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*
Hareem
I sat down on the Ottoman in Emaad's office, facing him almost nervously. My heart was pounding hard in my chest and my palms felt sweat. What is happening to me?
"Hareem. Unfortunately I have to step down as your psychiatrist." He broke the, as of yet, comfortable silence between us.
For a second I wasn't sure if I had heard him correctly. "You w-what? Why?"
"If you wish, I can ask one of my colleagues to take over from me." He clasped his hands together over his desk.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand." I shook my head in disbelief. "Do you feel that I am beyond help or...?"
"It's nothing like that, Hareem. I don't give up on people who I have vowed to help."
"It seems to me that's exactly what you're doing right now." I spoke tonelessly. I had no idea why I was feeling so offended. Maybe it was because I had opened up my thoughts and emotions to him, something I rarely did. For him to back out like this now stung a little.
He ran a hand through his wavy black hair, his blue eyes expressive with emotions that I couldn't read clearly. "Hareem, I have a great regard for my profession, and you must have heard the term 'conflict of interests', right?"
"Conflict of interests?" I repeated, confused. "I don't understand how this is that. Look, if you don't want to help me, fair enough, but please just be direct with me. I'm a grown up, and mature enough to understand."
"Hareem, I don't want to disrespect you, and I don't want to disrespect the boundaries of our religion, but the fact is that I should not be feeling this way towards someone that I am helping on a professional capacity." He admitted calmly.
I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. My heart had already increased is speed, blocking out all the noise around me momentarily.
"I cannot fairly help you when I feel this way towards you, because it will stop me from being impartial." His blue eyes locked with mine. "I feel that it's best for both of us if you continue with a colleague of mine."
"What do you feel towards me?" I asked, my tone more confident than I was feeling on the inside.
"It's best if we don't discuss that right now." He spoke softly, standing up. "Hareem, I need your consent to speak to my colleague regarding helping you..."
I felt the shell building up back around me. It had taken me a great effort to open up, and now he was suggesting that I opened up to a completely different person all over again? I had felt myself getting more and more comfortable with Emaad, and I was starting to really trust him. I stood up as well. "It's okay. You have helped me enough, I'll be fine. Thank you." I turned to go.
"Hareem, you are doing so well. I recommend that you continue the sessions..."
This is what I get for opening up. I couldn't help feeling like I had been abandoned once again, which was completely illogical. Emaad had no obligation towards me. He had a complete right to step away from helping me. "Thank you for everything that you had done for me, Emaad." I whispered, before pulling open the door of the office and walking out.
"Hareem, wait..." The sounds of his footsteps coming after me made me stop in the hallway.
I turned to look at him, and for some reason I found my eyes burning with unshed tears. I didn't want to behave immaturely, but for some reason I felt hurt. He was just being nice. The truth must be that he didn't want to help me anymore.
"More than the conflict of interests, there is the bigger matter of our religion. I should not be spending so much time alone with a girl that I am developing feelings for." He admitted. "It feels inappropriate." He took a step closer. "You are so special, Hareem. So strong, so courageous that it amazes me."
For a few moments it felt like we are all alone in this building, in our own special bubble. But then reality dawned on me as the boundaries of non-mehram relations became blatantly obvious to me. I stepped back, as I felt my breathing rate increase along with my heartbeat. Our gazes seemed to be having a silent conversation, and I felt a deep yearning within me. "You are right. This isn't right. Thank you for all your help, Dr Emaad. Trust me, I really appreciate it. But I really do not wish to continue the sessions with anyone else. I think I am going to stop here." I gave him a small smile. "You have at least taught me that I am capable of learning how to trust someone outside my immediate circle."
"I wish you nothing but the best, Hareem." He said, softly.
"I wish you the same, Dr Emaad. I can tell that you genuinely care, and this world needs more people like you; people who put kindness and compassion above fees." I turned and strode out of there, feeling my chest tighten with strange feelings.
*
You are Hareem. You are strong. Sort yourself out.
But the little self pep-talk wasn't working. I felt an unbearable amount of disappointment burden me, as if I had lost out on something very meaningful.
