Trust Me (An Islamic Love Story)

Chapter 63

It is Suhoor time soon, so I head to the kitchen. Some of the servants are already up, and I tell them I am not hungry, so I am fasting without eating. "What about Mr. Hussain?" One of them asks me. "Due to the mourning, we don't want to cook, but he is our guest."

"You don't have to worry about it," Azar's voice startles me.

I turn to face him as if I had expected him to stay in yesterday. He looks too out of place in this house. "Are you sure you don't want to eat? Have something at least," I insist.

"Yes, I am sure. In fact, I am going to the mosque to spread the message about Madam's funeral and will be there till Fajr," he informs and then hesitates, "if that is okay with you."

I note how the servants left us two on our own. "Yeah. Of course."

"Oh, and thank you for the pen," he recalls, handing it back.

"You can keep it if you want," I say coolly, but my head is a mess. I try not to examine him but fail. Was he writing about Madam Sabira?

"You have ink marks," Azar points out, snapping me back into reality. I look at my hands consciously, only to find them spotless. "On your chin," he adds reluctantly at my gesture.

I rub my chin reflexively and am red in the face, and Azar looks embarrassed too, though I don't understand why. I can tell we both are wondering what each other wrote, but we don't ask. We just don't. Now is not the time.

"You sure, you'll be alright?" Azar asks, interrupting the silence. "I mean, I can send someone else to—"

"I will be okay," I say, but he still looks concerned. "I'll see you soon In Sha Allah."

He smiles at that a little, or maybe my mind is playing tricks with me. "In Sha Allah, Allah Hafiz."

"Allah Hafiz." I feel unsettled as he goes. The warmth of the air decreases, and I feel pathetic at how my heart falls apart the moment I am alone. So desperate, so lonely.

I push back the tears that are forming in my eyes. If Madam Sabira were here, she would have told me I am not pathetic or desperate. She would have insisted it is human nature to want someone by their side, especially when tragedy hits. But she is not here. She is dead. The reality slaps my face, but I don't want to cry. I am determined not to, but I know I am fighting a losing battle.

I go to Madam's room and sit on her bed. I sigh. Oh, Allah... I think as my heart aches. I do Wudu and pray Tahajjud prayer.

Allah, forgive Madam Sabira for her sins, oh Lord. She was a miracle for me. I can never ever return Your Blessing nor can I ever be grateful enough for it. I wish I could be a better person. I wish I didn't feel the way I do. I wish I could stop mourning what all bad happened to me. Allah, as always, You are the Only One that can help me in this journey. I feel so alone, my Lord, I feel so empty. Please, fill this void in my heart and heal my wounds. Indeed, You are capable of everything. Make me grateful, oh Al Wahhab, the Bestower.

Azar has suddenly come back, and I can't watch him leave, Ya Rabb. Please help me understand what I am feeling and help me understand what the right thing is to do. You are the Wisest Indeed.

It is almost Fajr, and the driver takes the servants and me to the mosque where the funeral prayer is going to be held.

I want to run away, but who can I run to? I drag myself to the grounds of the mosque where the funeral is about to take place, and I question my entire life as I do. My heart is beating incredibly fast, and my lungs are sucking air in and out, but they still can't catch up, and I am suffocating.

I walk away from the crowd of ladies that have shown up, not having the courage to face them and talk to them about Madam Sabira. Instead, I go to a secluded area behind the mosque and remove my veil so I can breathe better, but who am I kidding? I don't know how to. You are going to be okay, Abeer. Trust Allah, the inner voice inside me tells me. You are a living miracle. It hurts, yet it is almost laughable how I hear Madam Sabira consoling me. Except the reality is, that it is just me and my thoughts.