F o r t y F o u r
This one is for amnanisar23
:)
I don't think anything makes me more emotional than when Allah answers my dua despite my sins.
☆
Mashal
"I thought you were going to take me somewhere romantic." I groaned as I examined the room Zeyara had brought me in. It was not a large hall like Khawlah but just a tiny room with a single punch bag hanging from the rafts in the middle.
"People are preparing for a war and then there's my wife." He said sarcastically as he grabbed a pair of boxing gloves from a shelf at the back.
I frowned at the comment. "Well if not a Chinese candle light dinner, at least we could have a normal dinner."
He turned around and walked up to me with the red gloves in his hands. "Chinese candle light dinner? Nah. You'll get to experience Israeli bomb light dinner soon."
Zeyara grabbed my right hand and slipped on the glove while I tried to make sense of his words.
When I finally understood what he meant, a groan escaped my lips. "I don't want to do this Zeyara. I've tried but I can't fight. I'm not made for it."
He ignored me and strapped the left glove on my left hand as well. "Go and punch." He ordered, pointing at the punch bag.
"You are joking right?"
"Absolutely!. ......not. Do it." He crossed his arms and said firmly.
"But you know I can't do it! I had been punching that stupid bag in Khawlah for so long but it didn't even budge."
"Do it Mashal."
"But--"
"Do it."
"Fine." I grumbled as I moved over to the bag. "You're probably the bad Zeyara pretending to be-"
"You speak one more time, I'll go and find some duct tape." He affirmed, "and I'm not even joking."
He did look serious when he said that so I shut up and punched the bag.
Thankfully the gloves shielded the force for me and I didn't feel any pain.
I looked back at Zeyara for acknowledgement and he sighed. "You need a lot of work."
"Yes! Exactly! That's what I mean." I pulled off my gloves happily and started walking towards the door. "I can't do it. Now please let's just go I'm tired."
He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door. "You're trapped. It's your mahr. I have to teach you to fight."
"Ugh! Can I not remove that--"
"Pushups. Twenty. Now." He interrupted.
"What?!"
"I said do twenty pushups." He shrugged as if he was asking me to bring him a glass of water.
I protested for a few minutes but it was useless so I gave in and started doing what he told me to.
I got tired after the second one.
I was literally the image of a dying fish pulled out of the water. I lay flat on the floor, my arms almost dead. "I can't do it!"
"Two done, eighteen left." He replied. "You're not leaving this room till you're done."
"You can't force me!" I groaned.
"Well you were the one who said that even if you beg me to let you go, I should lock you in my room and say 'You're mine woman. You're not going anywhere.' And I am doing exactly the same."
"I hate you." I spat.
"As if." He chuckled.
Twenty push ups later which actually felt like ten billion, I was sprawled on the floor, lying on my back. I was gasping for air and my scarf had been undone and clustered in a heap nearby, my hair scattered like the after effects of an explosion.
"I.....really......do......hate.....you." I said in my state of breathlessness.
He chuckled, "Okay I'm going to pray maghrib and then have dinner but since you hate me you can stay here."
"Such a good husband." I frowned from my desolated state on the floor, "At least pick me up."
He turned around and walked to the door. "That was not in your mahr."
"Zeyaraaaa!!" I screamed in frustration as he walked out of the room, his laughter echoing in the coridoor. "At least wait for me."
"What were you saying earlier, you got a proposal and got married? That's the punishment for giving me a heart attack."
I forced myself to get up even though my whole body was rebelling against me. I quickly pulled on my scarf and niqab as I rushed out behind him.
I couldn't help but smile at this, at our silliness, at the thing we called love.
I had just caught him when he started running ahead of me. "We will miss maghrib run!" He bobbed his head back and shouted. "I forgot to see the time."
"What?! How?" I screamed in panic, even the thought of missing my prayer scared me. Adrenaline coursed in my system and I ran the fastest I had ever run.
I wanted to ask Zeyara why were we not taking a cart but he was far ahead of me. My chest was thick with grief and fear as we passed the coridoors. He took the elevator far before I could reach him so I had to take another one.
When I finally reached the floor of the mosque, there was no one there except for a few men but no one at all on women's side. I could already feel my eyes welling. I was a complete mess.
I had been late. I had missed it.
"Congratulations! You're in time. There are still fifty minutes and five seconds before maghrib." I heard Zeyara say behind me in a cheerful tone.
I turned around to face him, trying to register his words.
