16th May, 2018
A lot of you wanted an update before Ramadan and while at one point I thought maybe I wouldn't be able to, I tried and alhamdulilah here it is. As most of you already know, I don't update during Ramadan so please don't waste your time waiting for one. In fact, I have a request, please don't spend too much time thinking about this book and its fictional characters and wondering how the story would proceed because while I LOVE all of you for being so involved and supportive, Ramadan is your chance to turn all your dreams to reality so don't lose those precious moments by being too hooked over fictional books.
May Allah help us make the best out of this Ramadan, and make it a source for us to reach Jannatul Firdose. May He elevate the status of Muslims and grant us victory over the disbelievers. Allahumma A'izzal Islama wal Muslimeen <3 See you after Eid in sha Allah! :*
"Whoever controls his anger at the time when he has the means to act upon it, Allaah will fill his heart with contentment on the Day of Resurrection."
(Reported by al-Tabaraani)
The Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said: "The strong man is not the one who can overpower others (in wrestling); rather, the strong man is the one who controls himself when he gets angry."
(Reported by Ahmad)
Chapter 41:
Wounds wrapped in smiles
Anabya stared blankly at the narrow stream of sunlight that escaped through the balcony doors, expertly dodging their lush curtains that failed to keep away the darkness for a few more minutes.
As the universe offered her hope, it was the first time Anabya refused to accept it.
The empty spot beside her reminded her of all the things she hadn't forgotten since the previous night. Then again, in case she'd even dare to miss out on the slightest detail, the migraine she suffered from did the job well to flash all that had transpired a few hours ago
A furious Shamaaz speaking on the phone while smoking a cigarette.
A painful sigh escaped her lips at the thought, her eyes threatening to spill with tears she hadn't given free rein up until now. She gulped back her emotions and sat up on the bed, massaging her scalp before she gathered her hair in a messy bun.
Although she didn't think she could, she got up from her bed and mustered the energy to freshen up before she walked to the kitchen, and for the first time during her stay in this city she made chai for herself instead of coffee, thanks to the pounding in her head. That in turn reminded her of a certain someone, and she winced at the thought.
It was late in the night that he had returned home after walking out on her, and she had been awake but pretended to be asleep as she heard him change before he came to bed. She had slept that way, her back to him for several minutes recollecting the hostile moments until sleep finally overtook her.
Now, as she sat in her room, sipping her husband's favorite beverage, it tasted of betrayal, lies and anguish, a bitter flavor that refused to leave without burning her.
Keeping aside the empty cup, she looked around the mess in her bedroom, a proof that last night was more that just a nightmare. Biting her lip, she got up, picking up all the articles she had thrown around in anger, frowning as she tidied the place, a part of her even questioning why she bothered to neatly place his shirts back in the hanger, fold his pants, place his sports essentials in their designated place when she could just dump them. Not listening to that voice, she went about her job before sitting back on the bed and resting her head on her knees while she wrapped her arms around herself. She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath, wondering how in the world had things gone downhill just when they were, after such a long time, moving somewhere.
She didn't know what was worse, finding out that he smoked or realizing that she had been lied to before her wedding. Her lips curved into a sad smile when she realized she had actually believed him, and when Furqaan returned home with answers to her two questions one evening, she had trusted him.
Her mind traveled back to her childhood, reminding her of all the reasons that made her hate this habit. And this time, she could not stop the tears that came with the memory, and more of them that followed at her plight.
And in a twisted way, she had become one of 'those' women. The woman who was hurt and emotionally drained, the same woman who was still expected to be polite to her husband. The little girl in her who had been lied to, the same one who was expected to still understand her husband's reasons. The lady who had a volcano erupting in her, the same lady who still needed to be the shield for her husband. The same husband who couldn't care enough for his wife and her emotions. The same husband who was a part of this vile society.
Surrounded in her thoughts, she risked thinking of her mother and what she'd tell her had she witnessed the drama that occurred in this house and for sure, she knew, her mum would be disappointed in her.
She could hear her mother's words, 'I didn't expect this from you' echoing in her mind and she had to shut her eyes close to stop that voice from driving her crazy.
Mamma, I'm trying but why is it so hard?
I want to remain your ideal daughter, but Mamma, am I allowed to act this way?
To pick the sword and fight my battles, to raise my voice for the things that muddle with my principles
Or do you expect me to sit in a corner, meek and weak, and sob at my fate?
Or perhaps, you wish I acted with the sophistication you associate to me
And not turn crazy
But Mamma, aren't the gentle waves allowed to turn into a storm once in a while?
Aren't the winds permitted to turn into hurricanes?
