Her Red Scarf [Muslim love story]

Chapter 3

It takes me a few seconds to process my sister's words through the grogginess.

"Your husband's here."

I don't even open my eyes. 

Since I resigned from the job last month, I haven't heard one word from him. Sure, I blocked his number, but he could have reached any of my family members, or myself very easily. I turn on my other side to block my sister's voice.

She shakes me harder. "Ihsan! I'm serious, he's outside beeping so loud, and if you don't get to him before mom, it won't be good."

My mother really hates him right now. If she were to get to him first, she would yell so loud our neighbours ten streets over would hear her, and she'd probably end up chasing him with a broom and a string of insults.

But—

he's not here.

"let me sleep!" I yell under the blanket.

My younger sister yanks it and I turn to glare at her. "ihsan, I know we don't get along. But I'm not joking. he's actually here. He told me to get you."

I look at the clock behind her.

That's when I hear the loudest beep I've ever heard in my quiet neighborhood, at five in the morning, and it occurs to me that this might really be him. He could do something like this to get someone's attention. Sometimes, this man has no shame.

And no fear of my mother.

I quickly rise, put my glasses and hijab before looking out the window. And sure enough, I spot a small white car than can only be his. What is he doing here?

For my own good more than his, I grab my black abaya, some slippers, and get dressed halfway down the stairs as I'm taking them two at a time. As soon as I open the door, he lowers the window.

"get in" he says, "quick."

"no."

"please, I wanna talk to you."

"we can do it from here."

"Your mom is coming." Sure enough, when I look up, the light in her room is on.

I open the door noncommittally. As soon as I get in, he drives away.

When he leaves my neighbourhood and continues driving, I finally break the silence. "Where are you going? You said we'll talk."

"I broke off the engagement." He says, still making no sign that he'll stop.

I laugh dryly. "you're always too late, Rafiq. And it really pisses me off that you think you can play with my feelings, then tell me you fixed it and I'll forgive you. What if I don't want to?"

"I'm sorry, I know you never liked her, and I always disregarded your feelings but now I see what you meant."

He switches lanes and gets on this huge road that seems to lead to the... airport. He doesn't catch my puzzled look.

"My dad and stepmom wanted me to marry her when they knew you moved out. And you know, my mother always thought her and I would get married. When they proposed the engagement, I said I'd think about it. can you blame me for considering it when I thought you didn't want to live with me anymore? That you've been..."

He continues quietly "Thinking about divorce?"

I don't answer. "I thought about it the weekend you left, but when I went to work on Monday, I decided I wouldn't go with it. But she was at the office, and frankly you were there too, and things spiralled down before I could officially call it off."