, for getting my wife and I here safely, for this family, for the love and warmth they share, and for this wonderful meal before us...and the hands that prepared it.” He looks over at Mrs. Williams and smiles. “Ameen.”

Dr. Williams chimes in. “Amen.”

Miraj looks over at Dr. Williams. “Well, I grew up in a Muslim household, so we say Ameen...but it’s essentially the same thing.”

Dr. Williams scrunches his nose. “Oh . . . I didn’t know that . . . your family was Moslem...how did I miss that?”

Stephanie interrupts nervously. “Daddy, he told you that when we first met.”

Dr. Williams looks over at his wife, who’s looking at him with disapproval. “Ok, I mean that’s cool . . . are you still practicing . . . being a Moslem . . . ?”

Miraj nods. “Muslim, yes . . . striving . . . not as much as I should, but I’ll . . . I’ll get there.”

Mrs. Williams jumps in to break the awkward silence. “Amen, Ameen . . . potatoe potato...makes no difference to me . . . just stay in prayer, son.”

Miraj nods again. “Absolutely.”

Stephanie hands Miraj a plate of lamb chops and blows him a kiss. It’s quiet, aside for the gentle hum of the AC vent and the sound of forks and knives cutting into the fancy porcelain plates. Dr. Williams leans in for another comment.

“Miraj, I was wondering about your name . . . doesn’t Miraj mean . . . something that appears to be a . . . a . . . substantial image . . . or representation of something, but once you get close up on it . . . in actuality . . . it’s just an illusion? There’s really nothing there.”

Stephanie puts her fork down. “Daddy!”

Miraj holds up his finger to stop her. “Dr. Williams, that would be the correct English definition for the word Mirage, M-I-R-A-G-E. However, my name is M-I-R-A-J, which in Arabic means to elevate or to ascend.”

Dr. Williams nods, rubbing the bottom of his chin, feigning a renewed understanding. “Oh...ok, thanks for clearing that up, son . . . I was wondering why . . . thank you for the clarity . . . Miraj with a J not a G-E, I appreciate that.”

Mrs. Williams shoots her husband a look. Dr. Williams dives into his meal with no further comments.

Miraj stands oddly in the middle of an overly decorated peach bathroom filled with thick hand towels, a large variety of expensive soaps and lotions and a beautiful marble floor. He takes a long hard look in the mirror and exhales. He’s already feeling defeated and they just arrived. He wonders, what does her father know about me? He’s never liked me, for some reason. Father’s day dinner, he was nasty, sarcastic. Steff’s surprise birthday party, indifferent, dismissive. New Years family gathering, he had barely acknowledged his presence. Miraj had felt invisible. He was getting sick of trying. He turns the knobs of the nickel-plated Argonaut faucet releasing a warm current of water onto his hands. He bathes his face with a satisfying splash. There’s a knock at the door....