But, O Mother, I know your answer
I can hear your voice say
The storm will only cause more destruction
And this hurricane will leave behind an unforgiving lesson
She didn't think she could share this with anyone, she didn't know anyone who could understand her. Some may call her a bad wife, some would say she was overreacting, some would even have the audacity to support Shamaaz, but she didn't think anyone would understand her.
A tear trickled down when she thought of her Rabb, and wondered if He too would be disappointed in her behavior.
She wasn't this girl, she wasn't a rude and mean person, she was never one to act in anger, her answer to all things used to be patience. But her marriage with Shamaaz was bringing out a side of hers she knew didn't exist before. She wasn't this person. And she wouldn't become this person.
What Shamaaz did, and the way he did it would never be justified, she didn't even know where the two stood in this relationship anymore, and her mind was such a mess, nothing really made sense to her.
She just wanted to go back to being a kid, and this time she'd never complain about the home works, never whine about assignments. Just for once, she wanted to escape these big people problems.
What really was her fault in all of this? She had been ready to accept him, she was slowly trying to open up to him then why did he do this? That was a sensitive issue to her which is why of all the things she could have asked him before their wedding, she asked him whether he smoked and he actually lied to her. She was so sure no one could fathom her emotions in that moment when she saw him in the balcony. She was so done, she had gone too far to care about what followed after. She sighed at the thought.
Ya Allah, forgive me, and help me!
The ringing of her phone pierced through her conversation with herself, getting her back to reality and clearing her throat, she answered it.
"Assalamu alaikum, Tam," she said, forcing herself to sound normal.
"Wa alaikum as salaam, sista! How are you doing?"
"Alhamdulilah," she mumbled. "You tell me, how's everything back at home?"
"Alhamdulilah, everything is wonderful!" Tam gushed. "Sulaiman can't get over the fact that his little girlfriend is going to America, he's been whining about it all day, baby Humayra has become Miss. Chubby Cheeks, Furqaan is being his annoying self, Aamina Bhabhi has her hands full with two babies, and Mum seems to be super happy alhamdulilah because she's going to become a grandmom for the third time, six months from now, in sha Allah."
Anabya was listening to her sister update her on the family news patiently but found her heartbeat skyrocket at the last part.
A different emotion engulfed her heart this time.
"Tam," she whispered, "Subhan Allah! Congratulations," she wished, her voice breaking. "I cannot tell you how happy I am, this is too surreal. I'm just... seriously I can't tell you how happy I am," Bee replied, her heart full with emotions.
"BarakAllahu feeki, when are you coming to meet me, then? You need to be here to take my tantrums."
"I wish I could, if it were in my hands, I'd take the next flight back home and never return," she said, a knife being slithered through her chest with every word and the multitude of emotions she suffered.
"Woah, Bee, don't say such things. If mum hears you now, she'll start with her regular dialogues, the types like 'After marriage, a girl must make her husband's house her own'."
"Yeah, I know," Anabya sighed, wondering how could a girl replace the sanctuary of her mother's home with a new house, the house of the husband she had a hard time accepting.
"You alright, Bee? Tell me if something's bothering you," Tam asked, gauging her reaction.
Anabya quickly plastered a smile although she couldn't see her, and said, "It's nothing Tam, I'm perfectly alright, I just miss you guys."
"We miss you too, Bee. We miss you all the more now since we're all having lunch together, Raiyyan sort of organized a mini party at our place for revealing this news and if I could, I'd wish you could be present too. But as long as you're happy there, it's all good. You are happy, na, Bee?"
Was she happy?
With glazed eyes, craving the feel of home, missing the celebrations and peace, longing for the company of her family, her head revolting at the turmoil her heart was put through, yet not willing to spoil her sister's happiness that she had wished for so long, she mustered the courage to reply, "Yeah, Tam, don't worry about me, I'm happy here."
I wish I was.
"And Shamaaz is treating you well?" Tam questioned further just as the bell rang.
I don't know.
"Yeah Tam, alhamdulilah. Leave this, you take care of yourself, I'll call you later and tell mum I'll speak to her then in sha Allah. Assalamu alaikum."
"Alright, you too take care. Wa alaikum as salaam."
Anabya opened the door and simultaneously ended the call while allowing Kamla Mousi inside.
And as she went about her work, Anabya distractedly supervised her around but her mind and heart stayed captured in a world that was far from reach, its memories a place she could never revisit.
And is this what it means to grow up?
That you hide your tears behind deluding smiles?
I guess this is what it means to grow up
With bleeding wounds and a scarred soul, you learn to cover miles.
***
Anabya turned the stove off, transferring the contents from the pot to a dish before placing it on the dining table. Out of habit, she took hold of two plates and glasses and set the table. But this time, instead of waiting or ringing him, answering her tummy's grumbling, she transferred some of the egg noodles on her plate and after drizzling enough ketchup, she started eating.
