T h i r t y
This one is for taiyabamashaz
:)
You called to Allah with patience, hoping for mercy to occur.
So the heart lived with sincerity and you began to hover like a bird.
-Farhat al amr-
(One of my favourite nasheeds)
☆
Mashal
The iconic yellow taxi cruised down the Syrian freeway towards the airport. Sanan was sitting in the front passenger seat with the driver while I was at the back.
I shifted in my seat, letting the leather to comfort me.
It had not been that much of an emotional goodbye with Ibrahim. Mainly because he didn't want me to start crying and emotionally blackmail him to let me stay in Syria.
He simply said 'Assalam o alaikum' and gave me his credit card along with the pin code telling me that I could use it for anything whatsoever.
I wanted to protest against it but to be honest, I needed that money. I had no other source of income and I didn't want to burden Uncle Suleiman with my expenses.
I thanked Ibrahim and assured him that I would return all his money to him once I finish uni and get my own job.
He laughed at this and replied, "You won't have to wait that long. I'm pretty sure you'll return it to me as soon as you turn eighteen."
I just nodded at him in confusion but I really couldn't see how I would be able to return his money so soon. I mean I'm gonna turn eighteen in just six months in sha Allah.
"So Mashal you didn't even invite me to your walima?" Sanan asked out of the blue, eyeing me through the rear view mirror.
His question caught me off guard, interrupting my thinking process.
"Pardon?" I asked, hoping that he didn't say what I heard.
"I said" He turned around to face me, "you didn't even invite me to your walima."
I masked away the grief that his question brought me. It was like sprinkling salt on my wounds. "I- I didn't even have my walima. They attacked before-"
"I'm sorry." He whispered as soon as he realised what I was about to say. He turned back to his previous position, feeling guilty for asking me that question.
I took in a deep breath with his question still haunting me. I knew Sanan would not have the courage to ask another question after this one.
He was just attempting to start a conversation but now he would regret it.
Rightfully, he kept his silence during the whole car drive. The only sounds that I could hear were of the changing of the gears by the driver, the traffic outside and my heart beating in my chest.
It was kind of strange. It felt as if my heart had a rythm, as if it was trying to say something but I couldn't understand for all they teach us in college is that the heart makes a pointless lub dub lub dub sound but now that I noticed it, it seemed to be entirely different.
Before I could ponder more upon my heart beat, the driver put on the parking break stopping the car at the airport.
I stepped out of the car and watched in silence as Sanan payed the taxi driver and walked up to me.
I had my eyes cast low, too sad to know that I was leaving without Zeyara.
How I had gone from being nothing to being the password of a world destruction weapon and now back to being nothing.
Very well said Mr. Newton, 'Every action has an equal but opposite reaction.'
I laughed inwardly at my own thoughts.
Well, at least I still knew physics. I would need it when I start going to college again.
Sanan cleared his throat to get my attention so I looked up at him. "Here" he gestured, handing me a document and a passport. "Your passport and your ticket." He whispered sadly.
"JazakAllah khair" I answered, taking it from his hand.
An awkward silence enveloped us as we stood there, glancing around uneasily to avoid meeting each other's gaze.
"So... is it goodbye then?" He asked in that air thick with uneasy tension.
"I don't know." I replied honestly. "The last time I said goodbye at Alnihayya, I thought I won't see you again but still, here we are now."
He smirked mockingly, "Then I'll say, see you again."
"In sha Allah." I nodded and immediately turned around towards my flight terminal to avoid any more conversation with him.
I could imagine his gaze being fixed on me, not leaving until I was out of his sight.
I wish I could go back in time and not meet Sanan. I wish I could convince him not to want me for his own good, but I can't.
I feel guilty for complicating his life but I also know that I can't do anything about it.
He needs to move on and stop thinking about someone who is already married.
《○●▪▪●○》
It was my first airplane ride in which I was concious and not faint.
The take off was just as horrible as the landing I had experienced with Zeyara but this time I didn't make a single sound because I knew Zeyara wasn't going to be there to ask me to calm down.
From the window of the airplane I watched as the silver wing cut through the air making a humming sound above the white clouds.
This airplane was a proper passenger plane. It wasn't small like the private plane Zeyara had taken me on.
It was very crowded but I was glad that the seat next to me was empty. I could have enough space and freedom to stretch my limbs.
Halfway through the flight, an air hostess dressed in a maroon and white uniform came to my seat and smiled swiftly, describing the food options to me and asking which one I would prefer.
