Confessions

Cover page

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Title: Confessions
Name: Naufil Ayaz Khan

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my family, especially my loving mother and father who have raised me to the best
of their abilities and made me the person I am today. For without our parents, we are truly nothing.

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Regrets:
One does not have any stories to tell, any confessions to confess if they have no regrets. Everyone has
regrets, some choose to ignore them and some choose to share them. I for one have a life full of regrets
and confessions, but I won’t confess them here; that’ll come a little while later.

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Contents:

Table of Contents
Dedication 3

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Regrets 4
Preface 6
Autobiography 7
Intro to the book 9
Chapter one 10
Chapter two …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………11

Chapter three …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… 13

Chapter four …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………14

Chapter Five …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………15

Your Confession …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..16

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Preface:
I sat down to write what seemed to be a very easy task at first; a book for my creative writing final
project. However as hours went by and I sat there not being able to comprehend how or why I was
suffering through a severe writers block I realized that this was no easy task and would demand my
undivided attention.

I came back home from school early and then after a two hour rest session I used to sit on my desk,
turning off all the lights other than the lamp on the desk I sat there with my pen and my rough notepad
open in front of and as soon as any sort of epiphany crossed my mind I started furiously jotting down
whatever came to my mind. A lot of ideas came through my head, but Confessions was by far the best I
had ever had. It was something I could work with, it was something I could relate with and when you read
through the entire thing and finally know what my confession really is, it’ll put a smile to your face for it
offers and opportunity straight into my heart.

I realized that people don’t speak up, people don’t confront each other unless a specific environment is
provided, hence this book in my opinion would offer an environment to any person who wants to just let
loose and think about their own vices. We sometimes shut out the sinful deeds that we commit and
promise ourselves never to think about them ever again, for they sting just a little every time we think
about them. They sting straight in the heart leaving us thinking of how even after all this time we still
aren’t over the things or people we thought we had already forgotten.

Hence this book should provide a platform for anyone who wishes to confess, and if you read through the
entire book go to the last page titled “Your confession” and write your confession there and just save it
with you, for that would provide some sort of closure, and trust me, it does work.

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Autobiography:
I opened the tap and allowed the water to gently fall on my fingers as I looked up and stared in the mirror.
A rather stern expression stared back at me; the lightly tanned face with hair messed up from the long
hours in bed last night stared blankly at me. As soon as I tried to collect the water in the palms of my
hand to put on my face, the water stopped flowing. This practically summed up my entire life.

I was born to two loving parents with my brother already waiting for me for 4 years in 1995. I was
categorized as the most “naughty” kid on the block and well now it’s pretty much the same though the
meaning has slightly changed. I was diabolical, and loved to break anything and everything I could get
my hands on. Being a straight A student throughout my school life up until the 11th grade, I was
considered smart, intellectual and well talkative to my teachers. You must be wondering by now of why
up only 11th grade I was a straight A student. What changed? Well to answer that we have to go back 7
years.

In class on a casual day I sat with my pencils ready and my table cleaned from all extra trash. Waiting
anxiously for the paper that was going to fall on my desk. I couldn’t wait to get started with it, when I
heard a whisper from a girl sitting at the back. I turned around to look at her to see what was so important
that she had to disturb me during my prayers before exam hour.

“What?!” I asked her eagerly, to get done with the conversation and return to praying for an easy paper,
which I really didn’t have to since I had memorized my entire book inside out.

“Can I have an extra pencil Naufil? I lost mine...” she asked me slowly so that the teacher couldn’t hear
her.

“OHH, you need a pencil?” I blabbed loudly so that the teacher could hear, as you may have guessed I
was a cocky little kid. “Here you go” I handed my pencil over to her.