My eyes darted to the clock on the wall behind him which showed that rightfully there were still fifty minutes left till maghrib and then back at him as I understood that he had lied to me.
"WHY WOULD YOU EVEN DO THAT?"
"Uh- because that was the only way to make you run?" He said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "It was important for your training."
My whole body was sore, every muscle was aching and I was beyond upset with Zeyara. He shouldn't have used this excuse to make me run.
I brushed past him in anger and started walking away without saying anything further.
"Mashal come on don't be so angry. It was for your own good." He stepped in front of me and tried to reason.
"I'm not angry. Get aside!"
"If you want me to say that you look beautiful when you're angry, like in those cheesy movies, then I'm sorry I can't lie. You look like a red tomato." He chuckled.
"Get aside!" I yelled at him. His words seemed to aggravate me further.
Red tomato? What does he think he looks like? A Holywood actor?
I was desperately trying to get past him but whenever I took a step, he shifted and stood in front of me, blocking my way.
"Where are you going?" He asked when his attempts of stopping me failed.
"Not your concern." I said through gritted teeth.
"Well.....according to our marriage contract it is."
He was following me and I was constantly frowning.
All I wanted was to spend some quality time with my husband and instead what I got was stupid pushups and an extremely un-romantic run to the masjid.
I lost him on my first day of marriage and rationally this was actually our second day together as a couple but he was being so annoying.
"Stop following me! I'm going to my room."
"Well technically you should go to my room." He said playfully.
"Leave me alone Zeyara."
"Are you seriously upset over such a small thing?"
"Small thing?!" I stopped walking and faced him. "This seems like a small thing to you?"
"Yeah just twenty pushups and probably two kilometers. That's nothing." He shrugged.
"It's not about pushups and running! Why don't you understand?!" I screamed at him, causing a few people to stop and look at us.
"This is not a good place to talk to an angry wife." He shook his head, seeing the people around us. "Let's go."
"I'm not goi--"
"Whoever invented duct tape must have had a wife like you." He sighed before grabbing my hand and forcing us out of the the coridoor and into an elevator.
"Did you just compare me to someone else?"
"No Zawjati." He groaned. "I'm sorry. No one can be as annoying as you."
"Great! We haven't even had our walima yet and you're already tired of me." I crossed my arms and looked away from him, fuming with anger.
A minute passed like that in silence as the elevator moved past the bustling floors.
"Ah! I think I'm in Jannah. Mashal Naeem has been silent for a minute! Wow what a miracle!" Zeyara laughed as the elevator stopped in the basement--the residence floor.
Without replying I stormed past him and sat on a cart. I was hating his attitude.
"Row E room--
"What's up Humna?" Zeyara interrupted as he sat down beside me.
"Gas prices are up sir. Higher than the sky." The robotic reply came leaving me dumbfounded as Zeyara chuckled.
"What?" He looked at me and shrugged. "I was the one who named her Humna and told the technicians to put extra sass in her. Why don't you try something Mashal?"
"What?" I asked in confusion.
"Ask her something stupid."
"Humna why is my husband such a jerk?" I asked, smirking.
"Studies show that most people get married to people who are like them. So if your husband is a jerk miss, then you are probably one too."
Zeyara burst out laughing next to me while I sat there, mouth wide open.
"That's because you made her like this." I frowned. "Let me go to my room!"
"That's exactly where we're going zawjati. Humna row A, room 10."
"No that's your room! I don't even want to go near your room."
"Oh really?" He asked with mirth in his tone. "Just like you went to 'your' room after our nikaah in Syria? And when you were living in 'your' room in my house?"
I looked down in embarrassment. "Who told you about the second one?"
"Yeah as If someone would go in my room and I won't even know. I had cameras."
"WHAT?!"
"Embarrassed already?" He chuckled. "Don't worry they worked for one day only. You were ditracting me miss fitnah so I turned them off."
"But still! That's such a breach of privacy. Ya Allah! Don't tell me you saw me--"
"Jumping in front of the mirror like a monkey? Yes."
"I hate you!"
"You've repeated that three times today. You know if you say someting three times it gets confirmed? For example nikaah and talaaq."
"Good! Now it's confirmed that I hate you." I spat.
"Okay." He shrugged. "I have a good excuse to get a second wife then."
"Zeyara!!"
I slapped him on his shoulder.
"Ouch!" He fake screamed, "people say that Muslim men are terrorists and Muslim women are oppressed. Little do they know that it's actually the opposite."
