Against The Tide (Formerly Two Tribes)

52: A Pillar Of Strength

Seven months ago, if anyone had told Afrah that she would be in the kitchen, with her big, round belly, making food for Najah, she would not only call the person delusional but curse the person as well. But as reality would have it, it was happening.

Despite how difficult it was for her, she volunteered to do it as she felt extremely bad for Najah who had just suffered her third miscarriage in eight months. Jameel had broken the news to her even before they returned home, and ever since then, after had been sad. She wanted to do something, no matter how little, for Najah. Although she knew food would be the last thing on Najah's mind, she had to prepare it for her because she knew it was important. What Najah was doing through was not easy. Afrah couldn't imagine herself in Najah's shoes. The mere thought of losing her unborn baby made her head whirl.

After what seemed like an eternity, Afrah finished cooking. She arranged the food on a tray and made her way to Najah's room.

Walking into the room, she was welcomed by the tense atmosphere.

Najah was lying down in her bed—by the edge, and Jameel was seated by the bedside. None of them said a word to her. Afrah was not expecting them to anyway.

Afrah dropped the tray on the nightstand and was about to crouch down, but Jameel was quick to offer her his chair.

Controlling her tears the best she could, Afrah reached out and gently held Najah's hand; her heart aching for she understood the pain that words couldn't capture. Every fiber of Afrah's being resonated with empathy as she gazed into the teary eyes of Najah.

In that intimate moment, Afrah felt the weight of shared grief; her own emotions intertwining with Najah's. She no longer saw Najah as her husband's wife but as a mother who was constantly grieving for her children. It was as if their souls had forged an unforeseen connection, bound by the threads of compassion and understanding. All traces of jealousy had been subdued.

"I'm sorry," Afrah's empathy flowed like a river. She understood that while a miscarriage was deeply personal, the pain of continuously losing her unborn child reverberated differently.

Without even having to say anything, Afrah witnessed the resilience that flickered within the depths of Najah's soul. She had no idea how she was able to remain that strong. In the past few months, her respect for Najah had grown more than she could ever imagine.

"Thank you, Afrah, for the food," Jameel's voice broke her from her trance.

She simply smiled in response.

"Najah," Jameel's focus went back to Najah. "Afrah went through the trouble to cook for you. You will have to eat, otherwise, her effort would be in vain."

"He is right," In a bid to make Najah eat, Afrah concurred. "If you don't eat, I will bad...I made this food especially for you."

"Thank you," Najah's voice was low-pitched. Afrah could literally hear the pain in it despite how hard Najah tried to sound normal. "Because you made it, I will definitely eat."

Afrah's eyes sparkled with joy as she spoke; "I'm so glad. I pray you like it."

Najah forced a smile. "I will."

"I will leave you to rest," Afrah said when she noticed Najah's eyes closing and reopening. It was obvious she was tired and needed to sleep.

As soon as Afrah got to her room, she sat down in front of her mirror; a lump forming in her throat as she recalled how affected Najah was when she lost her first and second babies. She cried a lot and couldn't even eat properly for days. She was quite surprised at how Najah was handling her third miscarriage. It was as if she expected it and wasn't surprised when it happened.