I chose the vegetarian option, simply because I wasn't sure if the chicken was halal.
As she placed a small tray on my table, I asked her out of curiosity. "Have you ever worked on a private airplane?"
She stopped abruptly and glanced at me stunned, before putting my plate in front of me.
"Are you a secret agent?" She whispered in my ear as she looked around to make sure no one was hearing our conversation.
"Why do you think that?" I whispered back in confusion.
"Because" she stated matter of factly, "Only two kinds of people are interested in private jets. Either mafias or the agents who are trying to catch them."
I was looking for information and she gave me plenty of it.
I just nodded at her and to try not to look suspicious, I added, "Oh well I don't really care. I was just wondering if private jets get better services than public ones. Anyways, thanks!"
She shrugged, "You're welcone" and walked off to serve the next passenger.
Before leaving Syria, I had asked Ibrahim if Alnihayya had its own airplanes and he told me that they have their own helicopters but not airplanes.
So it was clear now. The airplane Zeyara took me to Pakistan on, did not belong to Alnihayya.
And just like this air hostess said, it can only belong to a mafia.
The thing I have to find though, is that which mafia is Zeyara working for and why?
All this huge load of tension and stress made my temples ache and I yearned for some relaxing remedy.
Thankfully, Qatar airways, along with the music, also had a Quran playlist on every seat.
So I put on my headphones and closed my eyes to let the soothing recitation of Surah Taha in Omar Hisham's beautiful voice to calm me down.
After about 5 hours and 55 minutes of
The direct flight,we finally landed in Manchester. The landing made me want to scream nonetheless but still I managed Alhamdulillah. I think I might be the first person to have an airplane landing phobia.
After being checked and getting my passport stamped, I walked put gracefully being the only passenger without any luggage. As soon as I stepped out of the airport, the waves of the frozen winter air hit my skin. The sky was painted grey without any sign of the sun and the footpaths were laced with ice.
"Welcome to Manchester." I mumbled to myself as white snow fell gently on my black hijab like dandruff.
I took a taxi and let the window remain open. The cold blast of air on my face was refreshing but it was very hard to ignore the dulness that it carried.
Zeyara wasn't here. Ibrahim wasn't here. I was back to being 'an oppressed, veiled Muslim woman' in the eyes of people.
After rolling for about half an hour, the wheels of the taxi halted on Ranford Street and I got out, taking in a deep breath. Winter had turned the trees naked and the pure snow had covered the rooftops elegantly.
Nonetheless, I was standing outside the house I had spent my whole life in. The house where it all started.
But I turned away, knowing that I didn't come here for this house.
I came here for the house just across the street, the house of my Muslim neighbour, who had become much more than that in so little time.
I crossed the street and stood on the threshold, biting my lower lip, thinking whether I should press the door bell or not.
I gave in after a minute of debating with myself and pressed the bell with 'Bismillah' on my lips.
Hurried footsteps followed the sound of the door bell before the door opened.
"Metal!!" Marwa shrieked so loud that I'm sure the whole street could hear it.
The little girl in the blue frock wrapped her arms around my legs, hugging me so tight that it made all my worries go away.
In that moment I didn't even care of the fact that she had just changed my name from Mashal to Matal and now a Metal.
It's okay Mashal, even gold is a metal.
I bent down on one knee to reach her height so that she could actually hug me and not my legs.
I kissed the black hair on the top of her head as a lone tear escaped my eye.
It was just a tiny drop of water but so laden with emotions that it felt heavier than the Pacific ocean.
Marwa was a female version of Zeyara. She resembled him so much that they looked like twins. Holding her made me feel as if I was holding him.
Just then, uncle Suleiman appeared. His grey-white hair and beard along with the tiny smile and warm eyes made him a perfect father figure.
I straightened up, breaking my hug with Marwa and mumbled, "Assalam o alaikum" to him.
"Walaikum Salam binti! Come in its freezing outside." He exclaimed joyfully as if everything was perfectly fine.
I hated the fact that I would be the one to erase his joy when I tell him about Zeyara.
I stepped in after them, taking in the scent of jasmine air freshner as we walked to the lounge. Uncle Suleiman motioned for me to sit on the maroon leather sofas and I happily obeyed. Marwa with a full beaming smile, plopped down next to me. She was so full of excitement and had a positive energy radiating from her that made me feel optimistic.
"You came alone and that too, without informing us. I thought you'd come with Zeyara and then we would have your walima." Uncle Suleiman remarked as he settled in the arm chair opposite to me and Marwa.
