01 | He
As it turned out, he, was late. I looked around and scrutinised his room as I waited for him to show up. Hasan will be here soon, you won't have to wait for long, some aunty grinned before they left.
I wanted him to see this exclusive display organised for him; the ridiculous amount of makeup, the extravagant jewellery, the stifling perfume and hairstyle. He was not going to see me dressed like this again.
But my sabr ran out soon enough.
Thanking Allah for the privacy, I grabbed the bridal scarf they had pinned so beautifully and pulled it right off my head.
. . . And immediately regretted it. They had fixed it onto my hair, I later realised, and it could come out easily and painlessly, had I been a little less aggressive and removed those pins first.
My clumsy attack had messed it up and now my scalp burned, complimenting my headache.
I groaned in a very un-lady-like manner, and stood up. Hobbling in the heavy dress, I locked the door, checked it once just in case, and then dragged myself to the dresser.
I took a moment to stare at myself.
Every part of me either itched or hurt. It was as if they wanted to make sure I suffered.
Or was I just feeling more uncomfortable because, uh, I didn't want this marriage?
I did look like a model from a magazine. I could not deny it ⏤ they had dressed me well. I had what seemed like every kind of makeup in existence patted professionally on my face, and my hair in an intricate hairdo. The contouring and highlighter had given me new features altogether, and the foundation was a few shades lighter than my skintone. My eyes looked bigger, my lips plumper.
I heard laughter outside and jerked to look away from the mirror.
I took out one pin at a time to loosen the bun, as fast as I could, and shook out of the aggressively heavy skirt at the same time.
I gasped when I had removed all the pins.
The thing on my head right now resembled a sparrow's nest more than it did my hair. It was puffed up several inches off my hairline, filled with knots and hairspray frizz.
I now looked like a warrior on the battlefields.
I wanted to cry.
Actually, I was crying. But more than that, I was freaking out, because suddenly I couldn't see any beauty in what they'd done to my face.
Like a mirage, it was just here, and now gone.
I sniffed.
Where did I keep the make-up wipes, I thought, crying my eyes out. I blinked through the fake lashes that were so firmly fixed. How do these come off, I wondered. Won't they rip my own lashes off if I pull at them?
The hammering in my brain worsened by the minute as I wondered if I should just wash my hair. I was yet to find my nightclothes, and by this point I was not sure if I had packed make-up wipes, because I wasn't particularly in my mind when I had packed . . . and he was supposed to come in any moment now.
My head was killing me, and yet it was void of any real thoughts. I sat on the floor, panicking and fighting tears.
Then I recomposed my head. I didn't have much time.
I pulled the thing on my head into a bun somehow, tackled it with a hair tie, and then proceeded to take off the bracelets.
Soon I had kept the jewellery aside, and went on to search for my nightclothes.
Allahu Akbar.
I found them in my box of clothes and prayed that no one would come knocking for approximately seven more minutes.
Shrugging off the spangled top of my dress, I sighed in relief. Are all pretty things supposed to be this painful? I wondered.
I pulled a t-shirt over my head and put on my pyjamas. And then, figuring I could get rid of my makeup by washing it off, with my bag of toiletries under my arm, I proceeded to unlock the door.
. . . before I heard a knock.
I started hyperventilating.
After some moments I sniffed, unlocked the door and ran to his bathroom. I was gone before he entered.
Once inside, I scrubbed my face and neck clean of the makeup.
It was a happy surprise that he had a bookshelf. Maybe he is not that bad.
My eyes felt warm again, and I blinked hard to avoid crying. I didn't want to be the girl who cried all the time. But who was I kidding? I was the greatest crybaby ever.
I sniffed.
I left my toiletries there on his bathroom counter before unlocking it. I stepped out quietly and found him standing right there . . . looking at me. He'd switched the lights off, and left only a dim bedside lamp on.
The old me would've been shy, but right now, I just couldn't care less. I stood straight with my head up and looked at him right in the eye.
Well, I mean, he didn't look bad. I had seen that in the picture I was shown ages ago. Back then they had wanted me to accept the proposal happily. He looked pretty ordinary to me.
But now, I was feeling a strange emotion towards him. Something between apathy and aversion.
The last thing I wanted was for him to start talking.
And that's what he seemed to be about to do.
"Uh," he started. "You, um..."
I stared at him.
"You...changed," he said finally, and I then realised he was still in his wedding clothes, a Sherwani.
