I know what you might be thinking already: “A story about a sentient stuffed toy? This will definitely end in some horrific way.”

But fortunately, or unfortunately for you horror fans out there, I don’t particularly have an appetite for gore. However, the tale I am about to narrate is a somewhat sad one. And it all begins with a little boy, the apple of my eye, my owner, Asfar.

Asfar, being an only child, has always been used to being spoiled with gifts, yet he has never been ungrateful about his belongings. That’s why even though I have been with him since he was a little baby, I still haven’t been discarded.

Persevering for so long, I have learned more about Asfar than almost anyone else. So when I noticed his lengthening sleeping hours and the constant zoned-out look in his eyes, I realised that my beloved Asfar might not be well. I waited for his parents to see what I had been observing for weeks. But they never noticed Asfar’s frequent absences from the dinner table, his refusal to go out to play with his friends, or missing his prayers.

I hoped against hope that someone would talk to Asfar, see what has been bothering him, but no one seemed to notice this shift in his behaviour.

One day, when Asfar was in a deep sleep, I overheard his mother talking to his teacher on the phone and from what I could hear, Asfar was almost failing most subjects. And since his parents never attended any parent-teachers’ meeting, the school had no choice but to personally inform them of the situation.

Needless to say, Asfar’s mum was furious. She immediately called his father and urged him to come home early so they could both work out a punishment for their son.

Asfar awoke with a start when his mum banged the door open and began yelling at him at the top of her lungs. Groggy and disoriented from his sudden consciousness, Asfar could only say, “What?” repeatedly while struggling to get out of bed.

This further angered his mother, who left the room in fury. I had never seen her so vexed. Asfar sat there gawping at the ajar door, tangled in his sheets, wondering what had just happened.

A few days later, a tutor came home. He was a kind old man who always taught in a soft voice and was very patient when it came to mistakes, which Asfar made many of. I couldn’t help but notice that every time Asfar would make a mistake and the tutor would reach his hand out to correct it, Asfar would slightly flinch, as if the tutor would suddenly strike him out of the blue. Why was he so afraid?

Though his grades went up, Asfar’s mood spiralled downwards. Soon he didn’t even bother coming out of his room except for his lessons, something his parents never gave importance to, for they believed his excuses that he was busy with schoolwork. In reality, he would just sit on his bed and stare at the wall for hours, or go back to sleep, or take out his textbooks and study.

After months of this, I had finally had enough. I wanted the lively Asfar back, not this lifeless shell of a human being. So one night, when the whole house was asleep, all us toys had a meeting. It was decided that we would email Asfar’s tutor pretending to be Asfar and convince him to talk to his parents and let him see a counsellor.

Was it unethical? Yes. But we were doing it for the greater good and for us there was no greater good than seeing our darling Asfar coaxed back to life.

It was easy to execute our plan since Asfar wasn’t allowed to put a password on his computer and we had already seen him email a thousand times. With our work done, we deleted the sent email from Asfar’s sent items and then waited for a miracle.

The next day, we heard the sound of arguments coming from the living room. We could all clearly hear Asfar’s parents shouting at someone to not tell them how to parent their own child while a soft voice replied that Asfar was in serious need of professional help. There was a bang of a door closing and the yelling gave way to Asfar’s parents bad-mouthing the good-natured tutor.

Asfar himself was standing frozen at his door, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He gulped hard, going back to his bed. And then he wept. A quiet sob at first. Then a loud wailing with hiccups.

I can never write into words the pain I felt just then. It was as if someone had opened the floodgates and all his emotions were pouring out.

Asfar’s parents entered the room. At first, I thought they might yell at him, but instead, his father knelt beside him and opened his arms in a wordless invitation as his son threw himself into them.

Asfar was soon taken to see a psychologist by his parents. It turned out his teacher at school had been verbally abusing him for some time and humiliating him in class, which had led to some boys bullying him outside the school since they knew he wouldn’t complain to anyone.

The teacher had warned Asfar that if he told his parents anything, he would never be believed for they would always trust the adult more than him, which had led him to isolate himself from everyone, as most scared 14-year-olds are bound to do.

Kids are taught from a very young age that their teachers are their second parents and should be respected as such. Though that’s very much true and you should always stay within your limits when addressing them, it is also important to remember that bullying and abuse is never right, no matter the age.

The second you feel someone is misbehaving with you or your peers, you must always go to your parents, or any adult in your life that you trust, with your complaints. Even if you think they won’t care or understand, at the end of the day they’re your guardians and they will love and trust you, no matter what.

I’m sure you must be curious about what happened to Asfar and his bullies. Well, the teacher was fired and no good school would hire him as his behaviour had gone on his record. As for the students, some of them were suspended.

While Asfar was never exactly the same as before, he got better with the help of a nourishing and caring environment.

Tomorrow is Asfar’s first day of medical college. And no, he has still not gotten rid of me. In fact, quite a lot of us are still here. I think it’s because even though we grow up into different personalities and can never be the same as we were before, we still hold onto our inner child forever.

Published in Dawn, Young World, June 25th, 2022