I was preparing my clothes for work that evening, hoping to distract myself. And yet a stubborn tear slid down my cheek. I am strong. Why am I acting like this? Angrily, I swiped away the tear, annoyed at myself.
There was a knock on the door.
I took a few shallow breaths to compose myself and glanced at my reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door, ensuring that there was no sign of stray tears. "Come in."
The door opened and Rida Appi walked in. "Hareem, Mamma said that you've been locked in your room all afternoon? You okay?"
"I'm always locked in my room when I am home." I shrugged. "Hence Mamma is always telling me off."
"She said that you were very quiet, which is not usual, Hareem." She, like Mamma, started to tidy up my room, staring with folding the duvet neatly.
"I had a migraine, that's all."
"Come here." She held out her hand, and as I slipped my hand into hers, she made me sit on the bed beside her. "Mamma also says that she has noticed a positive change in you lately. You seem brighter, like your old self again."
"I have been seeing a professional." I admitted. I was surprised that I was even able to admit this out loud. A month or two ago, I would have considered it a secret that I would take to my grave, and now I was admitting it.
"Oh, Hareem." She said, softly. "Sweetie, I know that it's been the hardest on you, but why did you find it necessary to hide this from us? We all would have supported you, you know that, right?"
I burst into tears, unable to hold myself any longer. I had controlled my emotions around my family all those years, but I was tired now.
"Hareem." She hugged me, kissing the side of my head.
"I...It's over." I breathed out.
"What's over?" She sounded confused.
"I don't know."
She pulled back, studying my expressions carefully. "Hareem, be honest with me, please. What is this really about?"
"The professional I was seeing..." I looked up at my sister. "Well...I'm no longer seeing him because he couldn't continue..."
"Okay...?" She waited for me to continue.
"So, I am no longer seeing a professional."
"He couldn't continue? And you feel that you still need his help?" She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and pull me closer. "Hareem, we can find someone else. Faiz Bhai has a lot of connections and..."
I silently listened to her, not arguing or not pointing out the main problem in her comforting words: I don't want to see anyone else. I don't want anyone else!
"I'll speak to Bhai if you think that..."
"No." I spoke firmly. "I'm done. I have had all the help that I needed." I stood up. "I'm just being silly right now."
"For feeling upset?" She stood up as well. "Why, aren't you a human? Hareem, when will you learn that emotions don't make you weak..."
I closed my eyes, a pang of pain shooting through my heart.
*
"I feel silly." I admitted.
"Why? Everyone has fears. Fear is a part of being human." Emaad smiled. "Just list down your fears without any hesitations. There will be no mocking or judgements here, trust me."
"Do you have a fear?" I asked.
"Am I the psychiatrist or you?" He looked amused.
"Maybe it will be easier for me if you tell me one of your own fears..." I shrugged.
He sat back in his seat, taking a deep breath. "No mocking or judgments, okay?"
"I won't."
"I have a fear of heights." He admitted. "But I try not to let it hold me back."
"But would you admit the fear, say, amongst a group of friends?" I asked.
"If you can't be yourself in front of friends, are they really your friends? I know guys have this belief that they must be all tough and macho, but the first time I went somewhere where we had to go really high up, I told my friends that I was probably going to p**s myself- pardon the language-because I wasn't good at dealing with heights."
If he could admit that to friends, I could certainly write my fears down on a piece of paper in front of a psychiatrist. I wrote down my fears and slid the paper across the table from him.
He looked at me silently.
"These are silly, right?"
"Fears are not silly. These are some of the factors who make us who we are."
I thought about the fear at the top of the list that I had presented to him: of being alone.
"I always thought I was happiest by myself, but when I lie in bed at night, sometimes..." I pursed my lips, stopping myself from dwelling too deep into this.
"Sometimes?" He gently encouraged me to continue.
"Sometimes I think that years into the future, what if I end up alone? My siblings have their own lives, and God forbid, if anything happens to Mamma..." I laughed humourlessly. "I know that those who don't have anyone have Allah, and I believe that. But Allah is also the one who provides us companionship in the form of family and friends and I..."
