Azar Hussain. I am screwed for sure. Vaguely, I remember Madiha's warning.
"I'll just leave," I mumble as I turn. I hold the door handle and am about to leave, but a hand grips my hand over the handle. I am taken totally off guard and pull my hand away as if it is burned. "Can you please not do that again?"
"Mishal, this is who I was telling you about—" He does, in fact, move back despite what he said.
"I'll just go," I insist as I attempt to open the door, but this time it is Mishal who yanks my wrist from it. I turn to her and am shocked by the ugly look on her otherwise beautiful face. "Can I please know why you two are not letting me go?" I ask as Azar tugs away Mishal's wrist from mine.
"You think you can try to win over my boyfriend, and I'll let you live in peace?" Mishal exaggerates, followed by a few curses she throws at me.
"Whoa! What even?" My anger overtakes my embarrassment. "Where the hell did you get the idea that I am trying to win him? I'm not trying to win him! I don't even know this weirdo." I mentally smack myself for slipping out the last part. I am just making it worse and worse with every second.
"Did you just insult me?" I feel his angry eyes burning through me.
"I-I..." I don't dare to look at him.
"Aren't you a curious little thing, angel?" My heart is racing. It doesn't seem like Azar anymore. Please, Allah, I can't have an attack in front of them. I can't lose it. Please, Allah. "Aren't you completely reverting from what you did in the café? What about the band-aid on your hand? You are just trying to get my attention, trying to provoke me to prove myself."
If I wasn't so scared, I would have rolled my eyes, but fear is all I feel right now. I fidget to remove the band-aid as I say. "Look, Azar and Mishal, I mean no harm. I really had no idea you two were here," I manage to suppress my urge to just scream and try to reason instead. "And besides, what I did in the café was just an accident and a mistake. You guys are totally taking it in the wrong way. Mishal, if he told you all that about me trying to win him or something, he is lying to you. I don't know why he would, but he is." What glue does this band-aid have? I think as I struggle to remove it.
"How dare you!" Azar calls me some very indecent words, and I wince.
"Calm down, Azu, it is okay, I trust you, I know that you are mine-" She glares at me before continuing, "and mine only."
"To Allah we belong, and to Him we return," I am really frustrated with the band-aid. It is after a moment I realize there is silence in the room, and I register what I said. I think it is safe to say they are shocked by my abrupt mention of the ayah.
I attempt to leave again, but Mishal grips my wrist. This time, I yank her hand away. "Is this all because you fear I would tell someone about you two?" I ask, my fury becoming my confidence.
"You wouldn't dare," Mishal threatens. "You think you can use the word of Islam so that we break up and you can have Azar."
"How many times do I have to say I am not interested?" I look at her tearful eyes, and my heart saddens at her madness. "You are blinded by jealousy, Mishal," I soften my voice a little. "You don't realize that having a relationship without marriage will only hurt you. In no matter of time, he will use you and toss you away, and you will regret all of this," I gesture.
"Who do you think you are?" Azar demands, standing beside Mishal. I involuntarily move back from both of them. "Some prophetess...? It is because of people like you who use Islam to meet their own personal goals; Islam is hated so much by people around the world. If you think by the pretense of being a good Muslim, you will break Mishal and me apart, you are absolutely mistaken."
His words pierce right through my heart. Is he really calling me one of those disgusting people who use Islam to create terror in the world? I know I am not one of them, but how can I expect a complete stranger to trust my good intentions when my own people didn't trust me in the most dreadful moments of my life? Yet his words still hurt me. Still, the pain hasn't numbed.
"I guess I will mind my business and stop wasting my breath," I give up and walk past them to the door.
"Don't worry, Mishal, I wouldn't spare a glance at another girl, especially her. Do you see how she insults hijab? She is just..." He stops and apparently has no words to describe his disgust for me.
"You don't know me." My tone is so cold that I surprise myself. "You don't know me at all and my life, so stop passing judgments without knowing. Living in a Muslim country, you must know that the purpose of my hijab is to maintain a boundary with men."
"Angel," he mocks, and I black out for a second. Why does he call me that? Why? My soul is screaming. "Stop flattering yourself. No one will ever want to look at you. You don't need to wear hijab to keep away men; you will do fine without it too."
