WrongSufferedAtHands

Bear The Upheavel

Afiyah was seated, her crimson embroidered dress flowing over the bedding. Her face was coated with the layers of makeup that felt like an extra skin, and her lips were fairly thick with blazing red lipstick. Her first exposure to gold jewelry was like wearing bricks in your ears and around your neck because she had never worn heavy jewelry before either.

As she paid attention to Hareem, she fiddled with the delicate pearls embellishments on her dress. "Remember one thing; a man never raises his hand on his wife unless he is intended to, until he is provoked to do so. Every man is exceptional, and if you allow them, they may all be rational and fair. Never argue with him, never raise your voice at him, and he will not raise his voice at you."

Over the ranting and raving of the attendees, Hareem's voice seemed to be a loud whisper.

"Look at me, I married your father. Your father is 30 years older than me, yet I married him. Do you understand the reason? Because he is respected and known. Not to mention that he is a man of faith and a responsible individual. If you allow him, Affan, who is ten years older than you, would age you to suit him. For the last time, never talk back at him."

And she pledged her.

The friction of the pen against the sheet resembled to the harshness of the storm swirling within Afiyah's head. She gave Sameer a quick glance, beseeching with him with her eyes.

Sameer nodded, empowering her to sign the documents that were casted into her lap.

She dragged the pen across the hardness of the page, allowing one tear land upon it. As she signed the paper, another bead of tear dropped.

As she approved the four pages of the Nikkah, her world was swirling and her insides were twisting. The hollers of applause began to fill the room as soon as she placed the pen down on the page. To her, the room felt oppressive.

"Congratulations!" She overheard the folks wishing Sameer and Hareem well, and they reciprocated.

"Well done, my love." Sameer had kissed her cheekbones while caressing her face.

She decided to meet his eyes, she noticed his eyes were a shade of red and wet with tears. He was looking down at her and grinning—a smile she could see was one of misery and anguish. She was aware of the sorrow and remorse etched in their eyes.

She was too distracted by Sameer's tormented demeanor to realize how many people had praised her and given her hugs.

"Mrs. Affan Saeed!" She heard her cousins tease her but she was too gob-smacked by Sameer's looks of remorse to pay them a heed.

When she lifted her hands for prayers, one name kept returning to her tongue.

O my Lord, My Allah, the Most Merciful and the Most Beneficial, I will only ask for peace from you; make me a good woman for the rest of my life, a decent and responsible wife. I might be beaming with pride as I hold up my father's name and gaze out at the world. If we ever cross paths again in the future or even in the hereafter, my dear Allah, I won't see Hassan suffering; I'll see him smiling. Hassan and Sameer, the brightness in each of my eyes are taken care of by you My Allah. Although we won't be united on the journey, may we be in the hereafter. Keep Hassan in my heart, where he may remain eternally, O Allah.

It was the flashing lights she first witnessed, when her mother in law, Soraya, pointed at the entrance; she saw the straps of flashing lights dangling from the ceiling. The drive from her home to her forever-residence was surprisingly the shortest, and even though her Soraya spoke with her, her thoughts kept returning to the site of her final meeting with Sameer. When he wept onto her shoulder, Sameer had given her a hug with a firm hold. She hugged Sameer in a way that was intended to be released when her sobs morphed into hiccups.

"Stay right here in my heart; I shall miss you. I'm going to miss you." He had stated prior to actually letting go of her, before peering at his cherished one, Afiyah, who reflected his concern. Both of them sobbed till Sameer was allowed to leave the car so they could proceed home.

Afiyah's initial perception of her mother-in-law was that she was frail, a sickly woman with bony hands and a flimsy physique that always carried a cane with her. She was weak and aged, as seen by the facial wrinkles. She had a fair complexion and a sagging back, giving the image that she was shorter in height.

As she sat there by herself in the room, in her own room, Afiyah was trembling like a white flag in a gust of wind. She was averse to strong fragrances and the scent of wooden furniture, the scented candles stung her nose.

What would happen next? She sat there contemplating.

She lowered her head as Affan entered after the door had opened. Ahead of entering, he closed the door.

"Are you content? Or are you utterly terrified?" His stern and commanding voice was stabbed into her heart as she heard it.

Upon not getting a reaction from her, he managed to stand in front of where she was seated, "We got married in haste, I admit. We never got to know one another. But you should be aware that I'm not the kind of man who brings you flowers every day."

She batted an eyelid, observing his deep brown eyes, which were framed by his thick brows.

"I'm not the type of person to hang out with you all the time or go on excursions with you. I keep myself occupied with my work and I am very punctual. I take better care of my profession than I do of my personal affairs. Furthermore, my mother, she is the only person I have in this world before you. You should respect her and take care of her, and in exchange, I'll take care of you. Eye for an eye."

He flashed a kind grin, a grin that was unfamiliar for her.

Afiyah was broken into bits by his statements.

"Okay?"

"I..." She stammered, "I'm good with it. In fact, we are both on the same boat. I'm an ordinary person with modest desires for serenity and optimism; I don't enjoy flowers or expensive dinners. Do not fret."

"I mentioned my requirements, what about yours?" Affan grinned as he took a seat near her, causing her to move backwards somewhat. "Why don't you say something?

"I don't know what the criteria of the connection between a husband and a wife are but I would desire to spend my life with you as a friend." she swallowed, trying to calm the tension that was consuming her. "I want this final relationship from you to be a brave and powerful friendship. I want to be pleased in your pleasure and saddened in your sorrows."

"You know that spouses can't be friends and friends can't be spouses?" he chuckled while keeping his eyes down. "Choose one, since whatever you choose will determine your future with me."

She heaved, feeling a little more at ease with his frame of mind. Looking for his somewhat darker-than-normal eyes, "We'll get along well as friends." She laughed, and Affan followed.

When Affan's laughing abruptly ended, Afiyah grew tense, "You're too young, you're sixteen, right?"

She nodded, almost as if to reassure herself.

"I don't want to rush. Take your time while I take mine. It's difficult to offer your everything to someone you never thought of as your wife." he said, appearing honest and courteous at once.

She frowned as she attempted to make sense of the assertion.

"Soon, you'll be aware of it. Now wash up and get some sleep. Tomorrow, we have a big group of people to greet."

When Affan fiddled with his wristwatch, Afiyah rose to her feet, her dress scuffing against the carpeting as she shuffled to the bathroom.

Afiyah wasn't sure if she was experiencing stress, exhilaration, or melancholy. She was relieved to learn that Affan wasn't the kind of man she detested; in fact, she loved the fact that he wasn't at bit flirtatious.

He wasn't the guy she was looking for, the one she loved, or the one she wanted to marry, and this drove her frustrated.

She was worried because she had noticed that one aspect of Affan, and he had truly shown her evidence that he did not view her as his wife. He was undoubtedly conveying that he didn't want to marry her and that he needed more time to think about accepting her as his wife. Being worried about the circumstances made her reluctant to move on.