"He helps in the most unexpected ways sometimes, Hareem." Giving me a gentle smile, he picked up a pen and started making notes.
*
I turned to face Rida Appi. "Forget all that. Are the kids here as well?"
"No, they are spending time with relatives from their Dadiyal." She said. "I just came here to check on Mamma."
Mamma and I lived in the annexe behind Faiz Bhai's house. It was a good decision because we were close to Bhai, and yet he and his family got sufficient privacy.
"I have to go." She placed a hand on my cheek. "He must be really special."
I glanced at her, surprise. "What?"
Giving me a sad smile, she headed towards the door. But just before she left, she glanced over her shoulder at me. "If you feel strongly enough, maybe consider getting Mamma and Bhai involved."
"There's no such thing." I denied.
"Hareem Jamshed upset that her counsellor or psychiatrist couldn't continue the sessions any longer. Upset to the point that she's crying." She raised her eyebrows. "I'm no psychology expert, but why don't you ponder upon this and see why you are feeling the way you are?" She closed the door behind her as she left.
*
"You are in love." Anabia stated, simply.
I burst out laughing. "You joker."
"Okay, at the very least, you are falling in love."
I believed in 'when in doubt, call you best friend', and that's exactly what I did. Currently, we were in a café close to her home. She was drinking lemonade and I was having a cappuccino. "I am just upset that I was doing so well in those sessions, and I might go back to square one again."
"Look, I'm sure it doesn't work like that. You can still apply the things that you have learnt with him." She took another sip of her cool drink. "But I know that's not the reason you're upset."
"You don't know anything."
"I know you." She argued. "And I know that it takes a lot to make this recent version of Hareem Jamshed cry." She stared at me silently for a while. "I'm your best friend, Harry. You can tell me the truth."
"The truth is, I don't even know, Ana."
"Close your eyes, and I am going to mention some scenarios. Tell me how they make you feel, okay?"
I closed my eyes. "Okay, let's try Annabelle's version of psychology."
She laughed. "Imagine you are at a hotel, heaving lunch with your family. You excuse yourself to go to the restroom, and as you pass by the ballroom, you see a glimpse of the couple inside. It is Emaad and his beautiful bride, looking at each other with love. He's a psychiatrist, he's a Pakistani Jane Austen hero-in your words. Of course he's going to be considered an eligible bachelor."
I felt a weird sort of bitterness inside me, one that made me wrinkle my nose. "He has an impeccable taste. I'm sure she must be someone really special to win his heart..." My voice broke. Jealousy.
"Now imagine if he and his family show up at your doorstep for a rishta."
"He won't." I shook my head. "He stopped the sessions, and now we won't be meeting and soon he'll move on and..." My heart ached. And he'll forget about me. "Why is this happening to me? This is not how I planned things! I..."
"Hareem, having feelings for someone does not make you weaker, or less independent." She said. "A part of being human is to love. You can still be your strong, independent self and be in love."
"It's good that he stopped the sessions himself. This is what's best for us. It's over."
"He stopped the sessions because he has feelings for you. I don't think it's over." She looked at me knowingly.
"You are a little too romantic now that you're pregnant." I said in a low voice.
"I've always been romantic. Yes, I enjoyed reading darker things, but my heart was always weak for a good romance." She sighed dreamily. "Even in that darkness, my heart beat wildly for the handsome detective."
"Allah!" I slapped my forehead. "You are too much."
"Seriously, though. Why does it hurt you so much that the sessions are over?"
I stared off into a distance. Rida Appi had basically asked me the same thing.
It doesn't matter. Close this chapter, Hareem. It's probably a mere crush that I will soon recover from.
*
Emaad
"What's wrong?" Mom asked me quietly, placing a hand on my back.
I was standing in the small balcony of my flat, my hands in my pockets, staring at the London skyline. I glanced down at the ground, and it was weird how while thinking about my fear, I automatically thought of Hareem. I'd admitted my strong dislike of heights to her. "Maybe I should have stayed in the US..."
"Why? Don't you like it here?"
"My whole life is back there. I don't know why I packed up and came here. Dad's gone and I..."