“You there! Get up and get out of the class” the words put a smile to my face. I had finally gotten Fizza
out of the class, my only competition. To my surprise though, the teacher wasn’t really talking to her. She
was talking to me. I looked at my teacher astonished and tried to change her mind. But the die had already
been cast. Her mind was already made. One STUPID PENCIL! It cost me my history exam, a subject I
left. The report card that came two weeks later delivered a “0” staring back at my mom’s face. This was
the first time I had come back with anything less than a perfect 100. She looked at me disappointed and

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took away my television privileges. It wasn’t even my fault. The world isn’t fair. It was never fair. The
rebel I was, I just stopped caring.

O levels, year two I had my Pakistan Studies and Islamiat exams lined up. These were the CIEs,
something we had been preparing for our entire lives. But I wasn’t the one who was going to waste my
time studying if something as mundane as a pencil was going to get me thrown out. But as luck would
have it I had made a bet with Danish. He bet me a month before the finals that he would score more than
me in the finals. And though there was nothing on the line, my ego was too big to let such a challenge go.
So I geared myself up, relived my studious days and well you guessed it, scored A*s in both the subjects.
After a week of praises and gifts it ended, my triumph went from achieving something my family
considered to be impossible to just another result ending up at the back of my cupboard with the rest of
my results. My faith in high achieving was lost. Simultaneously all of the collage drop outs; Steve Jobs,
Mark Zuckerberg weren’t helping my case towards studying either. I was done and I had decided not to
over achieve since one can get anything and anywhere they want to without grades. I am a medalist in
Punjab Olympics 100 meter sprint race, a director, an actor and I have “street smarts” more than anyone
you’ve ever met and one thing that I can guarantee you is the fact that all of my achievements have
nothing to do with my grades or my education. “Our grades do not define us” has been carved into my
head like carvings on a stone, and I one day hope to finish this educational system that tests us only on
what we have studied a night before and bring forth a system that actually tests the aptitude of a person.

I opened the tap and allowed the water to gently fall on my fingers as I looked up and stared in the mirror.
I rather stern expression stared back at me, the lightly tanned face with hair messed up from the long
hours in bed last night stared blankly at me. As soon as I tried to collect the water in the palms of my
hand to put on my face, the water stopped flowing. I looked on the side and picked up a tub filled with
water on my face, suddenly putting a wide grin on my face. So what if the water ended in the tap? There
are a thousand different ways to wash my face.

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Intro to the Book
We all have that one deep dark secret that we never share with anyone. Not even our families or the
closest of friends for that one secret is too huge to just tell anyone besides your own self. After all, you
know that people will judge you for it? But what if you have lost everything, what if revealing the secret
that you’ve saved up for so long has no importance, for you have lost everything and anything that you
once held dear to your own heart.

You’re a therapist in a four wall office who listens to other people’s stories day in and day out but your
experience serves you so well that even if the patients don’t tell you their stories he already know what
they’ve been through and how they have suffered. You pick on to their subtle hints of embarrassment,
their little chokes, all the while judging them for being in your office at all. But what if tables were to
turn? What if you were across the table from your patients in the same room, what then? Is your secret so
simple that without you telling them they’d already know what you’ve been through? Would they sit
there judging you more than you judged them?

Nobody is a saint, even the people we seek help from be it our doctors, lawyers, teachers etc… everyone
has their own vices. Some are inauspicious and others are sort of acceptable but at the end of the day we
shouldn’t forget that EVERYONE has their own secrets. Their own stories, their own confessions, so
when you sit there on your chair judging every person who walks through your door, what would happen
if the tables are turned?

After all, what’s your confession?

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Chapter 1
I remember everything now that I sit here on the brink of losing myself. I couldn’t have ever imagined
that all my life would somehow boil down to this very moment, a moment in which I know that I have
lost myself, that I no longer am the person that you knew a day or a year ago, I have changed. I think
about my life, brushing my hand on the roughest exterior of hair one could ever come across. I feel the
strands of hair being brushed against my fingers as I let out a sigh.