It hadn't been a great day for her, what with mixed emotions and a headache that hadn't stopped protesting. While she had woken up angry, that had wavered off and all she felt now was horribly disappointed and hurt. She had lost count of the number of times last night's scene had repeated in her mind, and it had reached to a point that she had decided to go take a hot shower, in hopes that it would lighten the burden. She had walked out of the bathroom, prayed Asr and forced herself to go downstairs, sit by the pool or walk in the garden and after she had even done all of that, once she had entered home, nothing had really changed.
When it was the heart that was bleeding, even band aids couldn't provide relief.
With a hand on her head, she was halfway through her dinner when the main door opened and from the corner of her eyes, she looked on as Shamaaz walked in, heading towards the kitchen before grabbing a glass from the counter and drinking water. Ignoring her, he walked to the bedroom and forcefully, Anabya finished her meal and after clearing the kitchen, she delayed going to the bedroom by standing to pray in the living room. Once done, she recited the Qur'an, welcoming the peace it gave her and it was a good twenty minutes before she finally decided to head to sleep.
Shamaaz was already snoozing by then and she quietly changed into her night dress before she went to bed, sleep only welcoming her after a long long time, her bitter thoughts keeping her company until then.
The next day had been no different, though. While Anabya had made breakfast and served it on the table, he had refused to even so much as glance her way as he walked out of the apartment, making her more mad than she already was. Unlike him, not willing to waste food, she had given the previous night's dinner and his share of that day's breakfast to Kamla Mousi, who was more than happy to take food home for her three devilish children. Similar scenes were observed in the night, him completely ignoring her while she made no effort to make her presence known.
There was a time when she was so absorbed in her thoughts the glass had slipped off her hand and crashed to the ground, breaking into pieces and while the voice was alarming, Shamaaz had stayed nonchalant about it, not leaving his room to even check if Anabya had hurt herself. Then again, Bee didn't need any of his fake care and concern, and she was more than capable of clearing the mess without cutting her hand in the process. Both of them had gone to sleep that way, in sour moods and an attitude that was ready to break, but refused to bend.
The next morning, however, when Anabya opened her eyes, she immediately shut it close for the piercing pain that shot through her. After struggling a bit, she sat up and fetched the A/C remote and turning it off, she collapsed on the bed yet again. Her mouth had turned bitter and she was running high temperature, feeling so weak that while she felt extremely hungry, she couldn't so much as get up. She covered her eyes with her hand and went back to sleep, only waking up later in the afternoon due to the insistent ringing of the doorbell.
Wrapping the duvet around her, she walked to the door, letting Kamla Mousi in as she immediately sat on the couch.
"Huh?" The housekeeper asked, squinting her eyes. "What happened to you? You were so nice yesterday!"
"I'm fine," she croaked. "Just a little fever."
She placed the back of her hand on her forehead and said, "This is not little. Did you eat breakfast?"
When she shook her head, Kamla Mousi said, "You young generation people are like this only. You'll keep ignoring the need for good nutrition and end up like this. Should I make khichidi for you?" She asked.
"No, it's alright," Anabya shook her head. She was extremely picky when it came to her preference of cooks, so much that she'd think twice before eating street food, and she'd also always carry a spare spoon in her bag, refusing to eat from someone else's spoons. Could you imagine how many mouths that spoon had entered, never mind even if it was washed? Like no, thank you!
"Fine, at least have soup then?" Kamla Mousi asked and Anabya begrudgingly agreed, lying down on the couch as she told her what was placed where.
"Where is your husband? Why did he leave you in this condition and go?"
"I was sleeping when he left, so he didn't know I wasn't well," she mumbled.
"You don't see him off when he leaves in the morning? What about his breakfast then?"
Sighing at how nosy she was being, Anabya replied, "I do all of that, I happened to oversleep today and he left."
"He should have checked on you before going..."
Yeah right. She'd be surprised if he even remembered he had a wife given his behavior the past two days.
Despite her inquisitiveness, Anabya was glad that Kamla Mousi was kind enough to serve her some hot spinach soup before she went about the chores.
When it was time to leave, she said, "Pop in a tablet and if it doesn't help, ask your husband to take you to the doctor."
Anabya only nodded, thanking her for her suggestion, but knowing full well she wasn't going to put it into action.
When it was time for Magrib, Anabya found it a huge task to even pray those three rakah and once she was done, she quickly pulled the covers over her and lied down on the bed. Her health had only deteriorated by evening and she felt so weak, it pained to even move. Nonetheless, with the support of her headboard, she opened her wardrobe and retrieved the first pair of socks she found, before grabbing the balm from beside the bedside table.