"You felt so strongly about coming here though, Emmy. What happened now? Look, to say that the UK and US are both Western countries, but there is a huge cultural difference nevertheless, and it will take time to adjust, but don't take any rash decisions." She said.
"Weren't you hesitant about me moving so far away?" I gave her a small smile.
"I was, but I thought about it, and it was a very good opportunity for you, Emaad. And I will not stand in the way of good opportunities for either of my kids." She ran a hand up and down my arm. "I think you need a companion, and you know what? Marriage rishtay are pouring in ever since I posted your profile."
"Why do we sometimes meet the right people at the wrong time?" I blurted out, staring down at the ground below.
"Because either they are not the right people, or it's not the wrong time. Sometimes what we think we know isn't the case." Mom's wisdom was like a soothing balm on the dull ache inside me. The ache that had been present since Hareem had walked out of the clinic. "Who is she? A patient?"
"I stopped our sessions because..." I leaned on the railing, closing my eyes.
"Because?"
"The intensity of my feelings scared me." I admitted. "I know it was wrong professionally, wrong religiously, for us to continue having the sessions alone, but I also fear how strong my feelings suddenly are."
"Tell me about her."
"I think we have come to the end of the line, Mom. There's no future for us." It had felt so permanent when Hareem had left.
"What do you like about her?"
"Her strength. She tries to remain strong for not just her loved ones, but herself as well. Her confidence, even though I can clearly see the vulnerability within her eyes. She has learnt how to look out for herself, to be protective of herself. And I just want... I want to reassure her that I want to be there to take care of her. I want to listen to her talking about her day, her feelings, her thoughts. I want her to know that I want to be there for her."
"If you feel so strongly, why does it have to be the end of the line?"
"I don't think she feels the same way, Mom. I basically confessed to her that I had feelings for her, but she seem to grow more and more distant from me. She refused for me to refer her to one of my colleagues for further sessions. " She had become formal, referring to me as 'Dr Emaad'.
"And as someone who is an expert in the human mind, you can't read between the lines?" She asked. "If she was just another patient, why would she react that way? She would understand that it's a conflict of interest, and she would accept the referral and continue with the sessions."
"Every time I try to read between the lines, I feel like it's wishful thinking."
"Okay, tell me what you do read between the lines?"
"I feel this connection between us. My instincts say that she feels the same." She is protecting herself by not admitting her feelings. She feels vulnerable admitting them.
"What's her name?"
"Mom, leave it." I glanced at her. "If you want to speak to one of the families of the girls from the matrimonial app, go ahead."
I want to move on. I should forget about her.
*
Yasin
"Come." Zack Palmer beckoned, pushing through the crowd and leading me to the back of the Burns Hall where the university freshers were gathered.
Young people were gathered around, laughing and chatting and getting to know each other. Girls and guys were sprawled together on the sofas, while small groups were dotted everywhere as everyone awaited the start of their new university life.
I had come here for freshers' orientation, and had met some people in the introductory lecture in the morning. Zack was a part of the group, and was loud and a little bossy.
Pushing open the back doors, Zack led me out to a small courtyard, which was clearly a smoking area.
"I... I don't smoke." I immediately said.
"Nobody will force you. But this is uni, man. Live a little." He patted my back with a force that made me stumble. He led me to a group standing by the back wall: two guys, and two girls. One of the guys had his arm wrapped around the blonde girl, and they seemed quite cosy. The group stared at me curiously.
"Everyone, this is Yasin. Yasin, this is Sean," He pointed towards the red-headed guy, before pointing to the guy who was embracing the blonde. "Anthony and Bridget, and Melissa." He nodded at the girl with the curly dyed pink hair. "Guys, we need to help Yasin learn to live a little."
Melissa held out a box of cigarettes towards me.
"I don't smoke." I said, holding up both hands in surrender.
"Go on." Anthony grinned, running a finger through his brown hair. "Nobody will tell Mummy."
They all burst out laughing.
"Go on, Yasin. It's okay. Everyone does it." Zack told me.