He sighed there sitting in front of me when I asked him about his personal life; the sigh was a sign I had
realized over the years for when someone was hiding something and thinking about an explanation that
would make them come across as somewhat a little less crazy. I came across a lot of sighs throughout the
day in the clinic, some were long and others short. I sat there, across the table from the patient. His face
was more brown than tan somewhat resembling the Mars chocolate bar, with his nose just the perfect size,
pointy at the end. His face had no wrinkles though his grey hair gave away how old he was and looking at
him all dashing and mesmerizing, all I could think to myself was what he had to share with me. What was
it that this dashing man was hiding, what was his deepest darkest secret that he wanted to let loose off.
What was his confession?

Maybe he was hesitant to answer because of his kid, the focus then shifted from the man to the child
standing in front of him. The child was 8 or 9 by my estimate and resembled his dad quite a lot. I smiled
at the child, and the child smiled back at me.

“So what’s your name child?” I asked him inquisitively in a very friendly tone.

“Ryan Khan!” he answered excitedly reciprocating my earlier friendly over tone. He stood there as I saw
his father depressed behind him.

“Ryan, could you give me and your father a minute?” I asked him with a very humble face.

“What do you mean?” he replied moving his leg in front of him in a circular motion. Sign of nervousness!
The judging voice that was always critically analyzing people would not shut up. I jerked my head to
push the voice away but before I could utter another word the child’s father patted the kid on the head,

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and the kid started walking. I looked at the kid walk away who now approached the table with the crystal
clear glasses with water in them. I took one last glance at the kid, and then looked straight ahead.

“Now then, tell me your story.” I asked the man sitting in front of me, for I had caught on to what was
happening in front of me. I had seen the way this father treated his child and his actions alone were proof
enough that something between their relationships wasn’t normal. Molestation? The voice had come back
again and I shrugged it back. I looked at the man and smiled hesitantly; the man however grinned back
and with a sigh started telling me his confession.

Chapter 2
I poured myself a glass of wine before I took another glance at the woman sitting on the chair. I could see
her red heels and her red lipstick, her luscious brown hair and her low cut dress. Cheating on her
husband? Boyfriend maybe? Too soon to come to conclusions I thought to myself before I went back and
sat on my chair that was the same as that of the patients, the only difference however was that I wasn’t the
one going through a mid-life crises and seeking help from therapists.

“Why are you smiling?” a shrill voice came from the front as I looked up.
“Oh I was smiling? I’m so sorr...”

“Nah, it’s okay” she didn’t let me finish my sentence. Submissive.

“So then, what’s been going on in life?” I asked her staring at her with a very stern expression as she led
out a sigh to start speaking. But before she could start talking I already knew what she was going to say. I
had seen it happen time and time again, people coming in all shy and full of regret but all of them had,
more or less, the same story to tell. Some were rapists, others were disloyal towards their families and
friends, some were drug addicts who thought my office was a front for drug trafficking and many others.

I have always had a certain want when it came to knowing other peoples secrets, and to be honest I am
really good at keeping them. People come into my office every day wanting to let go off their burdens by
telling me their story while I sit here judging them and getting a certain high off of knowing their deepest
darkest secrets.

“Excuse me!” the door of the office had flung open and my thoughts had been interrupted by my assistant
who had come through into the office with a plate of vegetables in his hand.
“What is it?” I ask him, looking at him sternly so that he could know he was disturbing me.

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“It’s lunch time for you, hurry up and eat it… otherwise you’ll forget” he replied. No “sir?” No respect.
Ah I hate him.

“It’s okay, just leave it there.” I reply and divert my attention back towards the patient who now looked
rather agitated, I gestured her to relax as I heard my assistant close the door behind us.

“Pardon him, me and I don’t get along too well…” I explain to her politely “I think it has something to do
with all the late pay checks, but I’m getting rid of him soon anyways so I don’t think we should ponder
upon the matter any longer.” I explain to her as I slowly place myself back on my leather seat and place
one of my legs on top of the other.

