Ataahua: Hooray for another shot! Chapter 29, can you please work with us like all of these shots are? K thanks bye. Lol. Anywho, we hope you like the POV change in this shot – and the shot itself, of course!

Character/s: Ahad Dahar, A'isha Dahar, Elissa Dahar… also mentions Hani'ah Dahar (Ish's mum), Almahdi Dahar (Ish's dad), and A'isha's unnamed paternal grandparents.
Genre/s: Family
Rating: K+
POV/Tense: Third person Ahad/past tense
When in the IAN timeline: The late afternoon of Monday 9th July 1997. Six months after A'isha's parents passed away in that ick car accident. She's nine months old here.
Summary: In which A'isha achieves a very special (and adorkable) milestone.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." – Lao Tzu

IN A NAME: SIDE ACTS
Shot #3: A Single Step

He'd spent most of the day in bed, studying the inside of his eyelids. Even then, he'd still been exhausted. It was summer, a time he found often brought out the more moronic side of society. And with it, bucket loads of late nights at work. The sweltering heat incited raucous house parties, empty shot glasses, careless pill-popping—and, by extension, far too many poor choices.

Not that humanity was ever short on those.

He was no exception.

But Ahad liked to think he'd learnt from his mistakes; that he hadn't just swept them under the proverbial rug, with its loose threads and particularly worn surface. Yep, he'd screwed up quite a lot in his life.

"Who hasn't?" he often told himself. "You live and learn."

That was one of his brother's favourite sayings—a rather ironic one, given his untimely demise. At least he'd learnt a lot in his twenty-four years of life.

The rubber plug dangled from the chain in Ahad's thick fingers, swaying slightly beneath the artificial light overhead. A murky reflection stared back at him; it was faint, barely discernible through the soapy water. That was probably a good thing.

At only twenty-five years old, he looked a decade older and felt double that. His caramel skin had been a shade lighter for months, his sunken, hazel eyes framed by dark circles. Seldom-seen stubble littered his jawline, verging on straight-up beard territory, and his staple short, glossy locks were now mussed and straw-like, the black strands dull and in desperate need of a cut. At the right angle—or in his opinion, the horribly wrong angle—he could even pinpoint a few thinner, patchy spots. That was probably a consequence of his recently acquired habit of wriggling his fingers through it. Then again, was it a recent habit, or something he'd always done when times were especially tough?

It's funny. You often don't realise how good things are going 'til they come to a bitter, abrupt and often unpredictable end.

He would know.

These past six months he'd been thrown through the ringer. Every day, he walked around in a dazed, dream-like state like he was living his life through the lens of a looking glass. His mother passed away a year ago, claimed by the cruel hands of cancer. Only three months later, his father had followed, plucked from the earth by a sudden heart attack; he'd left Ahad's life just days before A'isha had entered it.

Little had he known the Reaper would steal yet another loved one. Two, in fact. Another three months later.

How did the old saying go? Catastrophes always come in threes?

Three tragedies. Three phone calls. And three months between each.

He really did hate that number.

Ahad was torn from his reveries by the sudden sound of something slapping repetitively against the stark white tiles. He did a double-take.

And just like that, any and all bitter thoughts were thrust from existence as he embraced his inner goldfish. His mouth opened and closed half a dozen times, his tired eyes all but bulging from their sockets.

The first thing he saw was a baby's bottom, its owner quietly giggling to herself as though hatching up the most despicable plan known to man.

For the first time ever, A'isha was walking on her own. Well, more like waddling. Her left hand was empty, held high in the air like a party goer at a rave. In her right hand, however, was a scrunched-up dress, another offensively pink, frou-frou piece from the second hand-store.

Elissa refused to buy her anything new: clothes, toys, strollers, not even her pink potty. Once, she'd even tried to buy an opened, half empty container of milk formula at a garage sale.

Ahad drew the line there—and at diapers, of course. Fortunately, Elissa didn't try to get those second-hand.

A few seconds later, A'isha reached the toilet, her tiny fingers slowly curling around the seat. Wearing what was arguably the most innocent expression he'd ever seen, the toddler stared up at her uncle with two round, cerulean eyes. And then, with the faintest of plops, she did one of least innocent things he'd probably ever seen her do. She dropped the dress in the toilet.

Like something out of a commercial, she threw her right hand to her lips and let out a gasp.

"Uh oh!"

A moment later, that same hand left her lips to regrip the toilet seat, just like her left hand. Eager to admire her handiwork, she found her tip-toes and leaned over the seat, staring into the bowl with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

It took him a moment to find his voice. When he did, bemused disbelief engulfed every syllable.

"A-A'isha!?"

She only giggled louder at that, then lifted a hand to stiffly wave at the soaked garment, almost like a defiant teenager bidding their frenemy a snarkily sweet farewell. He wasn't looking forward to those years. Not with little Ish. Not with his unborn daughter.

"Buh buh!"

Ahad translated that phrase in an instant. He cooed it almost every day as he headed out the door, for another long day of work.

Bye bye!

Cheeky. Just like her father. Her mother too, for that matter. Hani'ah had just been better at hiding it than Almahdi.

Ahad realised he was laughing, the sound loud and hearty. The infamous Dahar laugh. It ran in the family. Back in the day, that hadn't exactly earned him or old Al any brownie points with their teachers. Fortunately, their charm had more than made up for it—especially Al's. A real smooth talker, he'd been. The class clown. The smart allec. And the one with the brains, at least academically. Of course, Ahad had never held that against his dear twin. No ill-will had ever come between them, not even in the shape of a blonde-haired, green-eyed wolf disguised as a wounded lamb.

"A'isha!" Ahad burst, joy blooming from the name. "You're walking! Oh my God! You're walking!"

Dumping the plug in the tub, Ahad bounded over to the grinning girl, scooped her up in his arms and held her high like some weird rendition of Rafiki and baby Simba up on Pride Rock. The Lion King was one of his favourite movies. And hers too.

"Aren't you just the smartest?" he cooed, nuzzling their noses. The Dahar nose. One that crinkled when its owner burst into a fit of laughter, like A'isha was so adorably illustrating right that very second. "Uhh... Yes, you're the smartest! Yes, you are! My smart little girl!"

With a playful squeeze of his nose in her thin little fingers, she merrily tittered out his name, "Ugg Ugg!"

Or at least, her take on his name. Uncle Ahad... Ugg Ugg...

Close enough.

"Why don't we go downstairs and show Auntie Elissa what a smart girl you are?"

"Da!"

Translation?

Heck yeah!

In hindsight, Uncle Ahad wondered if his wife would have even torn herself away from Dharma and Greg for two seconds to coo over Ish's first steps. Would she have rolled her eyes and kept watching her show? Would she have snorted, shot him a glare and snapped "so what"? Or maybe—just maybe—would she have shared in his excitement, eager to see her niece's wee steps for herself?

He'd had his suspicions, though supposed he'd never know for sure.

When he'd raced into the living room, A'isha nestled safely in his arms, her tiny fingers toying with his pale blue shirt collar, Ahad had known that very instant that the flickering screen was the last thing on Elissa's mind.

She'd been ramrod straight on the three-seater sofa, gripping her swollen belly as liquid seeped into the beige material beneath her. Through heavy breathes and loud groans and shrill tears, her eyes had met his.

"She's coming, Ahad! Amara's coming!"

Ataahua: Man, it seems like Amara was stealing poor A'isha's limelight from day one. Not entirely her fault. Na, we'll just blame it on Evil Elsie. When in doubt, blame Elissa! That's how the saying goes, right? Anyway, we hope you liked this and have a great rest of your day! :D