Dawud.

Chapter 45: A Disaster Beyond Words

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful

Jannah's P.O.V

'What do you mean?' I urged, stepping forward. I hadn't realized my hands were balled into fists until the skin below my nails began to split. Eman advanced as well. We were inches apart. 'What do you mean.' I repeated, louder.

'What is going on?' The controlled voice that set my very soul at peace reverberated around the walls. I looked to see Dawud standing at the entrance, laundry detergent in hand. He rushed towards us and pulled me away from Eman with a swift jerk. 'Jannah, are you okay?' He asked, stepping between us. I nodded. He then turned to Eman and asked her the same thing. She jeered.

They began to argue in Arabic, first with composure and then with hostility. Dawud moved away from the two of us and rubbed his face. He seemed stressed out. From what I could pick up using the bit of knowledge I had, Eman had stayed over at Rahman's place overnight and did something no Muslim girl should do. I wasn't surprised hearing Rahman's intentions but the fact that Eman was Dawud's cousin added to the drama. From the looks of it, Dawud was livid.

I caught the way Eman glared at me, before complaining in her mother-tongue. Dawud didn't reply, which meant she had insulted one of us. 'If you're going to talk about me I'd rather you say it to my face.' I shot. I didn't like seeing Dawud stressed. Anything that upset him, upset me. And in this case, it was Eman. Respect was now out the window. This entire mess was caused by her and I was growing impatient.

'If Dawud can sleep with a mess like you, what's wrong with me spending the night at Rahman's place?' She inquired innocently. I gasped, covering my mouth.

'Jannah, ignore her.' Dawud said. He reached for me but I stepped back, away from them. My mind was all over the place.

'It's funny, you know. You come off so holy and pure but I can spot a pregnant woman from a mile away. Don't act so innocent.' She continued. I looked at Dawud and took another step backward.

His green eyes began to water as his thick brows pulled together in confusion, looking between the two of us. The olive hues within his pupils distracted me from noticing Eman charging in my direction. One hefty shove and I lost my balance entirely.

It was scary being in the air. I didn't know if falling on my side was possible. By the time I hit the concrete floor, my palms were directly against the ground joined by my stomach. There was an intense pressure in my abdomen.

Dawud fell to his knees. Eman shouted in shock. Something had caught his attention at my legs.

Blood.

It spread over my skin and caused me to cry in pain. It was then that I knew I had lost whatever it was I was carrying.

A boy.

A girl.

Whatever it was, I lost.

And with that, the world around me grew dark.

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Monday.

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Tuesday.

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Wednesday.

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The day my mom cried at my feet. The day My father brought me flowers.

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The day Muna and Warsan fell asleep on our bedroom floor from sobbing the day away.

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The day Abdullah and Mariam left our house with clouds of darkness around them.

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The day Dawud's parents wailed next to me.

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All of the days faded into one another. I couldn't tell if it was day or night due to the thick curtains covering the window. I had stayed in the same state: Lifeless. The only colour brought to my grim days were the baskets of flowers and candles I had asked Dawud to put around the room.

My husband held himself together in front of me. I was grateful for that. At night though, when the two of us woke up for fajr and he brought me a bucket of water in which he helped me do my wudhu, he wept quietly, convinced that I was still half asleep.

We didn't really talk about what happened. At least not around each other. It was almost like a routine. The family would come over, Dawud would give them a debriefing in the living room and educate them on the event that had occurred, reminding them not to look at me pitifully or to sob dramatically. I overheard every single conversation. Then, they'd ask him questions.

"Was Eman held accountable?"

"Yes, she was. But I don't wanna talk about that." He'd answer...

"And Jannah's health? Can she move?"

"The hospital advised her not to exert herself so we try to have her sitting or laying as often as possible." He'd explain...

"How is she?"

And then he'd grow quiet.

Surprisingly enough, I had handled the situation a lot better than I thought I would. It comforted me to know that the Prophet Muhammad (saw) had lost all his children in his life except one, Fatima (ra) who died shortly after him. Sabr (Patience), I reminded myself. Have sabr. For Allah does not burden a soul more than it can bear.

I didn't speak much though and it frustrated me that I couldn't be of help to Dawud. He cleaned, cooked and kept me entertained. He put me to bed and attempted to braid my hair on several occasions. I prayed that I'd get better soon. I wanted to take care of him too.

Finally, Dawud had returned to work, leaving the house in my hands. I had pleaded with him to start working again and Alhamdullilah, he finally agreed. Day after day, I started to feel better. The feeling of nausea slowly faded away as the days went by and I was starting to feel back to normal again. I didn't let the whispers of shaytan get the best of me. I simply persevered and told myself Allah has a better plan for me. I slipped out of bed and stood up straight. The lower half of my body felt so foreign to me but I took a step forward and another one. I made my way to the washroom to freshen up. After that, I made the easiest thing I knew how to make. Two-ingredient Pasta.

I knew it didn't taste the best since the sauce came straight from the can, but I hope that out of mercy, Dawud would eat it. I gave him a call.

"Salamu'Alaykum Jannah, is everything okay?" He questioned worriedly.

I chuckled and rubbed my flat belly. "Wa Alaykum Salam, Alhamdullilah."

"You sound different." He observed. I nodded even though he couldn't see me.

"I know." I smiled. "When are you coming home?"

Dawud was quiet for a moment. "Are you sure you're okay?" He pressed. From his tone I could just tell, his eyebrows were pulled together in worry and he was frowning.

"Dawdie!" I groaned.

"You haven't called me that in a long while." He observed happily. "But, to answer your question, I finish my shift in half an hour. Why?"

"I cooked lunch." I told him. He was silent. I had to cover my mouth as I laughed. "I cooked lunch." I repeated.

"Yes, I heard you the first time." He laughed. "Wow." Was all he said. I bit my lip and sighed.

"Come home soon, okay? I won't eat without you." I told him before hanging up.

And so there I sat, proud of myself and thankful to Allah. For everything. With every hardship there is ease. Verily, with every hardship there is ease.