“It’s okay, really… I think I should be heading out now! My husband’s going to be home any minute”
Liar! I couldn’t believe what she just said. Here she was about to tell me her confession and now she was
going to leave? Maybe she got scared.

“Are you sure? You can sit here for as long as you…”
“no, I think it is okay” she cut me off and before I could say anything she was already up and heading
towards the door. “I’ll make an appoint with you again sometime soon” she said as she slammed the door
behind her and I was left there standing with the most idiotic grin on my face. I sat back on the chair, took
a cigarette out of my pocket and lit it almost instantaneously. As I inhaled the smoke I could feel it build
up inside my lungs, the smoke filling every free pocket it could find. After keeping it in for a while I
exhaled it out covering almost my entire view and painting it white. She seemed nice. Oh but she wasn’t!
She was anything but nice; she had had affairs with two other men during her marriage, she was a
gambling addict and she hated shrimp. She hated shrimp? What a bitch!

Why do I know so much about her? After all, she was just another patient. She’s hot. Yes I mean, she was
pretty but then again I shouldn’t attach myself with patients, that’s one key to survive in this therapist
business. You start caring; you can’t do your job.

I shrug off the thought and look towards the door which hadn’t been open in quite a while, and then I look
right and stare at the gold and black round clock hanging in the exact middle of a huge white wall. 6 o
clock, no more patients for today. I was done.

I got up and went towards the food that was not so gently placed on the table towards the right side of the
room which was opposite the door. I went and picked up the plate, the vegetables looked the exact same
way they did every day. Stale and overcooked. Hunger getting the best of me however, I took a spoonful
and ate it and then, I blacked out.

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Chapter 3
“Don’t, please! Think before you do anything.” The lady cried as she saw the gun pointed towards her,
she probably had never before seen death up so close. The shivering guy approached her and held her
from the back of her hair and pulled it hard.
“How could you do this to me? How?” he asked her furiously but before she cook answer BAM! The shot
had been fired and the girl lay on the floor with blood spurting out of the back of her head.

The man shot one more time in the girl’s stomach before I could finally break from my trance and wake
up. I looked towards my left looking at the gold and black clock. It was 8 am. I flung up, coming back to
life from the horrific dream. You’re dreaming about her now? I knew I had seen her somewhere. The girl
in my dream was none other than the patient from the night before. I remember thinking to myself that
had her husband killed her for real, he would be doing a favor to himself, the girl and the whole of
humanity but the human inside me wasn’t dead and the concerned part of me urged me to pursue and see
how the girl was doing.

I went towards my drawers pulling out pieces of paper containing information about all my clients and
looked up her name which was on the top since she was my last patient. Zara Khan, the name read with
her landline number right alongside it.

“Laraib!” I shout out so that my voice can be heard to the useless assistant I had waiting outside my room.

“Yes?!” he marched in the room quickly opening the door with great force.

“I need to make a phone call, get me a telephone please?” he stood there for a minute staring at me as if I
had asked for something completely bizarre before he went out to get it. He returned with the phone and
handed it to me, not speaking a word.

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“Now go on, I have to make a private phone call.” I told him, gesturing him to leave and he complied.

“I’ll return after five minutes” and that’s all he said before he went out. But as soon as he did, I dialed the
number on the paper and waited. This was probably the longest wait of my entire life. I was hearing the
sound of the bell ringing and I could feel myself getting extremely agitated for some odd reason.
Nervous? Yes I was nervous, but why? Why did I care?

“Hello?” my train of thought was interrupted by the woman answering the phone. I sighed in relief, so she
was alive after all.

“Yes, is this Zara Khan speaking?”

“Um…” the person on the other end stopped for a brief moment, which wasn’t very brief for me. Quite
frankly, it was very long. “Zara…” and she started crying and in that moment I knew that what I had seen
over night wasn’t just a dream. The pretty girl who was in my office yesterday was now dead.
Astonished, I cut the call and fell on the ground. I couldn’t believe what was going on. Did she actually
die?