He was smiling warmly, expecting me to tell him the whereabouts of his son and why he didn't come along with me.
I sighed coldly in that warm air. I had to tell him about Zeyara. It was now or never. "Uncle...I need to tell you something."
"Go on ya binti I'm all ears."
"Zeyara has been missing and it's been a while but I haven't had any contact with him." I gulped and looked up to see his reaction.
I was expecting him to be shocked and worried but instead he laughed, "He should've told you about his strange job before marrying you. For us it's normal. He just disappears and reappears after some weeks. Don't worry I'm sure he'll be eager to come back home to his beautiful bride."
I smiled and refrained the urge to tell him that I knew more about his job than him. But this time it's wasn't for his work at Alnihayya that he was missing, this time it was for something else and some people even considered him to be dead.
I remained silent and let him remain happy, even if it was a fake happiness.
Beside me, Marwa swung her legs back and forth impatiently. I was just about to speak again but she took the lead.
"Can you please stop this boring talk? I want to show Metal my room!"
She frowned and folded her arms in front of her, looking like a little miss.
Uncle Suleiman and I chuckled at this. "You will have a lot of time to do that butterfly. Mashal is your sister in law now. She's gonna stay with us." He added.
Marwa cheered at this, excitement evident on her glowing face. "But I'm not a butterfly. I'm a firefly."
"Okay okay you're a firefly!"
We laughed at her cuteness. She was just so adorable Mashallah. I wanted to hug her right then because she had solved my problem. I was going to ask Uncle Suleiman if I could live with them but Marwa already got me the answer.
Uncle Suleiman served us English tea and my favourite shortbread biscuits, even though I insisted that he shouldn't do that. It didn't seem right for him to do anything in the kitchen when I was there.
But he was persistent so I gave in, warning him that the dinner would be made by me.
He was a really organised person. Living without a wife isn't so easy but the cleanliness of the lounge and the neatly organised kitchen with all the knives, spoons and dishes in their respective places surprised me.
I even mentioned this to him and he laughed whole heartedly saying, "It's not a woman's job to keep everything clean and tidy. Our own Prophet S.A.W did all his work by himself."
I nodded, smiling. Ibrahim needs to have a few lectures about this from Uncle Suleiman.
After having the tea on which Marwa scowled and commented, 'it looks like I'm drinking petrol.' The three of us, decided to make spaghetti because;
1. According to Uncle Suleiman, it was easy to make and took less time.
2. According to me, I had not tasted Spaghetti in quite a long time now.
And 3. Because Marwa said, 'it looks like I'm eating snakes! I love it!'
Uncle Suleiman set the spaghetti to boil while I made the sauce and Marwa set the plates and forks on the dinner table. We worked like a small family and I loved it. If only Zeyara was here to complete us.
"I'm sure it's going to be a lot of fun now that you're here Mashal" Uncle Suleiman remarked pleasantly as we ate. "We can have a good family dinner everyday."
"Yes In sha Allah! Thank you so much for letting me stay here Uncle. I really appreciate that."
"Where else would you stay if not here? This is your home now. You're Zeyara's wife."
I think my heart skipped a beat when he called me Zeyara's wife. Being called that was like a calm whisper of the wind in my ears. It was a breath of fresh air.
I don't remember any one ever calling me that. The fact that someone actually acknowledges me as his wife, made me beyond happy.
I could've been lost in that moment forever, but Marwa's shrill voice snapped me out of that trance. "You married sheikh?!"
"Umm yeah..."
"You two are so clever! In front of me you always pretended not to look at each other directly and you didn't even talk but you got married behind me! You cheaters!" She exclaimed in a single breath.
I felt so shy and embarrassed that I couldn't look up from the yellow spaghetti and red sauce on my plate.
"Marwa that's not a good thing to say!" Uncle Suleiman dejected harshly.
"It's okay uncle. She's just a little kid." I muttered, still not able to look up with redness splattered on my cheeks.
"No I'm not!" She stuck her tongue out. "I know what happens after you get married."
"What?!" I diverted my eyes to her in shock. Even Uncle Suleiman looked at her suspiciously. Did she really know about-
"Yeah" she shrugged, "I know after getting married you have to fight a lot and spend a lot of money to buy kids from the hospital. It's so stupid."
I found myself laughing so hard that I fell short of oxygen but I couldn't stop. Even Uncle Suleiman was laughing so warm and hearty.
