Basma likes Fendi

12 | You For Me

•Jameel

I'm not sure anyone knows how to love a queen or how to treat her better than she should be treated?

Now I know all queens must have had names that started with a letter 'B' and Basma is no different.

Gifts, unfulfilled promises and poisonous lies were the ways to her unyielding heart that I thought would never stop beating for me but here I was striving to make her see why there was not a single male better than I for her.

When will it be the right time to finally prove my love to her and she'll listen? Where do I start from?

I'm trying to leave the cult for good—without dying of course. I want to return to the way of Allah S.W.A, his prophet's and his books. I have seen the haqq, truth, and now, I know that I have been decieved to commit shirk.

I've been a monster for as long as our marriage lasted and now, I don't think she'll want anything to do with me.

She used to look at me—at the beginning of our marriage—as if I was a god, adoringly. I knew she fell for me eventually and was willing to do anything for me. I was her eye candy—the love of her life—and she was mine.

What changed? There was never a change—I've always been the same just that I couldn't pretend to be her perfect husband anymore.

My past life kept coming back with messengers who undoubtedly wouldn't let me rest—in my dreams and reality—with flashes of my most recent atrocities committed to appease the deity's and I couldn't resist the devil's summoning.

I didn't realize I loved her till I lost her. Now I believe in all the cheesy nonesense she made me watch with her—I missed it in fact.

"I see she's still crying." I noted.

Jimoh nodded from the corner of the living room where he stood with his hands behind his back.

"I'll go and see her. Stay there and watch everything before I come back." I gestured for him to enter the room with the TV's.

"Yes sir."

I exited the room and made for the stairs to her room. From the outside, I could hear her sniffing and talking to herself but none of it was audible. I knocked before pushing the door open.

She was on the floor supplicating in one of the hijab's I bought specially for her to be using in the mean time.

"Can we talk?"

A cough escapes her lips and she wipes away her tears. I run to her immediately and kneel before her, "Are you ok?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" She forced a fake smile onto her face as she closed her pocket Qur'an and dropped it on the bed beside her.

"So, can we talk?" I asked again.

"Sure, about what?"

"Th-e-e wedding." I stuttered nervously as I was scared to death when I heard her crying earlier. I feared she'd change mind now.

I knew I wasn't giving her much options but then I needed her in my life. Being in prison made me reflect on my actions and I wanted to be a better husband to her.

If I can't have her the no one can—Bashir too would've to be annihilated if he falls for her.

"Ok, go on. I'm listening." She replied with her eyes casted to the ground. This reminded me of the night of our wedding when the house became silent after those that conveyed her to my house left. It was then that the realization of being married hit both of us—well, I felt it—I'm not sure if she did.