I glared at him as the cart stopped and we stepped out of it, in front of a room which looked exactly the same as the room me and Minahil had. Zeyara typed in the password and the door opened, welcoming us into a black and blue room.
The setting was same as my room but the colours were what made it unique.
Also, the fact that there were just a few nails in the wall where a mirror should've been.
He had taken off the mirror.
"Why did you take off the mir-"
I was about to ask but my own mind gave me the answer so I shut up.
"I'm sorry." I mumbled instead.
"It's okay." He shrugged. He was kneeling on the door, arms crossed in front of him and no expression on his face, or maybe there could've been an expression if there was a face.
"Okay so......" I gulped, trying to think of something we could talk about because it was getting awkward. We were alone in a room, standing away from each other, saying nothing.
He chuckled at my awkwardness.
"A minute ago you were so angry you could murder me and now there you are, unable to even make eye contact."
"Can I....please go back to my room?" I asked hesitantly, staring at the floor.
"You really don't want to stay with me?"
"Please let me go." I mumbled, I was about to cry.
It was so sad. Now that I was actually with him, in his room and he was there in front of me and it was a reality that he would stay like that, he won't be that Zeyara I had first seen, it hurt.
I wouldn't be able to touch his face or kiss him or even take a good selfie with him.
I rushed towards the door and brushed past him. My hand was on the door handle and I was about to open it.
"Mashal.... please stay with me. I missed you." His voice sounded more pained than anything.
I froze, there was immense silence, enough for me to listen to my heart praising Allah. Tears flowed down my face, my head bent down. I wanted to burn the fire that burned Zeyara.
And just like that, I turned around and ran up to him.
Before I knew it, I had thrown my arms around him and started crying in his black Alnihayya shirt. Zeyara wrapped his strong arm around my shoulder pulling me closer.
"I-- I... saw you getting shot--" I managed to whisper into his chest, despite my tears. "I saw you falling to the floor in front of me. The only thing I knew was that they had not just killed you, they had killed me as well. One bullet was enough to kill both of us."
He didn't speak, pressed against his chest I could hear his heart beating as well, pronouncing the blessed name of Allah.
"They-- they told me I was a widow." I sobbed. "You have no idea how much I missed you. I would've died if I didn't have Allah."
"I can't cry or change my expressions to show you how sorry I am." He whispered, his voice cracking. "I know I'm not worth looking at. I'm ugly and I've accepted that. I also know that you liked that face..... Zeyara bin Hamid's face and I'm sorry that I can't be like--
"You're beautiful." I pulled away and looked into his eyes as I said the exact same words he had to said to me on our wedding day. "I know you're not like Zeyara bin Hamid, you're not like any other boy out there. I also know that you're beautiful and no matter what you say is not going to change that."
"Stealing my dialogue eh?"
I smiled and wiped away my tears. "Yeah you have some really good dialogues. Humna said you have a poetry degree?"
He nodded cheerfully and caressed my face.
"If I were a bird
and you were the sky,
Rain would never be heard
Since I'll never let you cry
My feet would never
meet the earth,
And between us both
If the sun tries to be a third--"
"You'll get me a black burka called night?" I asked, bursting into a fit of laughter.
"Come on! You ruined it. It was supposed to be romantic."
"Don't worry I got it that you love me Shakespeare." I chuckled, "but I'd rather be a human Alhamdulillah, a woman."
"Then I'd rather be a man too, your man."
"Cheesy much?"
"It's not cheesy, it's poetic!" He protested.
"Yeah right."
After spending hours together, even after praying maghrib, during which I finally shampooed his hair while he bent over in the sink constantly grumbling incoherent words, laughed with him on the coffee maker in his 'secret room' and laughed even more when he told me that the fake blood which he used to pretend that he was shot by the terrorists was actually Rooh Afza. A rose drink in the South Asian countries. Also that he learned urdu because he had to spend a whole year in Pakistan on a mission. I begged him to teach me Arabic and he agreed. "Five words every day." He said and today's words were;
حمار
Beautiful
أكرهك
I love you
انا
I / Me
إناثا
Girl
الحمام
Mangoes
So then I tried forming a sentence that I am a beautiful girl and I love you and mangoes.
He burst out into a loud harsh cackle when I said the sentence and I was staring at him confused as to what was wrong with it.
He continued laughing like a maniac, one hand over his stomach.
"A-ask H-Humna" he managed to utter between his fit.