Marwa stared at us dumbfounded, trying to figure out the reason of our laughter.
This little girl was the most sassy creature I knew.
After our fit of laughter, Uncle Suleiman mentioned that I needed to rest after the long flight. "Marwa will you show Mashal, Zeyara's bedroom please?" Then he diverted his gaze to me. "I'm sorry binti. You'll have to stay in Zeyara's room. We just have three bedrooms in our house."
"It's okay. Even if Zeyara was here, I was going to stay with him anyways." I muttered shyly.
It was more than okay, to be honest.
Marwa jumped off her seat and grabbed my hand, dragging me upstairs. She was too excited to wait for me.
First stop was Uncle Suleiman's room. It was just a normal British bed room with neutral shades of brown. The thing that caught my eye though, was a picture on the wall.
It was a young couple's picture. The girl was breathtakingly beautiful with her hair secured in a bun and diamond earrings dangling from her ears on her elegant green maxi.
"That's my ummi and dad before I was born." Marwa whispered lowly, answering my unasked question. I patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Your mother's beautiful just like you."
This caused her to smile slightly before she pulled me to the next room, her room.
I was expecting her room to be pink and full of barbie dolls or Disney Princesses because yeah, that's what you would expect from a tiny little girl who wears frocks.
But what I saw made me shake my head in disbelief. Her room had a red wallpaper on all the walls, except one. There was a huge picture of a white horse on her main wall, which covered it entirely. Not only that, there was a row of neatly piled racing car toys on one side and I could see her white karate uniform hanging on a hook near a free standing punching bag and a pair of pink boxing gloves. Her bed sheet had a huge football pattern on it and I gasped in utter shock.
Zeyara, you ruined your sister.
"Do you like it?" She asked in excitement, looking into my eyes expectantly.
"Uh yeah." I mumbled. "It's very....different. So you like horse riding, racing and football?"
"Kickboxing as wel!" She chuckled and walked up to that punching bag. She punched it twice before spinning around and landing a fearsome kick. "Zara taught me."
Yeah I bet Zara is responsible for all this.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and pointed at her karate suit. "You know karate as well."
"Yep!" She exclaimed, "I want to be a black belt. I'm also the best football player of my school."
That's why she's so sassy.
At her age, I was probably drooling over Cinderella or Snow white.
Marwa pulled me over to the next room. The last room of that house. It was got to be Zeyara's.
I inhaled sharply. Please don't have something shocking in your room Zeyara. Marwa's room was enough.
Marwa opened the white wooden door and then stepped aside for me to walk in and be greeted by Zeyara's scent. It was a beautiful contemporary bedroom with hues of grey, black and blue. The bed had a high headboard adorned with blue leather. The bedsheet was plain black.
Just plain black with white and grey pillows on it.
I had never seen a plain black bedsheet before. The hardwood floor was polished and it shone. This was the only room in the entire house which didn't have a carpet. A huge wooden cupboard covered a whole wall.
There were no pictures, no medals hanging on the walls, no personal information on display. I could see a copy of the holy Quran and a prayer mat on the grey study table. Everything was neat and tidy and had a masculine touch to it.
Being a girl, I felt out of place.
"Isn't it plain and boring?" Marwa scowled, "But still Zeyara spends so much time in here. What does he do here? There's nothing here."
"Yeah." I nodded, speechless.
She left me there after hugging and whispering, "Tasbah ala khair."
Like a robot, I shut the door and locked it off, carefully examining the room.
Zeyara's room back at Alnihayya was just plain white with a small bed in one corner. At that time I thought that maybe his original bedroom would show his interests and personality. But now it was hard to believe that this was it. He had nothing on display.
Except for his love of the black colour and his religion.
I heaved a deep sigh and took off my abaya and hijab. I had already taken off my niqab since Uncle Suleiman, being my father in law, was my mehram. Zeyara didn't have a full length mirror in his room but a small one on his cupboard.
I stood in front of it, taking in my chapped lips, dry hair and skin. I even had dark circles around my eyes indicating my stress and sleeplessness.
I looked far from being a new bride.
I wanted to take a proper ghusl (Muslim bath) because I hadn't done that in a long time now. Idly, I opened Zeyara's cupboard looking for something to wear.
I knew he wouldn't mind and that was the best I could do at that time. I had nothing else to wear.
His clothes were were neatly managed. All the thobes and coats on one side, the tee shirts on the other and button ups in the middle. The pants were piled up on the middle shelf and the shoes at the bottom.
