Trust Me (An Islamic Love Story)

Chapter 49

I feel weirdly satisfied by Abbas's outburst. It is almost as if he is scared of how I prayed. I needed it. I needed to remember why I'm here, and there is nothing better than prayer itself to remind me.

However, I feel a little annoyed when I see the servant with the tray. "Going to mix something in my food again?" I taunt her.

"I am on orders, don't take it personally," she replies with a radiant smile. I wonder how anything could be filled with so much warmth, be so deceitful. With a jolt, I realize that is what Azar probably thinks of me too.

"What will happen if I refuse to eat and take the medicines?"

"Boom," she reminds me, but her tone is not threatening. "And besides, they will make you eat. Just do it the easy way and save yourself some pain."

Save myself pain? I want to cry at the irony, but I consider her suggestion. "Why do you work here?"

"I am not allowed to talk to you about me or listen to any of your advice," the lady informs, feeding me the soup.

I feel grateful the moment the soup touches my tongue.

"Can I talk to you about me?" I ask her, not that irritated with her anymore.

"If you want to," she shrugs. "The more they... we know about you, the more we can use it against you."

"I know that," I say quietly, but her words eat me alive. "Haven't I seen enough to realize that I can't rely on anyone except Allah?" She gives me a look, and I don't know what it holds. Maybe pity. Maybe warning.

"Azar didn't stay. He didn't trust me. My parents didn't trust me either many years ago. They left me like Azar," I spell out aloud, yet they feel like words of insignificant impact and importance as if I am not laying down myself on charcoal. "My uncle and aunt didn't believe in a word I said either nor did my cousin, but unlike Azar and my parents, they thought they can let it go. Let my lies go. I was eleven, after all. My parents had left me, and I had no one to look after me, so they had pity on me. I think Azar just had pity on me too. Do you think Azar just had pity on me?" I have tears in my eyes as I ask her.

"I don't know," she says in a monotone.

"Sorry," I hasten, sucking in a breath. "I didn't mean to say whatever I said."

"It is fine. Just finish this," she offers, handing me a bowl of cut fruits with a fork.

"What I meant to say was," I continue in a steady voice, "is that no one has ever stuck around. I can't rely on anyone. I know that even though you are not allowed to listen to my advice, I won't give you any either. I know convincing you isn't possible. I know that asking you to let me go will end up killing you. And enough people are dead because of me."

"You are right," she agrees as she stands up. "That is exactly what I told master Abbas, but he doesn't trust me well enough."

"What is your name again?" I ask, taking her off guard.

"I-I don't have a name," she replies, her eyes fixed on the medicine.

"How does Abbas call you then?" I ask, puzzled.

"I have a bell," she answers, gesturing at her wristwatch.

"But doesn't give you a name, makes it easier to call you?" I point out.

"Master thinks I don't need a name," she speaks very calmly, but she looks lost and robotic. "Names are for high-class people."

I am just too shocked to argue. "I'll call you Basma," I tell her when I recover, and she turns and looks at me with a startle.