WrongSufferedAtHands

12.

Even if she attempted, Afiyah couldn't get him out of her consciousness or erase him from her head. It was like attempting to demolish a stone wall that you had just painstakingly constructed.

She would wake up as usual every day with vivid memories of his face, making it impossible to even consider erasing him. She was perishing for him and breaking apart for him. He was slowly and methodically absorbing himself into her head like another chunk of brain.

She actually attempted to think about it, seated in front of a mesh curtain as the Mullah Sahib recites the Nikkah. She is seated there encircled by folks wearing a thick crimson bridal garb. When she envisioned signing the marriage papers with someone else, she would shudder as if waking up from a terrible nightmare. Even if she tried, she couldn't assist but picture Hassan as her future husband.

Afiyah refused to look at the photograph of her prospective husband, despite Sameer's insistence. She said that she didn't even need to know his name. She had just one thought: she needed to flee from this lifestyle, which had already been deliberately shattered by Khizar and Mr. Farooq. Afiyah had sobbed nonstop for days and weeks. She sobbed when her father questioned her about accepting the marriage proposal, again when her prospective in-laws visited to slip the engagement ring onto her finger, and once more when she discovered that her marriage had been arranged.

When Sameer confronted her one day, her sobs came to an abrupt end. He took her hand as he sat next to her on the bed and asked, "How are you today?"

She only nodded, acting as though she lacked the ability to speak.

"I can't see you sobbing; therefore I have to relieve myself of the load." He said, perhaps in an effort to stop her sobbing and wails, "Hassan's mother called."

Her heart leapt, as if her soul had abruptly departed from her body. The tightness of her stomach deepened as she asked, "What?" as she turned to face him.

He whispered uneasily, "Hassan's mother called Papa Jan and gave him some advice concerning Affan Saeed for you. She made the choice of Affan Saeed for you. She expressed her desire to select a sensible man for you as you're good friends with her son."

Afiyah experienced difficulty breathing like she was floating in the bottom of shallow water; she was lost for words as to how to respond.

"I'm explaining everything to you so you may move on Afiyah. You were taken out of the way where she and her son had to pass by. Why do you suppose she would pick a girl from the lower class like you for her rich and powerful son? These affluent individuals don't view us as being human. She herself got rid of you."

As Afiyah pondered what Hassan's mother had said to her about being deprived of a mother and about remaining merely friends with her son, she became hazy and her thoughts became fuzzy. She now knew—or at least she believed she knew—why Hassan never returned to face her and why he hasn't been in touch with her. Now that she knew everything.

"How are you so sure?" After what seemed like an eternity, she inquired.

"Do you wish to see the call log?"

"No, just leave it." She was incredibly perceptive. Finally, she got it, "Lock the door when you leave." she said as she exhaled sharply and withdrew her hand away from his, her voice sounded strained. He merely gave her a quick glance before walking away silently.

Afiyah was at ease yet disturbed and dejected, as if she had been dragged out from the freezing ocean's depths. She felt herself to be angry, but her rage was directed more on Hassan's mother. She genuinely shoved Afiyah out of the way. She wasn't prosperous, which is why she picked a guy for her to marry in order to keep her out of her son's way.

How foolish she was to assume that she could marry Hassan, a wealthy kid whose mother could purchase the authorities on his behalf. She was being ridiculous by continuing to seek for someone who could never be hers.

Millions of shards of her reality were fractured and escaped her as she snickered bitterly. She then began to chuckle.

"How ridiculous. So naive of you." she said, laughing at herself. Another few moments elapsing, her laughter grew into tears, which she shed over both her face and the duvet.

She cried until such time when her father knocked on her door. Her eyes were swollen from all the crying as she peered through the covers.

"Why do you even cry, I don't understand your reasoning." her father said with a click of his tongue.

She nuzzled into the blanket, not saying anything.

"Look, Afiyah, marriages aren't supposed to work out like this. I won't compel you. When I inquire about your marriage proposal, you neither respond yes nor no. When you remain silent and only weep, how can I discover the solution?"

As of yet, she remained silent.

When she didn't reply, her father groaned and said, "If there is anybody in your eyes that you want to marry, then let me know. You can be married to the man of your choice once I annul this union."

"No." Afiyah prompted, whipping her face and sitting up. Because of all the sobbing, her voice came out hoarse. "No, Papa Jan. Nothing comparable exists. Your choice is acceptable to me."

She wasn't sure why she made that statement. Perhaps she was afraid of telling her father anything, or perhaps she was afraid to wait for someone who would never return.

"Yes, Papa Jan." she said, nodding. "I'll follow your instructions."

At the very least, she would carry her father's pride with her. She embraced the reason.

The coming six months of Afiyah's existence passed by like a twig dangling from the tree, desperately waiting for the wind to sweep and blow it away. She had been anticipating the passage of time and wished for it to flow swiftly. As she observed everybody arrange her wedding and shop for her wedding, she felt neither enthusiasm nor interest. Hareem would come and show her the wedding-related items she had purchased, but she wasn't amused by the clothing, accessories, or cosmetics. Because she allowed others to overtake her, she felt like a marionette being manipulated by them. A body without soul is how she described herself at such memories.

"A wife is not a servant; rather, she is a princess. The wife is the princess of the house while the mother is the queen. A wife never serves as a maid because, if she sits in a spot that is neat, she would appear more like a princess than a maid who was scrubbing the home."

She listened to every piece of advice her father gave her.

"You're not only marrying Affan; you're marrying his mother as well. As your obligations, take care of them. Only the three of you would remain, you would coexist as a unit, and you would live a long life. The door to this house is forever wide open for you, but if you return after a dispute with Affan, I shall shut the doors on you."

"Yes, Papa Jan." she nodded.

For the first time in the two years of her miserable existence, she put her hand over her father's, "I won't allow shame to make your head droop. I make that promise."

And that day, Afiyah made a pledge to oneself to consider her husband with all the affection after they tie the knots. She swore she would appreciate her husband's sequence of life.

She shall, indeed.