THE TIMOROUS DUNYA✅

THIRTY-FOUR

He wanted to hold her so badly. Take all her pains away. He wanted to wipe away every single terror she had felt. He wanted to be by her side always, and make her smile. He wanted her to feel the happiness she deserved, to be able to live freely without the fear of anything hunting her.

In three large strides, he was knelt in front of  her. He had never felt so sure about anything in his life like he does about Maryam. He had never wanted anything like he wanted her. No, he needed her. She was like the oxygen that kept him alive, like the food he looked forward to everyday. She is his prize, and he will run around the world if that is what it takes to have her.

He took a deap breath, tired of waiting anymore. He was afraid something would happen again, and he would never be able to tell her how he feels. He shook his head, discarding the thought as fast as it came.

It took him countless nights, a plethora of crumbled papers thrown to the dustbin out of frustration, to scribble all he needed to say. He had every line and word memorized in his head. Yet as he gazed at those hazel eyes, which gazed at him lazily, perplexed, Sufyan felt like a gush of wind had blown away every word like a pile of dust.

"Miriam... I..." Maryam's brows rose unconsciously, her eyes squinted a little, waiting patiently for what he had to say.

Sufyan realized it wasn't easy at all. Somehow, he wished he could just show her how he felt rather than say it, because no amount of words would do justice to his feelings. But he tried again, this time letting his words swing right from his heart.

"Miriam..."

Hajarah walked into the room, cutting him off. "I've got the pills!"

*****

Around 5:32pm on a breezy Sunday, Hajarah and Maryam were wrapped around the four walls of her gigantic kitchen. Maryam was cutting the cucumbers which they'll be using for the coleslaw while Hajarah was mixing a chocolate intensive batter with a handmixer. Maryam would walk to the stove once in a while to check the sizzling pot which contained the fried rice. The last time she did, she gave it a light steer and lowered the flame some more.

The atmosphere was too quiet for Hajarah and pleasant to Maryam who would prefer to stay quiet all the time.

"So... How are you?" Hajarah sliced the silence. Maryam's hand paused for a second before she continued what she was doing. She could feel the double meaning behind Hajarah's words. It wasn't a how are you your uncle would ask whenever he visits your house, this is more like a you-have-fainted-so-you're-sick how are you.

"I'm fine." Maryam replied without taking her eyes off the cucumber.

Hajarah nodded, not that Maraym could even see her. Truth is, she had been so edgy ever since the faint. She knew Maryam had seen something that triggered it, but she couldn't fathom what. She had a brief phone call with the therapist. Mrs Sabeeha had confirmed exactly her thoughts. Now that she thinks about it, it was a news channel that was on play that night.

Maryam finished cutting the last piece of vegetable and mixed everything in a bowl. She covered it with a foil paper and kept it aside.

Hajarah showed Maryam the mixed batter. "What do you think?"

Maryam paused her lips. It was a bit too thick to bake brownies, she needed to add more eggs, more butter and perharps the batter might even be overmixed.

Maryam collected it from her, she worked swiftly, just like she watched Jane doing. Soon enough, it was in the preheated oven, releasing a marvelous aroma.

Everything else has been taken cared of. They were waiting for the rice and brownies to be done. Hajarah turned to Maryam.

"Maryam,  that night you fainted, you must have seen something. I saw how shaken you were when you looked at the TV. Did you see someone that hurt you? Please tell me, I just want to help."

Maryam turned her back towards Hajarah. The image flashed before her eyes again. He had gained alot more weight. But nothing will stop her from recognizing him anywhere she sets her eyes on him. His blood-shot eyes, black lips, protruding belly will forever remain embedded in her head, eversince the day she walked out of that hotel room, painckly.

It was bizzare how he was sat comfortably, chatting animatedly with the newscaster. Like he hadn't threatened her, like he wasn't Madam's most trusted customer.

Even so, one thing was clear. She didn't kill him. She wasn't a murderer.