Things Nadir N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ Said | [MUSLIM]

XIV

XIV

Nadir

The time right now was one-something in the morning, and our living room was smelling like turpentine.

Some time after dinner, out of nowhere, I had started feeling a desperate urge to create something pretty.

Such colourful insanity is the life of an artist!

Different tones of cobalt paint had found their way to my fingers, and some magenta and yellow splotched various spots of my pyjamas as I sat on the cold floor. Beside me sat a mug of dark coffee with two spoonfuls of sugar sitting at the bottom of it, yet to be mixed.

All three being blissfully asleep, my home was dark — apart from my easel lamp — and totally silent.

I was in complete peace.

Only Allah knew exactly when I'd reached this level of irrationality, but right now I could swear that there was really no better thing in the world than chafing a partially moist brush tip on a little canvas, with the strength and enthusiasm of a madman.

As a bright sunset slowly took birth before me, I heard footsteps coming from either my bedroom or the kids'.

I didn't turn to look; I knew who it was.

Zaeb sauntered out, hugging her nightgown. The distinct smell of her skin and that of sleep addressed me quietly and lovingly before she stilled a couple of feet from me and my mess.

Her face glowed in the light of the easel lamp.

"Such an appropriate time to paint, isn't this?" She suppressed a yawn. "What even is that?"

I remained mum as she flopped down and folded her legs close to me, touching her knee to my waist, and scrutinised my premature painting.

"Oh, now it makes sense."

I raised a brow, smiling.

"You thought the sun's out already," she giggled. "Did you pray the dawn prayer, too, Nadir?"

I rolled my eyes, but I was still smiling.

She had been so cheerful ever since that wretched tea date of ours last week. Always smiling. It was so nice, especially since she had gone back to her usual self after such a long time. It was like how the sun feels when it hasn't been sunny for a while.

But this afternoon she had informed me about a social event which had undone some of my peace. It was at Sami's new office. Apparently he was so minted that he could just buy a property overseas like it were a biscuit. We were invited for the office equivalent of a housewarming party.

Something made me believe it might not be just the socialising that was making me anxious about this sweet little party.

"It's a sunset," I stated dryly. "The sun is settling down."

"Is it," she laughed again, and then rose. "Weird how to me, it's definitely just emerging."

She walked back to our room, still laughing, but I had no idea what was so funny.

Ties terrified me.

For long this had been an issue I was so outrageously embarrassed about, that even at the desk of my second consultant psychiatrist at the age of twenty-one, it managed never to be spoken of.

Let me tell you: a man could admit his sins for once. He could could vent to you about his problems. He could discuss his unhappiness, and even disclose his fears to you. But to talk of something that embarrasses him? No, he will never share an embarrassing memory or trait if he can avoid it.