Mujhe Pyaar Hua Tha

Ch. 8: Unused to It

Alizey's P.O.V.

My tired eyes opened at the sound of the door unlocking.

I tapped on my phone. 8:03 AM.

I'd continued floating in out of consciousness the rest of the night, in wait of Fawad to return and because of the mercilessness of my memories.

I had even called Mama an hour before, but she didn't answer. I grew dejected at the thought that she too was upset with me like Papa.

But where had Fawad been all night? I wanted to call and message him, but I refrained. I didn't want to come off as clingy, especially given the conditions of our marriage.

My head lifted when I heard him set down a plastic bag.

"Morning."

"Good morning," I murmured.

Maybe I shouldn't bring it up. I want to give him some space. I know he doesn't like people prying into his business.

"I bought breakfast. There's a spare toothbrush in the mirror cabinet."

I pushed myself off the bed, "Thank you." I grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt then headed into the bathroom. When I returned, ready for the day, I found the balcony blinds pulled back and a spread of pancakes, eggs, and hashbrowns on the table. Fawad then went in while I used my phone to find the qibla. I used one of my shirts as a makeshift prayer mat and my dupatta from yesterday as a hijab.

Just as I finished giving salaam, Fawad stepped out of the bathroom in a simple olive-green t-shirt and his usual black jeans. He looked at me while putting his towel away. I joined him at the table after moving my things aside.

"I thought you were eating already," he chucked the remote onto the bed after turning on the TV for some background noise.

"No, I wanted to wait for you. Thanks for getting breakfast."

He gave me a nod and sat down.

I sat down as well. "What would you like?"

"I got it. Thanks, Alizey."

I nodded politely. We both helped ourselves and began eating. "When is your shift?"

"12."

"Do you always work on the weekends?"

"Yeah. Pays overtime."

"You don't get tired, Fawad?" I asked softly, studying him.

He was a closed-book carrying some kind of burden. He was simply just hard on himself. He doesn't give himself a break of any kind.

His eyes lifted from his buttery syrup-drenched pancakes as he searched my eyes. "I don't give myself the time to feel tired."

It couldn't be just for the money that he kept busy all the time; he was running from having the time to even think.

"It's not healthy, Fawad. Mentally or physically."

He shrugged. "Did any of your family reach out?"

I frowned at his lack of concern for himself. "No. Mama didn't answer my call. I was thinking of calling my sisters in a bit."

He nodded. "I'm going to take you shopping then drop you off at Dilnaaz Aunty's house so you can get your car. I'll go to work from there."

"That works for me." I looked down at what he was eating. "You don't want anything to drink? Any coffee or tea? Juice?"

"I ran out of coffee. I'll pick some up today. I don't usually drink tea." He got up, "There should still be some orange juice left in the carton."

I stood up, "I'll bring it."