Things Nadir N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ Said | [MUSLIM]

XIII

XIII

Nadir

Sami.

Short for Mohammad Abdul Sami.

He was called by Allah's name.

As-Sami. The All-Hearer, Ever-Listener. The only One who can hear the dumb. The One who listens to each one of the billions of His slaves, ever since the beginning of time; even those who don't address Him. He hears every thing — said or unsaid. The call of each soul, the cry of every heart, the voices of all whom He gave life.

How could I feel the way I did each time I heard that name? If anything, it should remind me to look at the positive aspect of Sami's existence.

Like the way he made Zaeb and my children feel, when he laughed with them, told them stories, brought them gifts. Or the pain he'd suffered, the longing he must feel for his ex-wife and son.

Or just the fact that he'd never really done anything to make me dislike him.

But even just thinking about him was starting to disturb me now. And could I be blamed? Five minutes ago I was having a great day, until now when I was seated facing Zaeb, merely inches away from me, and yet feeling like we were worlds apart.

She shifted in her seat, hesitating. I was practically a statue.

"Look, I know this is probably going to sound like...like, you know, like Sami encouraged me," she glanced away for a second. "But, I mean, l guess it's true and he did encourage me, but...you know...uhh."

She was now staring at her own palms, and the bracelet I had given her peered at me, half-hidden by her hair.

What in Allah's name has he told you to do?

"I have been thinking about this for a while now," she admitted. "And the things Sami said that day made me...you know, consider it properly. I...I was wondering what you'd say about it — until today, when I suddenly decided that I wanted to talk about this right away."

I nodded, making it seem as if I got it when really, I was yet to even begin guessing what she meant by her vague statements. Making it seem like I was calm, while actually, I was totally freaking out.

Our teas arrived as she sat there collecting her thoughts.

It felt like forever; the second time today. But this one I didn't like one bit.

I studied her. She was looking everywhere, but at nothing. Some college lads made noise on another table. The chime at the door of the cafe jingled. She started playing with some strands of her hair, bringing the bracelet to full view. She was clearly panicking.

For a second there I wanted to shake her and scream, why are you talking me to like I'm going to attack you any moment now?

That she was anything but totally comfortable sharing something with me wasn't the only thing that was bothering me. I felt like crying because this something had been swimming in her head for days now. From what it looked like, she wasn't just not ready to talk to me; it looked like she was scared of discussing it.

At last, to put me to ease, she spoke.

"Nadir, I..." She took a breath. I noticed her features reflect a change in her thoughts. She now had a more determined look.

"I want to work."

"Work?!" I cried.

Is that really all you wanted to say? I thought. I could hardly believe it.

She faced me, the panic back on her face. "I've thought about everything, Nadir. I can start small for now, remodelling of flats nearby, maybe? I've also considered joining a panel working on commercial interiors for a shopping mall here in London, but it will be a long commitment and..." she trailed off.

I knew she was thinking about Manchester; about a lost opportunity.

"Mishal and Mustafa," I began, but she interrupted me.

"I think we can trust Arij, now, Nadir."

Well, certainly.

I sat there both shocked and relieved at the same time. I hadn't really begun imagining what things he could've

manipulated her into thinking, but I knew that this was not one of the things I would have put into the list.

Of course, I had no problem with it. Arij was as reliable as a babysitter could be, and honestly, if anything I was happy about her working.

"Please, Nadir," she said quietly, suddenly solemn. "Think about it. You know that we need to find better ways to save. They'll be going off to school, soon. Our funds are limited."

I tried my best not to wince at that.

Neither of us had touched our tea yet, and I had a feeling that we would be leaving this place without any tea, tonight.

Why hadn't you told me about your decision earlier? I was thinking. Were you scared?

What were you scared of?

She sat silent and still, and this time I knew it was just time for me to think.

But, there was really no reason I should have sat there and thought about it. Because Zaeb was the one who wanted to work.

And Zaeb, had decided.

I wasn't wondering what my children were doing back home. I didn't think of the fact that to start her work, Zaeb needed a client, a project. I didn't fret about what other things she'd discussed with Sami.

I wasn't worried about anything other than that goddamned expression she sat there with.

I sat a little straighter, and extended my hand further to brush over hers. She glanced at me, and then she set her hands in mine.

That face. It still looked like she was unsure of what I was going to say. Of what I was thinking.

My mind drifted off to a distant memory.

The news of the coming of Mishal and Mustafa had not had the same effect on Zaeb as I supposed such news do on other women. She wasn't downright elated, not anywhere as emotional, or irritable. And least of all, nonchalant.

Zaeb was, in fact, all but bursting of energy. She wanted to welcome our little minions into a home anyone would envy. She turned the nursery into the most cutesy little haven, with plenty of cushions and stuffed toys, and made me paint dreamy white clouds all over the wall facing the door, so that when you entered the room, you entered a duplicate of some corner of heaven.

Zaeb had chosen light grey as the colour of the nursery, and because of the long, articulate rationale she'd launched into when I questioned about her choice of colour, I remember thinking: we are a perfect match, because we're so impossibly alike.

But the memory was revisiting me now not because I was missing the gorgeous, enchanting pregnant form of Zaeb's. And not because it had suddenly occurred to me that maybe decorating interiors was an art, and she relished it as much as I relished painting.

It was because she'd given me an explanation for her decision regarding the nursery walls...an explanation that was animate and cheery, and kind of silly, in an adorable way.

And ever so unimportant.

But here she was, justifying her reasons for wanting to work again, discrediting Sami as much as and in whichever way she could. Giving the impression that I could ever make her change her decision.

With a broken heart I smiled. And with the most enthusiasm I could stuff into the plain words, I said, "That's a g-good thing you've decided."

And then with a nod, "I think you should do it, too."