For a minute I thought of telling him that I actually hadn't wanted to. That I had waited, for so long, for him to see his bride as a bride, properly, but had later decided to change because I was so tired of all of it. But that rational, polite reply that I would've given didn't come out.
"Yeah," I said instead, stepping out. Not casually. I said it in a way that was challenging. A dare for him to oppose my decision.
I knew I was doing the wrong thing. Blood throbbed in my palms and I could practically hear my heartbeats.
I waited for him to speak, but he just smiled. If he had detected aggression in any part of my attitude, he didn't act like it.
"I'll go change, too. Choose whatever side of the bed you want to sleep on, and please get some rest."
I stood there as he grabbed his clothes, and then, unbuttoning his suit, proceeded towards the washroom.
"Um," I said, and he stopped and turned.
"I . . . change sides. I sleep on the left side mostly, but sometimes I just feel like sleeping on the right, so . . . I kind of switch sides." I hesitated. "I always sleep on my own bed so it's never really been a problem . . . "
I didn't know what on earth I was saying, and I didn't know why I was saying it. But he seemed to understand it, because he laughed.
And for some reason, even though I knew what I was saying was stupid and it was totally sane for him to laugh at me, it made me want to punch him.
"It's okay. Sleep on whichever side you want. We can switch if you want to." I frowned in the dim light. "But please just don't switch sides in the middle of the night!"
He went to the bathroom laughing, and I was still frowning.
Because I couldn't explain to myself why it disappointed me that he wasn't disappointed in me.
Of course, I wasn't sleeping.
I mean, the bed was comfortable, and I was conveniently tired, and I wasn't exactly feeling shy - no, not really. And yet I lied wide awake and knew I wasn't going to sleep a wink tonight.
I was here when I hadn't wanted to be. I doubted I would rest peacefully at any point in the future.
I lied there lost in my thoughts for a while, and I was totally not expecting it.
I jumped when I first heard it. I'd never heard anything like it before. I shifted the pillow that I'd put over my head to hear better.
After hearing it a couple more times did my brain finally click - he was snoring.
It was irrational and rude of me, given how it was a normal thing and not his fault at all, but I was completely annoyed.
I didn't guess it was actually good enough background noise, as it didn't let me focus on my thoughts, and ended up making me fall asleep soon after.
"Adinah."
I stirred. I didn't open my eyes.
He called out again. I wondered what he wanted. I wondered if he'd be mad if I didn't wake.
"Wake up, Adinah. It's Fajr, and we've just got enough time for Wudhu. It's less than twenty minutes before daylight breaks."
I opened my eyes, now a bit into my senses, angry about the fact that he woke before me and had to wake me up. I usually woke on time for Fajr.
But this wasn't any other day. This was my first day as this man's wife.
I tried not to frown.
I threw away the pillow that I'd balanced on my head.
"Thanks a lot for waking me up," I said pulling my ponytail in a bun and hopped off the bed swiftly.
When I was in the washroom and halfway through Wudhu was when I realised that I might have sounded a little rude.
And then I shrugged.
Two prayer mats were already spread out when I came back out, one in front of the other, and the lights on.
I felt annoyed again. Look at him, he is so kind. I rolled my eyes.
Almost immediately after starting the prayer, I felt my eyes moisten again.
Soon enough I could barely control my tears.
I couldn't understand why any of this happened to me. I was forced into the life of this man in front of me, and I was not sure I had it in me to handle it.
I just couldn't contain my agony. What an enchanting end of my freedom.
It soon dawned upon me that he could hear me. Sure enough, he had. As soon as we were done, he turned to me.
"Are you okay? What happened?"
"Nothing," I whispered and turned away.
"Ya Allah."
I picked the mat up.
"Did I make you cry?"
I folded it.
"Adinah," I loosened my hijab. "Why are you crying so much? Is it something I did? Did I make my wife cry on the first night of my marriage?"
Suddenly I laughed. I didn't want to, but I did. He seemed genuinely panicked.
"You didn't make me cry," I said, accepting for once the fact that even though I wasn't the least bit interested in him, he had actually, really wanted this marriage. "Have you got a Mushaf in here?"
He nodded, with an expression of empathy clear on his face, and fetched what seemed to be his personal Mushaf from his bookshelf.
We stayed up a couple more minutes. I was reciting quietly, and he was just sitting there, listening.
He was silent, listening intently and smiling while I sat reciting. We sat like that for a long time, and it was all really peaceful . . . but not inside my head.