Love is not tragic; unless you make it. And Akhtar Rasheed was the picasso of making it so.
He did not want any of that. None of it. Until it found him when his world collided with that of indifferent Sumaiya Hassan.
______
He couldn't understand why he was where he was right now. On the night of his wedding nevertheless; alone and broken and already divorced.
An urgent turn of the door knob made him divert his gaze from his bloody palm to the wooden barrier he wished he could lock tight. Just like his heart.
"You're under arrest," the officer declared cuffing his hands behind his back. Akhtar didn't fight it. He didn't have it in him to fight. He heard his rights read out and marched with the officers with his eyes trained on the ground.
What could he say anyway? His soul was empty. There was nothing left in it. Not even the words he was so good at. Words held no meaning in a world ruled by unruly emotions and shattered hearts. Empty words. An empty soul.
Why? he asked himself over and over and over. Why Sumaiya? Why you? Why me? Just, why?
He didn't have answers except the tears he was too ashamed to shed now. As he was shoved into the police car, hands cuffed and dignity robbed, the entire hotel watched him go.
They had started off as psychiatrist and patient. Dr Akhtar and Miss Sumaiya. She had a whole load of complications.
"I'm not afraid of losing anyone," she'd said when he asked why she was being reckless. "I don't think anyone has a say in my happiness." She scowled at the door, "self-love," she added.
"Selfishness," he corrected her. She knew she had a problem but she refused to accept it as a problem. She wanted everyone to accept it as part of the package.
I blame you, social media. For putting down selflessness as a disease of the weak and marketing selfishness to up your reach. The doctor didn't say it though. Three months. I have three months. And if I can't save her, I can't save her.
Several sessions revolved around trying to make her understand that kindness wasn't toxic. That being soft didn't make a person any less brave. But moved, she wouldn't be. Sumaiya was so indifferent to the world he wondered how her parents put up with her. Was she like this since childhood? Did something change her? If so, what? If not, why? Her file didn't give any details. So that's exactly what he decided to find.
Trying to follow her would have landed him in jail. He laughed at it now; I'm going there anyway. But he persevered. Every week he dared to go a little further out. To seek a little strongly. Then her brother caught him.
Raheem Hassan was a man at least twice his size, but Akhtar deduced he would be able to take him down. Then they bonded over Sumaiya's affliction. Panic attacks. Unexplained nightmares. Black outs. Irrational fears of people. And love. She feared attachment. Because? Because she wouldn't be loved enough. Selfish, again.
"I can hold my own against any storm," she informed during a session. "I don't care who it is. If they try to make me unhappy, I cut them out. Self love first."
"Sumaiya." He was trying hard not to sound exasperated. "This is your problem. You don't see there's a problem with your attitude."
"I don't have a problem to see, doctor," she answered as exasperated as he should have been.
That session didn't end well for either of them.
"People care deeply," he told her another day. "Humans are social animals for a reason, Sumaiya. We need a shoulder, a hand or an ear."
"Mine are functional," she shrugged. "Very much so."
"Inflate that ego of yours any more, and I can kill you with a single pin."
She seethed a little. "Everyone is the same, doctor. They need you to get their needs then they don't need you anymore."
"Wrong. Not everyone. All people can't be lumped together. Which is why some are irreplaceable in our lives."
"The world population is around 7284836638; in case someone is acting irreplaceable."
"That ego again. It's toxic to you."
"No one cares, doctor!" she emphasised by slapping her palm lightly on the table top "-- no one cares. No one will care when you're gone. Cry for a day. Remember for a year. Move on. The end."
"You're so delusional."
"Doctor, I think my head is clearer than yours. Tell me, has my story ever made you cry? Sit and think and feel sorry? Ever felt my pain? Or anyone's at all? You do this for money. Selfish."
"Do I need to cry in front of you for my words to hold meaning?" He didn't know where the emotion arose from. And he didn't like how it made him feel.
Indifferent Sumaiya shrugged again. "I don't care. Honestly."
"Then why did you ask?"
"Because I'm lost, doctor. In a world that you built in your head with too bright colours. Your dreams. Your castles in the air. And I'm a wraith lurking in there somewhere. Come find me, I'm lost in the castles of your dreams."