"Clearly not everyone. Leave him alone, man." A new voice interrupted the loudness of the group and I turned.
A guy, around five feet eight, with a light Sunnah beard, stood grasping onto the strap of his bag. "Peer pressure is a messed up thing. Grow up out of your secondary school thinking." He glanced at me. "Don't allow them to make you do things that you don't want to do." He walked away without a further word.
Something compelled me to follow him. Mum always told me that we should make friends who should boost our morals, rather than try to destroy them. "Assalam Alaikum, brother. I am Yasin."
"Walaikum Assalam." He looked at me over his shoulder. "I'm Fardeen."
"You are right. I should not force them to make me do something that I don't want to do." I nodded. I noticed the Indian flag stitched on his backpack. "Are you from India?"
"Yes, from Delhi. I came here to study as an international student." He replied, heading back inside and through the crowded hall.
I followed. "My family is originally from Pakistan. It must be so cool to fly out here by yourself, right?"
"It's lonely, but this opportunity is a blessing, I suppose. I didn't want to go abroad, but my parents thought it was a good idea. They said travelling and exploring the world teaches a lot in life." He glanced at his wristwatch. "It's almost Asar time. I have to go and pray. It was nice to meet you, brother."
"Can I come too?"
He looked surprised. "I don't think you need to be asking my permission to pray with me. It's a good deed, brother. Why not?"
"I didn't learn praying till I was twelve. Before that I used to follow the actions as my brother or father prayed." I admitted. "I didn't think I was smart enough to learn all the recitations, but I really wanted to learn, so I tried my best, and the Imam was very pleased the day when I finally managed to pray correctly. He said with will and determination, we can achieve a lot."
Fardeen nodded, but didn't reply.
There was a multi-faith prayer room on the university campus, and that is where we headed to pray.
As we finished praying, I overheard his silent whispers as he made dua. "Ya Allah, I miss home. Please make these three years easy for me..."
I felt blessed that I lived at home with my parents, with my big brother often around. The idea of being abroad away from them made me shudder. I felt sorry for poor Fardeen. I suddenly felt happy that I had stayed in London.
*
I was in the shop, buying some snacks, when my gaze went to the display of cigarettes behind the counter. I wonder how it feels to smoke.
I set down my packet of Oreos, a bag of Walkers Cheese & Onion crisps and a bottle of Fanta Fruit Twist onto the counter.
"Will this be all?" The shopkeeper asked me.
I glanced at the cigarette display again. Maybe I will find it easier to fit in if I blend in with the crowd? "Yes, this will be all." I answered as the shopkeeper bagged up my items. I headed out of the shop after making a payment, and pulled my light hoodie over my head as I felt droplets of rain. I walked towards the car parking, where the family driver would be coming to pick me up. As I waited, I took my phone out of my pocket and typed a message:
<Yasin: Is it okay if I smoke one time? Or is it completely wrong?>
I hugged myself as I glanced around. Despite my hoodie, raindrops were splattering over my glasses, irritating me. My phone rang and I answered it. "Assalam Alaikum."
"Walaikum Assalam." Bhai's voice came through. "Yas, don't even think about it. You shouldn't do anything that can harm your body. Don't smoke."
"So many people smoke, Bhai!"
"It doesn't matter, Yasin. Anything that harms you should not be done, not even occasionally. Don't be pressured by the people around you."
"I made a new friend today and he basically told me the same thing." I said. "His name is Fardeen. Can you believe he flew all the way out here from India to study here? I cannot even imagine being so far away from family!"
"It's great that you made a friend who is saying good things to you. Yas, stay on the right part, even though it may seem hard. There are too many temptations around us, but you need to do what's right, okay? Just because a large number of people do something doesn't make it right."
"Okay, Bhai."
"Good. Now I have to get back to work. You almost home?"
"I'm waiting for the driver. I see him pulling into the car parking now." I said as the familiar car made its way towards where I stood. "Allah Hafiz, Bhai."
"Allah Hafiz, kid."
As I ended the call, I felt proud of myself for resisting the temptation of buying cigarettes. I immediately called my brother back again. "Hey...I remember you smoking a long time ago."