His words are a blow to my hollow confidence, and the insecurities easily take over me. I am speechless. He doesn't even know about my scars, and he is saying that. What he said is not something new; I have thought about it many times before. Abeer, you have no right to think like that. You didn't create yourself. Allah created you, and He called you beautiful, so how can you even think for once that you are not?
"Dismiss!" The speaker announces. I realize I have missed my assembly for the first time in history. "Go to your villa before anyone sees you here," Mishal speaks urgently to Azar, who moves past me and out the door. I look at Mishal's smug face and add, "No matter how much you deny it, Mishal, what you both are doing is wrong to you and," I pause to let the words sink in, "you both are a reason for each other's loss." I can tell that I struck a chord because Mishal looks taken aback.
When I move to the door to leave, I find Azar still standing there and realize he heard me. I avoid looking at his face, not wanting any more engagement. A part of me wants to scream at him for his words, but I try my best to ignore this urge as I walk past him.
What about those scars? The thought creeps up where it left off. They were not there when Allah created me. It was he who is responsible for them, the one who I will never be able to forget. No one will ever accept me with those scars. Azar is right; men would stay away even if I don't wear a hijab.
Abeer, you don't wear hijab because of men. It does help righteous men to keep away from Zina of the eye, but men are men, no matter how much a woman covers, men who want to stare and more will get away with it. You, more than anyone, know this. Allah wants you to empower yourself with hijab, that your body is yours, not something to display to everyone. Yet Azar's words stick to me, like ink from a black hole that I can't seem to rub off.
As I head to the class, I see Madiha coming from the other end of the hallway. "Where were you?" She demands in an overly accusatory tone.
Before I can reply, Miss Fatima, our chemistry teacher calls us for class. Although it is my favorite subject, I can't concentrate in class at all. Everything that happened in the locker room is replaying in my mind, and Azar's words keep shooting daggers at my heart every time I think about them. I can't shake off the horrible, sinking feeling.
"Abeer! Abeer Irfan!" Miss Fatima calls my name aloud.
"Yes?" My voice cracks, and I clear my throat.
"What is formed when an acid reacts with a metal?"
"Metal...?" I repeat after her, confused. I keep silent for a long time, trying to focus on what she asked, but despite knowing my head is too hazy.
"Dear, is anything wrong? You have learned that many times before. Are you okay? Are you sick? You don't look so well," she bombards me in worry as she knows I always get the highest in her subject, and I know the answer.
"No, I am fine," I assure her.
At home time, when Pops comes to pick Maliha and me up from school, I recall our morning conversation. Pops looks apologetically at me as he greets me with a soft voice, "Assalamualikum, Abeer. How was your day?"
"Walaikumusalam. It was fine," I lie easily. "Why are you late? Is everything alright?"
"No, no, everything's okay," he answers and starts telling me why, but I am not able to listen to a single word. As our car climbs the bridge we cross every day, I look outside at the sparkling water that stretches away beneath it. The sight of clear ripples soothes me, and I once again spare myself the wish for "outside".
"How was your exam, Maliha?" Pops asks, and I look over at Maliha expectantly, feeling a little guilty that I didn't ask her before.
"It was okay," she replies. "I just feel a little tired."
We reach home by Asr time. I change out of my uniform and go to pray. Despite feeling like I belong nowhere, I always feel at home once I am on the mat. In Sujood, I ask my Lord all I wish for: Will you forgive me, Oh Allah? You are the Most Merciful and the Most Gracious. Please forgive all my sins past, present, and future, the ones I made deliberately and unknowingly. Save me from Azar and Mishal. I don't want to ever cross them again. Guide us to the right path. Help me, Allah, who helps everyone in need. Allah make me forget him, the one who destroyed my life, and my family's trust and did what destroyed my energy to live, yet I am alive. Allah, help me move on. You are my Lord and his Lord. Just make me accept it and move on. I feel as if he is here watching me. I feel as if he is still after me. I feel as if history is going to repeat itself. You can prove this feeling wrong, My Allah. Just help me get through this life, Allah. Just help me be near You and help me meet You soon, and let me be happy. Allah, give me the strength to pass the tests You have for me in this world. Allah, make me among those who will be saved from Hellfire and lead me to Paradise. Ameen.
I get up from the prayer rug and look through my homework. I go to Maliha's room because that is where I usually study, but upon entering the room, I am shocked to see Maliha passed out on the floor.
"Maliha!"