The Marriage Aftermath (WATTPAD FEATURED)

Chapter 1: Beginning of the end

A slow song played under the whispers and glass clicking as I  sat in my favourite coffee shop. I recalled the first time I had stumbled across the place. The cafe was situated on the edge of a lake which had  beautiful white ducks swimming in it. The exterior was medium sized and surrounded by trees and leaves, almost sealed by a mini forest. By walking through an open doorway, you entered into the courtyard of the cafe. It was almost like walking into another world. But the interior was different; It had the typical brick wall but the furnishing was modern with the checkered floor and comfy chairs. It was classy yet cozy. My heels had crunched on the crispy, brown Autumn leaves as I had looked upon the building and wondered whether to enter or not. But the 'halal options available' sign sealed the deal and the rest was history. I had been so upset that night...

But it was a different world now. I was about to meet up with my soon-to-be ex-husband. It wasn't heartbreak or relief that evaded my mind, just sheer brutal confusion. Confusion about how quickly things had derailed, that is if you counted  the seven years of marriage as quick. This wasn't how my life was supposed to turn out. I was supposed to be in a happy healthy relationship, with the man of my dreams and with children by now. Instead I was a 28 year old, stuck in a career I hated along with soon having the stamp of failure stuck on me. 

Being a British Bengali Muslim, I had gone according to my parents outline of life. I became the accountant  that they had wanted me to become and married the man they had picked for me; not that I minded. Of course not. I had been fine with everything because whatever my parents had wanted for me was ultimately in my best interest. There was no doubt about that. I was happy to 

However, tradition had its success and its failures and I was in the unsuccessful category. I had played the rules by the book and still, things had gone wrong. My husband wasn't horrible, to begin with but then he became an inconceivable arrogant man, who was, unfortunately, every wife's nightmare; a mummy's boy. He had been wrapped under his mother's finger and that wasn't even the worst of it. I felt like I was an after thought, a tick box and last on his priority list.

We had fallen in love and the first two years had been perfect, almost too perfect. After all we only had the nikah (marriage ceremony) done and we hadn't been living together for those pleasant two years. It truly did take someone to actually live with someone to find out who they really were. I had been 21, and in my third year of the accounting and finance degree, when I accepted the proposal and why not? He was Mr Perfect with his successful business, good looks and history. But sometimes, as I had realised Mr perfect may not be your Mr perfect. It was better for me to split up but it still filled me with a gaping hole. I refused to be bitter about it. But my parents were another matter.

A couple of weeks after I had moved out into my own flat, I had sat both my parents down to informed them of my news.

'But why? He's wonderful.' My mother had pleaded in disbelief.

'The marriage isn't working.' I said bluntly.

'Well, have you tried to make it work?' I looked at my mother telling her that I wasn't that dumb. My parents were old fashioned and hated the idea of divorce. They failed to understand that being happy and loving someone was more important than family honour. A lot of people say that things have changed but unfortunately not for me. I was stuck battling my parents' traditional ideology.

'Yes, by all means possible. I've tried but I don't think he has.' I couldn't help but sound a little angry. I had tried but he had given up. He just hadn't cared. He had sat in the counselling, barely communicating and just looking bored. It was humiliating.

'What do you mean? I just don't understand. That's it. I am phoning the Imam.' She had said getting up to grab the phone.

'Mum. Please. We've tried the Sharia counselling and normal counselling already, but I think even the Imam thinks we're a lost cause...' After a lot more persisting, my mother had finally sat down with a look of despair in her eyes as if she knew that I was not going to change my mind. Seeing her hurt and upset made me feel upset.  But I had had enough of leading my life according to them and their ideas. It was time to put my happiness first, although I was far from that.