I had expected men to be untidy creatures but he was a complete opposite.
I took a white tee shirt and his sweatpants hesitantly before running off to the bathroom. I spent a long time in the shower, letting myself relax and making sure all the dirt of living outdoors from three days was off me.
I slipped on his clothes after the shower and washed my abaya because it was supposed to be black but it had gone grey with all the dirt on it.
When I was finally done and ready to sleep, I moved onto his bed, pulling the duvet on me. I shifted continuously trying to get confortable in it. The bed was way too hard for me. Zeyara probably had a hard bed because it is sunnah but I was used to sleeping in soft beds in which you can sink and get a luxury sleep but his bed was rock hard, almost like sleeping on the ground.
The good thing was, however, it had Zeyara's scent. Sleeping in there felt like sleeping in his arms and that was the most comfortable I could get.
When I was all cozy and ready to sleep, I figured I had forgotten to turn off the lights so I got up lazily and walked to the switchboard.
I had turned off all the lights and now it was even difficult for me to see clearly.
I took small steps with my hands in front of me to try and touch the bed. Soon my fingers landed on a leathery texture which I thought to be the headboard. I pressed it a little while stepping on the bed and suddenly to my horror, the whole room lit up with a soft yellow light. I watched with my mouth slightly agape, thinking how it all happened because the previously blank wall in front of me had transformed into a huge LED screen.
The other side, where there was the study table was now lined with computer equipment, machines, cameras with flickering yellow, red and green lights.
As if that was not enough, the bed turned upside down automatically and folded in on itself to form a flat horizontal digital world map.
My hands flew to my mouth in shock.
How did it even happen?
I just pressed the headboard accidentally and it transformed the whole room into some sort of secret base.
Carefully, I walked up to the huge, wall size LED screen. It was all black so I guessed it to be powered off but I was curious so I touched the screen with my finger.
Immediately the screen lit up and I pulled my finger back. It was a huge touch screen. The screen was now blue with a white slit in the centre which read, 'Password'
I had to type in the password to get it started but I had no idea what the password could be. There were just three blank spaces so the password had to be just three letters.
But which three letters?!
Being an idiot, I decided to put in 'ABC' but it didn't work. Instead it gave me a warning signal that I just had one more chance of typing the correct password or the whole database would be wiped away.
Ugh! Zeyara what could you put as the password?
It has to be just three letters.
Three letters.
Three letters.
Oh my Allah! Yes!
I typed in MZS and pressed enter. It actually worked and a 'welcome' displayed on the screen.
I muttered Alhamdulillah and clicked the only icon on the screen, 'Next Task Summary'
It happened to be a video message and while it loaded, I plopped down on Zeyara's black leather office chair. It made me feel like batman.
Horror and shock crept over my face as soon as I saw the person on the screen.
"This is your next task MZS0. As always, I have forwarded it to both, your cell phone and your house computer. You have to spread the news of your death. It's up to you how you do that and I'm pretty sure you are capable enough. Terrorists will come to attack Alnihayya at 8 o' clock on 18th January. I know you're capable of winning but you have to lose."
"Dad" A mumble escaped my lips as the video kept on playing.
It was my father. It was Naeem Ansar, dressed in a black suit.
I couldn't digest the fact that he was alive. Not only that, but what he was asking Zeyara to do was more than a shock. It was exactly what Zeyara did. Pretended to lose and die.
It was more than a shock, it was unbelievable. I closed my eyes and opened them, blinking rapidly to confirm it was all happening, it was real.
"After you do that, everyone's eyes would be on the destructive weapon and it's password. All the terrorist organisations and the secret agencies of all the countries will remain busy with that. That would be our opportunity. I'll send you a helicopter on Mount Qasioun exactly at 10:00 pm. It will take you to a hideout in Palestine where the other selected agents would be present. You will get another fake passport there. With all of you together, you have the responsibility to fly over to the US and then you know what you have to do. You all have been registered as FBI agents of the US.
Get the files, all the records of the weapons and money supplied by them to the terrorist organisations.
And I've heard you married my daughter. You do know you have responsibilities right? You should not have got married in such a grave time. Very wrong decision."
☆
Phew! Finally I did it!
I had to debate with myself a million times to come up with this. I hope you liked it and it wasn't boring because it really did take a LOT OF effort.
I've never written anything like this before. I'm more of a simple romantic, drama writing person but this time I had to push myself to write mystery.
thanks for sticking by!
-Muskaan.