"Yeah, Yas. I wasn't as strong as you so I started smoking for a while. But trust me, it's not a good idea, okay? When your elders teach you something's, there's experience behind it."
"Okay." I ended the call again, and headed to sit in the backseat of the family car.
*
Hareem
I brushed my hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. I wore a navy blue polka dot dress and black leggings, with black professional heels and a blazer. It was time to work, time to focus on my daily routine.
But no matter how much I tried to concentrate on work that day, my heart just wasn't in it. I felt confused and restless, wondering why my mind didn't want to focus on my job.
I had never felt this vulnerable in my life. I wanted to erase those feelings from my heart and mind and just live like I used to in the post-Dad, pre-Emaad era.
Emaad.
"...It is Emaad and his beautiful bride, looking at each other with love. He's a psychiatrist, he's a Pakistani Jane Austen hero-in your words. Of course he's going to be considered an eligible bachelor." Anabia's words had been constantly haunting me. I would definitely consider Emaad an eligible bachelor. What if he gets married to someone else? What if...?
Too many 'what ifs' started running around in my head, crashing against each other. They were soon joined by the 'I wishes'. I shook my head hard, hoping to clear everything away, but all it did was give me a head rush.
Focus on work, Hareem. Please.
*
"Hareem?"
I had been pacing outside the clinic nervously, not knowing what I was doing here, but also knowing definitely that I shouldn't be here. "I have questions for you, and this has nothing to do with our sessions."
With his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, Emaad looked like he was ready to head home. "What kind of questions?"
"I have tried so hard, but I can't focus on anything." I kept my distance from him. I knew my limitations. "This is not me. I don't like to feel emotionally vulnerable, and yet here I am."
"Hareem, you really shouldn't be here right now."
"You told me that you are developing feelings for me, and I felt that it's only fair that I tell you how I feel." I glanced down at the ground. "It hurt me when you abruptly ended our sessions, and I didn't even think about why I was in so much pain."
"I shouldn't have said anything. I should have just stepped down with some explanation." He shook his head. "Regardless of my decision to step down, I crossed some professional lines by telling you how I feel."
"What do you call the feeling when you can't focus on your daily life, but keep constantly thinking about that one particular person? Why is there so much pain at the idea that you cannot be with the person, cannot see them?"
He stepped towards me, and I stepped back. "Hareem..."
"Tell me, Dr Expert-on-Feelings-and-Thoughts."
"Go home, Hareem. Please." He began to move past me to head towards the car parking.
"I am in love." I spoke softly. "I always speak my mind, and this is what my mind is telling me right now. I am in love." I glanced after him. He had stopped in his tracks but he didn't turn around. "Do you know the feeling of being in love, Emaad?"
He turned to look at me, the wind gently ruffling his hair. "Yeah, I do." His intense gaze on me gave me many unspoken answers. "I know exactly how it feels to be in love, and I also know that when you are in love, you put them first, even if what's best for them involves separation." He sighed deeply. "You deserve the entire world and I just know that you'll find it elsewhere."
"You cannot decide what's best for me."
"I know myself, Hareem. And I'm not the best for you."
I silently turned and walked away. I now knew everything that I needed to know. I had been right all along. Love was bulls**t created by authors and poets. All it did was cause pain and emotional drama. I let myself be vulnerable and I cursed myself for it. I had betrayed myself in the worst way possible. I had fallen in love with someone who probably didn't even think I was worthy of loving.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Emaad standing there, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. I wanted to hate him for causing me pain, but instead the pain on his face made me wonder about the secrets that he was keeping.
I'll never know those secrets. This chapter is officially closed. I will never allow myself to end up in this position again.
I drove away without another look back, sobbing only when I stopped at the traffic lights around a mile away from the clinic.
*
So, you guys saw a very vulnerable side of Hareem in this chapter.
Why is Emaad so desperate to keep her at a distance? What are his secrets, do you think?
Poor Hareem just can't catch a break!
Could sweet and innocent Yasin be trapped in the peer pressure of his classmates?
Thoughts and comments?
Thank you for reading and don't forget to vote!