What? Pick up line? On your shrink? Outrageous.
"Don't let it get to your head. I'm just as good at manipulating as you are."
"I'm not manipulative," he defended his honour. Oh but she is. Who's the shrink here, mister? You or her? Me. Me. Me. You. Me. Whatever. Akhtar is the shrink. Period.
"It's all about intentions," he tried rephrasing. "Just like your self love. If it exists so you don't forget to love yourself while loving those around you, it's a good thing. But if your self love is harming everyone around you, it's not love. It's some obsession. Narcissism even. Know what happened to Narcissus?"
"Greek mythology?" she sounded impressed.
Percy Jackson, he thought but why beat down the standard someone gives you? Anyway. This isn't about you. You're the shrink. She's actually manipulating you. Get your wits together, Akhtar Rasheed.
That day ended too. But he thought about it.
Tell me, has my story ever made you cry? Sit and think and feel sorry? Ever felt my pain? Or anyone's at all? You do this for money. Selfish.
It's his job. He knew it. And what does Sumaiya know about how long he'd stand under his shower after a trauma patient had a heart to heart with him? That's why he could work in this field. Because he felt pain. Acutely. Sharply. All in between and beyond. He didn't like Sumaiya Hassan showing zero progress. But she was also messing with his head. He knew she was messing but he couldn't hold his guard. She was right. She was manipulative. If only she could put it to good use, she'd make a more successful psychiatrist than himself.
Oooooh. Self burn. Those are rare, Akhtar.
But you know what is rarer? His walls coming down. And he didn't see it, but her words had made a crack that would later cave in on his head and bury him under rubble.
More sessions came and went. But none as intense because he treaded carefully. He couldn't help her on his own in the office. So he decided he needed to put a hand out of the profession. He broke the cardinal rule; patient confidentiality. He confided in Raheem though Sumaiya strictly wanted privacy.
"She lacks in the spiritual field," her brother amended. "She no longer prays. She hasn't touched the Qur'an in years. Instagram got to her head. All the bs about self love first--" he air quoted "-- love yourself first. Respect yourself to know you deserve nothing less than what's best. All that crap."
"She needs a friend. And I can't be that friend. I need you to look out for her."
"I can't, Akhtar. That's the problem. She hates it when I tell her to pray and ask Allah to heal her. Says she has nothing to heal. Everything is perfect."
"Sorry, I couldn't help you. Or her," Akhtar apologised. Why did it hurt to admit he couldn't help that one? She had been messing with his head for so long, the end of the term must have made him skip around in an apron and sing songs while watering flowerbeds. Why did he feel... incomplete?
For her last session, she came with impressive punctuality. He was later than her.
"Time to party, yay," she said.
"Got your problem sorted?"
"I don't have a problem to sort. That's the problem with all of them. They think me loving myself is hazardous. Because they can't dictate me around like a good little girl eager to do their bidding. Because I have a brain of my own. And a heart. And I care for it."
How is anyone going to heal this damaged brain? She needs a neurologist not a psychiatrist. Or maybe both. If I don't hold my steering properly I'll be needing a psychiatrist. God forbid it be flashly little Carol.
"Is this your mobile number?" he asked toward the end of the session.
"Yeah. Why?"
His brain gears whirred. His heart raced. Don't do it. Don't do it. You didn't get defeated to prove anything.
"Because I'm going to keep in touch. And I'm going to monitor you for a while. Part of the protocol."
There you did it. Holy guacamole, Akhtar! And you lied. Asthaghfirullah. Nothing starting with so many sins will ever bear flowers. It's thorns you dumb schmut. Back pedal. Now!
For Allah, a graver voice spoke in his head. Medical reason. For Allah.
She gave her signature shrug and walked out. Later that night, after much wrestling in his heart and mind, he checked up on her. She was okay. Superb. As always. What less could Sumaiya be?
It was all downhill from there. The grave voice got louder. The rational one withdrew except to shoot daggers in his brain. And he knew with certainty he wasn't in this for Allah. He had something for the girl. Something he shouldn't have. Months passed, he fell deeper in the grave. And one day he couldn't.
