Asad's POV
I was good at hiding. When I was younger, me and Moiz used to play hide and seek, and he'd never be able to find me. Ammi's voice would echo in the house, demanding for me to come down because Moiz was frustrated and not playing anymore.
Today too, I was good at hiding. Not physically. Love and heartbreak over the years had made me a skilled mask-wearer. My sunny disposition was a good front for all the grief and fears that I'd pressed down my heart. Not even my closest friends were aware of what truly lay under all these layers of false smiles and silly jokes.
I didn't want to worry those around me, didn't want to burden them with my problems. Everyone had their own issues going on and didn't want to add onto them, although sometimes I could see ammi or abbu looking through me as if they knew. I hoped they didn't, but if they did, then I was grateful that they didn't speak about it.
Ever since Moiz died, there was a hole in my heart that didn't fill up no matter how hard I tried. I was sure it was something like that for my parents too, but of course I could only talk about what I felt. I didn't know exactly how they felt, but I knew my heart. Moiz was half of my soul and he'd been taken away from me. Half of my soul.
I believed in Allah and prayed that Moiz was in heaven right now, happy and eternal. I prayed to meet him there soon. But I couldn't help the sliver of resentment always simmering under my skin, because I should have been the one to go. Allah should have taken me first. It'd hurt my parents less.
The only person I'd shared so deeply with was Hafsa, my now ex-fiancé. Ammi wanted me to hide this broken engagement from Israh, but I couldn't. Israh deserved to know the truth, even if it was an incomplete one.
She deserved to know that my heart was someone else's for the time being. Hafsa was so ingrained in every part of me that forgetting her was a difficult task. I could move on but I could never forget the pain from flickering in my gaze and squeezing my heart at every sight of hers.
Hafsa, with her dark, long tresses and golden shimmers in her eyes. Hafsa, with a smile so bright she could light up the darkest room. How was I supposed to erase the traces of her touch from when she'd held my hand as I grieved my brother? Her fingerprints were seared into my skin from when she'd put the ring on my finger.
I had lost my heart to her when she looked up through her thick lashes, with her lips so red, so beautifully curled up as joy reached her eyes too. I'd caught her dancing wildly in the kitchen as she made halwa, and she'd rolled her eyes when I teased her about it.
Our engagement had lasted two years, and I'd grown pitifully attached to her. My ears still sought her voice, my gaze still lingered at her house's door when I passed by on my way to work. Sometimes, I struggled to breathe even.
I struggled to understand how she'd pretended to be in love with me, while desiring another.
When ammi first came to me with Israh's picture, I didn't dare look. I didn't want to. I knew I would unconsciously compare her to the loud, boisterous Hafsa. Ammi had squeezed my shoulder and kissed the top of my head, telling me I needed to move on.
I was still alive despite the heartbreak eating away at my insides. I had moved on. I didn't think about Hafsa as much. I didn't ache at the thought of her.
I threw all the pictures of me and her into the bin, gave her back the ring, deleted her music playlists from off my phone, burned the sherwaani I'd bought a week before our wedding. I didn't cling onto any of her belongings.
But the memories were still there, and ever since my rishta with Israh got confirmed, I was anxious. I remembered Hafsa again. My heart hurt again. I didn't want to feel this way.
Israh was beautiful, quiet and meek. Her aura was warm and safe. I felt as if we shared a similar struggle, a similar battle we both fought every day. There was exhaustion and fear in her eyes. There was exhaustion and fear in mine too. There was hope there, and there was hope here as well.
And I knew she placed great trust on me and my promise to treat her right when she said yes to my proposal. I didn't want to break that trust. I didn't want to hurt her, and so I had to stop myself from succumbing into a deppression now.
I would soon be married to a girl I had known only a few days. Thinking about Hafsa was not the right to do now, but sometimes I couldn't help myself. Hafsa's memories were like pests sucking my blood. I couldn't get rid of them.
I thought of Israh's round features, and Hafsa's sharp angles and cat-like eyes came to mind. I saw Israh's shy smile and remembered Hafsa's bold one. Israh was simple and modest, while Hafsa was full of adventurous spirit and fashionable accessories. While Hafsa caught everyone's eye when she walked into a room, Israh's presence was much more subdued and soft.
If Hafsa was a hurricane, then Israh was drizzle.
I had to save myself from the force of the hurricane. It was over. I couldn't chase after it. I shouldn't. I'd much rather soak slowly under the rain, then be swept away by delusions and useless desires.
So, I prayed. I fell into sujood and I begged Allah to forgive me. I asked Him to take away Hafsa's memories from my mind. I begged Him to heal me, to heal my heart, to allow me to break free from the shackles of lost love and resentment. I had responsibilities to fulfil and expectations to meet.
If I didn't carve out a space for Israh in my heart soon, then I'd be doing her a great injustice. I knew what betrayal felt like. I couldn't break her heart and allow her to taste it too.
* * *
Sunday was here and I was terrified. This suit was suffocating me. I was sweating as I drove to her house, but I couldn't show it. I couldn't show myself to anyone.
The journey seemed unbearably long. Rain was pouring down and the wind whistled along. I was cautious with my driving in this weather, but I didn't know what to expect. I was scared I'd mess everything up. I didn't want to.
I loosened my tie and turned on the radio on a low volume. Abbu who had been engaged in a deep conversation with ammi, looked my way and I didn't have to see him to know he was frowning.
Was Israh feeling the same way? Doubtful, scared and anxious?
It hadn't been like this when I got engaged to Hafsa. With her, it was all butterflies and smiles. I couldn't keep still because I was so excited, but right now my restlessness was not exciting. It was terrifying.
My palms were sweating. I drove the car to the hard shoulder and parked it there, taking a deep breath before turning to a questioning abbu. "Can you drive, please? I'm not feeling too well."
He stayed quiet for a moment, but then got out of his seat as I did mine. We quickly exchanged seats to escape from getting too soaked, and once finally seated, abbu began driving.
Ammi's caressed my shoulder. "Are you alright meri jaan?" (My life)
I managed a smile that was genuine enough. It wasn't like my parents ever discovered I hadn't been alright for years now. I was a good actor, apparently. Maybe I should have pursued that as a career instead. "Gi ammi, I'm okay. Just a little nervous, you know?!"
She squeezed my shoulder and I saw her shoulders sag in relief through the rearview mirror. "It's going to be fine, InnShaAllah. Israh is a very nice girl. I'm sure you two are going to be the perfect couple."
Ammi had never said that about Hafsa. Maybe she already knew we weren't meant to be. Motherly instincts they called it. But she never mentioned what she truly thought about Hafsa. I thought she was happy. Maybe I was wrong.
I leaned my head against the headrest and looked out the window for most of the ride. We stopped at a service station to eat something, then I got back on my driving seat and drove the rest of the way to Israh's house.
By the time we reached, I felt much better than earlier. The crippling anxiety was gone, replaced with just slight nervousness that was more tolerable.
I fixed my suit and my tie, taking a deep breath as I looked at the house. Outside, every house on this street looked the same, but inside everything was different. Today especially, under this evening sky on which a moon was already glimmering, everything was going to change.
I opened the boot of the car and ammi and abbu helped me carry the things. A platter of bangles, a suit, henna and other jewellery. The other platter had all kinds of mithai (sweets), and then there was the huje bouquet of pink and white roses I'd bought earlier that day. The ring lay in my pocket.
Here goes...something, I guess.