Her Red Scarf [Muslim love story]

Chapter 10

             I throw my tennis rackets on the fake grass and extend my legs beside them. Wow. What a rigorous session. But the gentle breeze, and the warm rays of the setting sun are really making it worth it. The weather is quite literally perfect.

I start massaging my legs on the fake grass, when I feel a figure towering above me. Odd.

When I look up, I cannot believe who it is. Rafiq. And he's staring at me like he also cannot believe it is me.

The sight of him immediately wakes up an angry monster within me. I am still hurt by how he never stood up for me not only last time, but over the last two months. My legs start tingling restless, and I itch to stand up and leave because anger is washing over me like a wave.

But as much as I want to say that all I hold towards him is anger, and resentment, not too far, in the empty chambers of my heart, there is an echo; you really miss him. And I do. And just for a few seconds, I want to stay. I want to relish in this moment forever, no matter how insignificant, before we are officially divorced in a few days because to me it's not that insignificant. Like a homeless person, I am looking for any scraps of love I can get. My father that when I'd grow up, I'd make a fool of someone. I don't think he ever considered I would become that fool.

He sits down beside my rackets. "What were you doing?"

Is that the first thing he'll ask me? Weird. I take a moment to answer. "Playing tennis."

"Why?"

Because I miss you. Because I wanted to feel closer to you. Because I can't help long for something I will never have. "Because I felt like it."

I avoid his eye, staring straight ahead, and he does too. We stay silent for a few minutes, staring at the sunset and cooling down under the breeze. To an outsider, this is petty. We look like moody teenagers on the field ignoring each other.

And maybe,... they're not too far off.

He's not exactly sitting in front of me, and I take advantage of this opportunity to steal a glance at him. That's when I notice his attire. Black dress pants, and a comfortable black t-shirt. His specific work attire. It's nearing 9pm though. That is way too late for the office.

Why hasn't he gone home? Was he hanging out with a certain someone?

"Filing" a divorce order with a spouse you love is like laying in a warm bed and hearing the alarm clock. No matter how comfortable you are right now, you know you must get up.

I've never officially told him we're done, even though I've been feeling that way for days. I should. Right now.

But first, one more thing. "What are you doing here this late?"

He shrugs. "I missed you."

I don't like his answer. It's so nonchalant, like he's discussing the weather with me. but this is about our marriage. How we feel about each other is not nonchalant, because it could change everything.

I frown, and he seems to catch himself. "I was driving in the area. Probably because I missed you. Never mind, that's why I was here." He locks eyes with me. "I want to be more honest with you. I don't think I've been doing that enough with you."

I look away, confused and a bit flustered. At least I'm not the only one.

The alarm has rung long enough. I'm getting myself mentally ready to get up when he speaks again.

"I'm debating whether I should let you know what I'm thinking. It's--"

"I don't want to know." A car's headlights light up his face, and that's when I notice how terrible he looks. His eye bags are big and dark, and his skin looks dry. Drier than when I used to remind him to moisturize it every night.