Couldn't focus on his Salah. A sin deprives the sweetness of good actions from your heart. It is doing that, he realised. Quick. Do something. He found Raheem's voice in his ears. Then he saw him in the park.
A marriage built on pity won't last, Raheem warned.
It's not pity, Akhtar argued, I want to see her happy. Isn't it a form of love?
Not love, Akhtar. Save yourself the heartache. I know her like I know my own hands.
I'm doing this for Allah. My intentions are good. Pure, even.
No, Raheem was going to throw a fit. She has ruined enough lives, Akhtar. I don't want you to come in the list.
I'll be the last, he promised.
Then they got married. That same night he would be sleeping on a cold jail floor instead of next to his newly wedded wife.
She hadn't reacted much. Told she chose him because he was different and there wasn't much he didn't know anyway. Rather a man who already knows and accepts than one that wets his pants when he sees me be me. It was going to be a challenge from the get-go. He didn't know it fully.
He was in the future. A future where they were both close to Allah in pleasure and favour. Where she was softer, repentant and less harsh. A future where Doctor Akhtar had not only healed a mind but also a heart with his love.
He was alone in the room waiting for her to finish up with her friends. While his eyes scanned a recent patient's records, she was down in the lobby. With friends. Who had found out somehow that Akhtar and Raheem were friends? How?
"Akhtar?"she walked into the room. Shyness was it that made her walk slowly? But the glint in her eyes spoke otherwise.
"Yes?"
"How much does Raheem know?"
Akhtar sighed. He hadn't counted on her finding out so soon. "As much as a brother should."
The argument escalated. Finally, he said
"Let's go to bed now and figure this out in the morning."
She told some very vile things about his intentions and invitation, that made him snap.
They shouted back and forth. Their voices grew louder. Sumaiya broke a vase and swept it between herself and her husband.
Talaq she vowed thrice. The residents in the other room heard it.
You're toxic to me! You just want to see me the way you couldn't so long and use it to limit me! Tie me with matrimony!
What a message she was sending to the neighbouring rooms!
"Enough!" Akhtar roared.
"Not for you!" she shouted back. "You disclosed all my private details. To my brother. And you manipulated me into marrying you so you could just-! Damn you, Akhtar Rasheed. Damn you to the seventh circle of hell!"
"Shut up! Stop misleading people!" he grabbed her by the wrists and held her against the wall. Just as the door burst open to their room. What a sight he must be to them. A marital rap- rap- he was too disgusted to think about the word.
"Help!" she shouted.
"I thought you didn't need help."
"Stop harassing her!" shouted a man with his phone camera trained on them.
"This is my family problem. Get out!"
"You're hurting me!" Sumaiya cried.
That settled it for the men who barged in and dragged Akhtar away from Sumaiya. Three against one, they threw him down and kicked him till his lungs begged for air. Then when consciousness slipped away slowly, they tied him to the bed and escorted a hysterical Sumaiya to safety.
The car slowed to a stop inside the precinct. Akhtar Rasheed was escorted inside with bleeding hands, a ripped shirt and trousers ripped at the knees. He hated himself. His existence.
Anyone who forgets Allah is promised a miserable life.
Who are you to marry someone thinking you can guide them? Hidaya is in His Hands.
Shame, Akhtar. You forgot Allah. You lied. You believed yourself to be a spiritual rehabilitation centre. Shame on you.
He was dragged out of the cell the following morning; mute and eyes bloodshot. How will he show his face in society again? As a man who used his profession to misuse a woman? As a man dragged through the dirt? Without a shred of dignity left? Undressed in public so his ugly ugly ugly actions were up for open debate?
I feel for the whole world around me, but why does no one feel my pain?
He couldn't stop the tears as Raheem hugged him to his chest.
Why Sumaiya? Why? After all this love I gave you, why? For once, could I not be the person you're afraid to lose?
A familiar voice in his head spoke in an unfamiliar tone
Why was it Akhtar, that your fear of losing a woman who never loved you was stronger, than the fear of losing Him Who never stopped loving you?