Stretching one leg and folding the other, she rubbed balm under her feet. Every time she fell sick, her mum would do the same before helping her put on the socks and pressing her legs. She used to say that it was a great remedy for cough but Anabya only hoped it would also help with fever. Her eyes brimmed with tears thinking of her mum and how her concern used to seem normal at that time, and now, she'd do anything to be in her arms, have her around to take care of her while she felt sick, alone, helpless and left all to herself with no one to call her own over here.
And yet again she realized that no matter how old you were, you were never big enough to not need your mum.
As she put on the socks, she fell back on the bed, falling asleep once again. A few hours later, feeling extremely cold in the middle of the night, she woke up, glaring at a sleeping Shamaaz for not having the sense to not turn on the A/C when she was suffering from a fever. Switching it off, she walked to the washroom, puking out the bare minimum she had the previous day. Rinsing her mouth, she walked out, ignoring that all the noise had woken up Shamaaz as he stared at her with messy hair and sleepy eyes.
As she sat on her side of bed, gulping water, she heard him ask, "What happened?"
She mentally applauded him for only taking 24 hours to realize something was wrong.
Without answering him, she attempted to lie down when she heard him speak again, "What happened?"
"Nothing happened," she shot back, turning around.
"You're not feeling well?"
"Why do you care?" She replied, annoying him.
"Fine, be that way," he muttered as he turned off the bedside lamp and went back to sleep, letting Anabya suffer alone in her agony.
One hour later, she twisted and turned and when she still couldn't sleep, she sat up, holding her head between her hands as tears of anger, hurt, disappointment, and frustration escaped her eyes. Disturbed in his sleep, Shamaaz looked at her groggily but quickly sat up when he saw her like this.
"What's wrong, Bya?" He asked and she shook her head, not answering him.
He attempted to reach for her hand and although she pulled it away, it didn't escape his notice how warm it was.
"You're burning," he informed blankly, looking at her like she was crazy. He touched her neck and shook his head.
"You're absolutely crazy, and extremely stubborn, you know that? Why didn't you tell me?" He asked.
Forcefully opening her eyes and squinting due to the light, she had no energy left in her to say anything. "Please, just leave me alone," she requested.
"I left you alone for two days, wasn't that enough?"
"No, I guess not."
"How much time do you want then? Would a lifetime be enough?"
"And what would you do if I said yes?"
"Stop being this way, Bya."
"And you can do whatever you want? Oh I forgot, you're a guy so yeah, you can do what you want."
"Seriously, Bya?" He asked, looking at her like he couldn't believe she was actually quoting him even in this state of hers. He closed his eyes and willing himself to be patient, he got out of the bed while quickly putting on the first tee that he found in his wardrobe.
"We're going to the hospital and," he continued when she looked like she was going to protest, "I'm not listening to you."
"I'm not coming anywhere with you."
"I'm going to call Furqaan and inform him that you're extremely sick and are refusing to come to the hospital with me," he threatened, picking up the phone.
"Don't," she croaked, and looked at him, giving in to the emotional blackmail.
He fetched her clothes, Abaya and Hijab and gave it to her while she put them on. She could not protest no matter how much she wanted to when they stepped out of the apartment and he draped an arm around her shoulders so she could lean on him for support as they treaded the path together.
And the one who broke her was here, offering to fix her.
The journey to the hospital was a torture and the climax was even more horrendous when she was asked to take some sort of injection in the form of drips for it seemed to be the fastest remedy to her viral fever. Anabya bit her cheek when the nurse poked the needle thrice in a row because she couldn't find the vein in her arm to deliver the medicine and Shamaaz hissed under his breath before saying,
"What are you doing? Please be a little more careful, you're hurting my wife."
"I'm sorry, Sir," she apologized, before clamping it to her wrist and monitoring the drops per minute.
"You alright, Bya?" Shamaaz interrogated a few minutes later, and she nodded, wondering how her health had spiraled down to a level that she was here on a hospital bed.
Also wondering how this was the same husband who couldn't care less about her wellbeing a few hours back.
After undergoing a few tests and being assured that this was nothing but a viral fever, Shamaaz was allowed to take her home.
As she unwrapped her hijab and removed her Abaya, she slumped in bed but Shamaaz stopped her mid way. He offered her his jacket and said, "Put this on, it'll keep you warm."
"I don't need it, the blanket is enough," she refused.
Sighing, he put the jacket around her, zipped it close and pulled the hoodie over her head.
He sat beside her and straightened the pillow, pulled the covers and hovering above her, he gingerly touched her cheek with the back of his hand and while all he wanted was to check her temperature, he stilled as he looked at her, both of them gazing at each other with fire in their eyes that had finally cooled down, leaving a few sparks that were meant to light their world with love, only if they tried...again.
She didn't know if it was worth a shot, he wasn't one to give up. His dreams were at stake, her heart was the price.