Confused, I grabbed Zeyara's phone and told Humna to translate my sentence into English.
"The grammar is a bit off miss but it translates as: I am a female donkey and I hate you and toilet."
"Zeyaraaaa!!" I yelled at him but he was still laughing and looked so adorable that I cracked into laughter too.
Idiot. I love him so much.
When we were tired of laughing and starving for the lack of food, we finally decided to go to the cavern.
"You know you should change your name to Zawjati because it matches with Zeyara." He said cheerfully as we were sitting in the cart.
"So you mean you need a wife whose name starts with Z?" I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. "Wait...... that girl Zara? Her name starts from Z right?"
"Yeah obviously Zara starts with Z. She's a good girl." He shrugged.
"So now she's a GOOD GIRL? Why was her picture in your room in that stupid touch screen thingy and why did Marwa call her your cousin?"
"Why are you girls so jealous? Chill zawjati."
"Girls? You didn't say girl, you said girls. You know girls other than me??"
"Uffff Mashal, once we were walking out in a market in Syria, where Zara saw me and thought I was her brother Zeyara bin Hamid so she came running up to me and thinking I was her brother she crashed into me, giving me a hug--
"WHAT?!"
"I said, 'thinking I was her brother'. Anyways, abbi and Marwa saw that and they were standing there with their jaws dropped to the floor and I didn't know what to do. It was such a joke. She pulled off and kept on blabbing about how much she missed me and how difficult it was for her to live without me and that because I wasn't there to wake her up every morning she was missing fajr and just imagine the look on abbi's face. He was ready to dig my grave right there."
"Okay you're forgiven because this is actually funny!" I cracked up, laughing as he continued to tell his story.
"I mean just imagine this Mashal, having a strict Arab father and then a girl comes running up to you, hugs you and says that I used to wake her up every morning. Astagfirullah.
Abbi was so ready to kill me but I managed to convince him that the girl mistook me for someone else. Marwa was innocent though, so Abbi told her that Zara was a cousin and that's all but after that Zara saw me a number of times. However abbi didn't see that, only Marwa did and then I had to bribe her to not tell abbi. It was so bad. Stop laughing!" He whined.
The cart stopped and we stepped out of it and into the elevator.
I managed to control my laughter for the time being as the elevator moved. "Uncle Suleiman must have started crying."
"Yeah he was sad. He said he didn't raise me like that, sleeping with a girl and waking her up."
Still laughing, we stepped into the cavern.
Welcomed by a wave of "Maula ya sali wa salam" from every corner, we glanced at each other and smiled before we too joined the crowd as they all sung together. The beautiful words filled the air and the environment was even more mesmerising with the Ramadan decor of all the stars and moons dangling from the ceiling.
There was a group of boys on the stage who were the ones actually singing but everyone else had started voicing along with them. The whole cavern was sending salaams to our Prophet SAWW.
It was my favourite, qaseeda burdah shareef which translated in English as;
O Lord send prayers and peace, always and forever upon the one whom you have loved, the best from all the creation.
With those words on our lips and our fingers interwined we walked over to an empty table and sat down. When the qaseeda ended, I found myself saying, "Have I ever told you that your voice is beautiful?"
The reply came, "Have I ever told you this Ramadan is going to be difficult for me?"
"You're so....astagfurullah." I mumbled before looking down in embarrassment.
"Leave her alone you monster! Ibby has a gun."
It was undoubtedly Minahil's shrill voice. I rose my head up to see her standing beside Zeyara's chair, hands curled up to form punches and an extra glossy red lipstick with smoky eyes.
Zeyara looked at me and shook his head incredulously.
"Uh- I don't really have a gun right now sorry." Ibrahim replied as he appeared from behind Minahil. "And my mother named me Ibrahim, not Ibby!"
"Shut up idiot! At least you could play along. This devil looking guy has kidnapped your sister." Minahil growled.
"Minahil I have not been kidnapped. You don't need a gun and please step aside, he's Zeyara."
"Zeyara?!" Both of them asked with shock written on their faces.
"Mashal are you blind or something? I just saw Zeyara a minute ago and he was completely fine." Ibrahim blurted out.
"Yeah that guy is also Zeyara but he is not my Zeyara, this one is my Zeyara."
Instead of decreasing the confusion, my words actually increased it.
"Okay so I know that love is blind and all but Mashal darling this is not Zeyara!" Minahil snapped.
