I love you, Fatimah

Prologue

Head turned skyward, his dry lips let out a sigh of a soft deflating—resigned and weary.

A murmur, an almost silent whisper, escapes his moribund lips, "I have always loved you, Fatimah." He exhales, his breathing now congested, like a rattle. "Take this as closure and move on. You will learn to live and love again."

Fatimah looks away from his dimmed eyes, her chin trembling. "I will continue to love you and only you, Abd ar-Rahman."

With another one of Abd ar-Rahman's soft groans, Fatimah turns back to him, looking passively at her now passing husband, the deep swirls of honey that coloured her iris lachrymose with tears.

Abd ar-Rahman holds the gaze, adamant on not looking away. He contorts his lacklustre lips into an ungraceful smile in an attempt to inspirit Fatimah, but his cheeks were not so mutually conceding.

Once Fatimah finally averts her gaze, unable to stand the sight of his debilitating, Abd ar-Rahman's smile falls, allowing his face to return to its cold, hard gawk. "Hush, my love. It'll be okay."

A sailor's promise—an empty promise. It won't be okay.

She sobs into his chest unceasingly, her hands clutching his roll-tab long-sleeved white shirt. Abd ar-Rahman places his cold, stone-like hand on her head, with another arm around her waist, holding her in silence, caressing her, while she lies on top of him.

He bites his tongue, trying to restrain the tears that threatened to leave his eyes. "Fatimah, pull yourself together, pronto," he carefully says with an air of finality.

"Look at me, my love," he instructs, and she does so with compliancy, as she always has to any and all of her husband's desires; after all, it was through his happiness that she was able to plant the seeds of hers.

"Fatimah, my love, your face is mottled crimson." Abd ar-Rahman chuckles, as he sits up and adjusts himself with the assistance of the handrails of the hospital bed.

"My beloved wife, do you not recall what Masruq—may Allah¹ have mercy him—said?" He smiles, his upper teeth in sight. Three years together, and his smiles, warmer than the gentle sun, still aroused the butterflies in her stomach. "There is no house better for the believer than the niche of his grave, for then he will rest from the worries of this world and be secured from the punishment of Allah."

He nods, "That's right."

As right as it was, as grave-bound as we all were, and as ineludible as death was, Fatimah knew that he would never again be there to cuddle with her on a cold winter dawn after Salat al-Fajr², that he would no longer be there to offer her a warm smile when she was down, and, most importantly, that their two-year-old son would very soon be without a father.

"Fatimah, always remember that you are capable. You have it all—strength, will, and wisdom. Don't let my absence deceive you of your ability to fight on. And my dear wife, always remember that no matter who enters your life, I have loved you far more than any one of them ever will. Perhaps our little one Zayd may outweigh my love for you, though." Abd ar-Rahman pauses, placing his palm against Fatimah's left cheek, and plants a kiss on the other. "Don't give up; when you're feeling lost, remember who you're doing it for. I will be waiting for you where rivers of milk and honey flow."

Overwhelmed with grief, a lump of emotion forms in Fatimah's throat. Attempting to gulp back the irrepressible tears, she whispers, "I am not prepared to live the rest of my life without you."

This sole statement is one Abd ar-Rahman cannot subdue his tears to. Salty droplets of water begin to trickle down from his deep-set eyes and off his angular jaw. He is now bereft of speech.

A few minutes go by, both looking down, tears flowing and their eyes worn, until finally, Fatimah sniffles. "I ask Allah to reunite us in al-Firdaws al-A'la³, my love, and I ask of Him to reward you for every grain of goodness you have done towards me." Fatimah looks to her husband, who still has his head lowered. She gently lifts his chin, which prompts him to look at her. "I ask you to forgive me for any wrong I may have done to you directly or indirectly, intentionally or unintentionally."

Abd ar-Rahman pulls her into a tight embrace. "Whatever happens, don't forget the times we spent together, the laughter we shared, and even the few tiffs we've had that strengthened our relationship."

Fatimah smirks. "As if."

"Now, where's Zayd?" Abd ar-Rahman asks as he pulls out of the embrace. Fatimah looks to the left of the room where a three-seater sofa shaded in graphite was stationed, on top of which gracefully slept her son.

"You know, he takes after you. Just look at the way he sleeps," she states as she adjusts her son to sleep on his right side, rather than letting him doze on his stomach, head to the side, with his arms wrapped around a pillow.

"That's quite all right. He'll remind you of me then."

"Little do you know that everything reminds me of you."

They share a smile across the room from each other. Fatimah now sat beside Zayd on the graphite sofa, and Abd ar-Rahman, on the crisp white sheets.

"Takecare of our cub, my love."

*

GLOSSARY:

1: Allah: Arabic speakers of all Abrahamic faiths, including Christians and Jews, use the word "Allah" to mean "God".

2: Salat al-Fajr: Translated as "dawn prayer", it constitutes as one of the five daily prayers in Islam.

3: al-Firdaws al-A'la: The highest level of Paradise.