A Latte of Love

【☕】6

I gently run my fingers through Ahmed's soft brown hair that is resting on the pillow. His small stomach rises up and down in a steady rhythm, following his light snoring sounds which would have brought me peace on any night except this one.

I take a deep breath with him, the loneliness of the dark engulfing me. A stark contrast to the previous night when I had returned home in anger and exhaustion.

I hear a tapping on the window, slow but becoming more prominent. The wind is slowly picking up and the sobbing of the clouds are becoming louder. A car outside our small window moves slowly through the pavement, the tires passing with a whooshing sound. The empty wall across from us casts a moving shadow as the car drives in and out of the neighborhood.

The light gains control over the moving shadows, growing as large as half of the wall and then slowly shrinking back to a dull abyss. I look out the window and try to make out the stars above the cloudy sky, but the depression of the gloomy night sky leaves me and Ahmed in the dark and accompanied by the rain.

It was the same feeling on that day.

We had just gotten our nikkah done and were returning home in Hamza's car. The home that was soon to be ours, they said. I knew nothing about this man, except that he was a father. His son was a year old and Hamza's mom was taking care of him for a few days, so that we would have some privacy. I was a little shocked when I found out I had to care for a child, but I always had a love for children and babies.

Hamza slowed down the car in front of a house, which looked too large to be called a house. It was nothing I was used to; a small apartment with two rooms.

When we left the venue, it was drizzling, but it was now pouring outside and there was no umbrella inside the car. When I tucked a stray strand of my hair inside my gold scarf, my curled dark brown hair became stuck with the earring that poked out from the hijab. I tried pulling it out, but it wouldn't budge. As I was attempting to pull my hair follicles, the car came to a final stop. I stared out the foggy window at the house which was now hardly visible.

"Do you have an umbrella?" I asked, turning back to look at Hamza, but he was no longer on the driver's seat.

I looked out the window again and saw him rushing inside the house, but not before screaming, "Close the door!"

I looked down at my dress, then towards the door. I could no longer see Hamza's figure, assuming he was probably toasty inside his home while I was momentarily freezing.

I slammed the passenger door shut, and tried to ignore the heavy feeling of the lehenga weighing me down as I walked up the stairs to his apartment. With the last bit of strength left, I held onto both sides of the skirt and pulled it high above my waist, poking out the four-inch gold pencil heels my mother-in-law gifted me.

"Great. Perfect for walking up twenty marble steps," I grumbled to myself while slowly going up the wet stairs. "Could have spent some money on non-slip staircases rather than these heels."

Feeling a great surge of anger toward the heels, I took them off and held them in my hands, then continued walking up the million stairs.

The see-through red scarf that was pinned to the top of my hijab trailed behind me, collecting all the dirt and the rain. I was certain my face was drenched with the angry storm's tears. Or were they mine?

When I finally managed to close the door behind me, I was drenched in water. The droplets were spilling on the marble (go figure!) floor, leaving a huge puddle of muck.

The sharp warmth caused my cold feet to tingle upon the warmth of the heat inside the mansion.

"Why are you barefoot?" I glanced up to see Hamza fully dressed in his royal blue robe. "Look at all the dirt you brought into the house. You better clean that up," he ordered, and he left for another set of stairs that led to the bedrooms.