"He is Zeyara!" I shot back. I didn't know how to explain the situation to Minahil.
Thankfully Zeyara spoke up for himself. "Have a seat you two. I'll explain."
"Oh. My. God. You have Zeyara's voice!" Minahil screeched.
"Please sit Minahil." I sighed.
Luckily there were four chairs on the table. One next to Zeyara and one next to me. Minahil being who she was, carelessly took the seat beside Zeyara.
Zeyara squirmed uneasily in his chair while Ibrahim glared daggers at Minahil who was sitting, cross legged and confident.
"Minahil get up this instant and sit next to Mashal!" Ibrahim ordered her.
"Why? You're worried this scary looking guy will eat me? Awww how cute Ibby."
Zeyara eyed me from across the table, signalling me to explain him what was going on between those two.
I couldn't help but let out a muffled chuckle and mouth, 'I'll tell you later.' It would be fun to talk to Zeyara about their silly spontaneous engagement.
"Minahil I said get up." Ibrahim's voice was louder and angrier now. Minahil flinched, looking scared as she mumbled, "fine" and walked up to sit next to me.
Ibrahim took his seat next to Zeyara and once everyone was seated, Zeyara cleared his throat before he began speaking.
"So...... do you watch bolywood movies?"
Me and Ibrahim had a 'are you serious' look on our faces but Minahil clapped. "Yess! Shahrukh Khan is my favourite."
"Right." Zeyara nodded, showing the least interest in Shahrukh Khan. "Well, my story is kinda like that. It involves a tragic past, a plastic surgery, fighting villains, a beautiful girl and not a lot of dance but still it could be classed as a bolywood movie."
I smiled when he made eye contact with me as he said, 'a beautiful girl'.
"What do you mean?" Ibrahim asked. He looked beyond confused.
"I mean that a fire burnt my face while I tried to save my mother from it, then I had a plastic surgery and got the same face as the Zeyara you saw a minute ago. Now that Zeyara wanted his face back so I got another surgery to remove it. That's the most simplest way I could explain it but you're not allowed to tell anyone else. Not that anyone would ever believe you." He shrugged.
There was a minute of silence as Ibrahim and Minahil let those words sink in.
"Then what's your real name?" Ibrahim finally asked.
"Zeyara. My surname is different though, it's Zeyara Suleiman."
"Okay whatever. So when are you sending the divorce papers for Mashal?" Minahil spat.
"Minahil!" I dejected but she continued speaking.
"I'm so glad I got over you. Else I would've been stuck with this...... pretty face of yours." She chuckled.
"You were involved with Zeyara?!" Ibrahim scowled before me or Zeyara could say anything.
"Yeah." She smirked, "just a little crush Ibby. Does it bother you?"
"Stop calling me that!" He said sternly. "So you'll have a crush in every boy I know?!"
"Nah. The boys you know probably have beards reaching their bellies. Not my type." She giggled.
I swear I had never seen Ibrahim so red before. He was fuming with anger. He slammed his fist on the table and stood up.
"Ibrahim dude what's wrong?" Zeyara stood up and tried to reason with him.
"I need to go." He said with gritted teeth before he walked away from the table.
Still confused as to what was going on, Zeyara sighed and glanced at me. "Mashal what was that?"
"Ummm.... Minahil kinda proposed Ibrahim and he accepted?"
"What?!" He looked more shocked than I had expected. "Is this a joke?"
I shook my head negatively and he sat down mumbling. "Unbelievable."
"What was wrong with what I said?" Minahil shrugged as innocently as possible, after the storm had passed.
"Sister why would you even say that to him? That's the worst thing you could say to a man you're getting married to." Zeyara answered her. "It kills the man. I know if Mashal ever came up to me and said she's having an affair with someone else, I would probably kill her."
"You would?" I raised my brow.
"On second thought, I would kill that man first and then kill you."
"She has every right to have an affair mister. Look at yourself in the mirror. I think it would probably be halal for her to have an affair." Minahil interrupted our conversation.
"Minahil!" I screamed at her but when I looked back at where Zeyara was supposed to be sitting, he wasn't there anymore. He had also walked away.
Minahil laughed throwing her head back. "I should write a book. How to offend men in less than five minutes."
☆
I might not be able to update for a while now. Don't take me wrong, I do wish I could write everyday but I wouldn't want to end up failing and then end up homeless and not even have wifi to write on wattpad.
See you later!
In sha Allah.
-Muskaan.