In that moment I started to scream, and shout as hard as I could. My mind was taken aback and stuck on
the phone call but before it could go on for any longer I felt someone holding my arm very tightly and
POW. I was knocked out.

Chapter 4
I woke up in what appeared to be a hospital room, and not a very good hospital at that. The room was all
empty with just a bunk bed towards the left of it where I found myself lying down. I pushed myself up
and sat on the bed with my feet on the floor. I was finally awake, more than I had been in quite some time
now. I moved my hair back with my hand trying to make sense out of the situation when I saw a person
approaching towards me from the door.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked me as I looked up at him confused.

“Who are you?” I asked him with a confused expression on my face.

“Well I’m your Doctor; you’ve been brought to this facility because you’ve been known to suffer from
amnesia”

Amnesia? Amnesia! Wow, I remember thinking to myself. If someone was playing a prank on me, this
sure wasn’t a good one.

“You see I’m onto your little game here doctor, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” I ask
the doctor with a wide smile on my face.

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“You see? He doesn’t remember.” The doctor turned around and was now addressing the gentlemen in
police uniforms. They looked at me as if they wanted to kill me the chance they could get their hands one
me, for crimes that I didn’t even know I committed. The only thing however, standing in between the
officers and me was the doctor who was now checking my heart rate. I didn’t even know when he took
my arm to examine it but it was too late now. “Eat this… it’ll help you remember.” The doctor said
handing two pink pills to me. Do I trust him? I remember thinking to myself before receiving the pills
from his hand, but it seemed as though I had no other option. I took the pills from him and ate them.

I remembered everything.

Chapter 5
I remember everything now that I sit here on the brink of losing myself. I couldn’t have ever imagined
that all my life would somehow boil down to this very moment, a moment in which I know that I have
lost myself, that I no longer am the person that you knew a day or a year ago, I have changed. I think
about my life, brushing my hand on the roughest exterior of hair one could ever come across. I feel the
strands of hair being brushed against my fingers as I let out a sigh.

I could see myself sitting on the chair in the mirror in front of me and I could feel my hand brush through
Ryan’s hair. I knew he wasn’t really there, I knew that I had already lost him and yet I allowed myself to
keep him alive in my dreams and imagination. That is the thing with losing people I realized, there is
always this nagging feeling inside you that wants to keep the person you’ve lost alive, somewhere in your
subconscious. So that you never forget them, so that you always keep them in your heart and at the end of
the day they deserve as much. Especially when you’ve wronged them, a tear comes out of my eyes as I
see Ryan’s innocent face and get a flash back of what I did to him.

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I reach into my pocket and take out a piece of paper. I open the paper and start crying uncontrollably. The
type of helpless crying you only go through once or twice in your lifetime when no one or nothing can
ever fill the gaping hole in your heart that has been left behind by the loss of a loved one. The paper
reads: “Khan, Ryan and Zara, our small happy family” I could read and tell that it was Ryan’s
handwriting. The words after all were written by his small hands and his color pencils.

“So then, what is your confession? What did you do to your family that is so bad that you decided to
torture yourself into forgetting all about it?” the dashing man with the tan and grey hair was questioning
me now. I look up and look at the man staring back at me in the mirror and I smile.

“Some confessions I hear, Mr. Khan, are best left unsaid.” I reply to him with a smile on my face, I wipe
away the tear as I get up. I move towards the right of the room and stare at the gold and black watch since
it was the only thing that didn’t make me feel sad in the whole of the asylum.

The door opens up and the male nurse comes into my room with a plate of vegetables in his hand. “Food
time” he says looking at me as I smile back at him. I move up, go towards him, grab the plate from his
hand and put it on the table. I take a spoonful of vegetables and move it closer to my face knowing that
I’m going to go through hell, yet another time.

Your Confession

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