Finding Salaam After Talaq

Chapter 9: Pain

August 2010

The sun's soft rays streamed through the curtains, gently waking me from my slumber. As I stretched and opened my eyes, I found Ahmed, my beloved husband, still asleep beside me. His peaceful expression made my heart swell with affection. Careful not to wake him, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen.

I had decided to surprise Ahmed with breakfast in bed, a gesture of love and appreciation for the incredible man he was. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as I prepared his favorite meal. I hummed a sweet melody to myself, unable to contain my excitement.

With a tray laden with scrambled eggs and a steaming cup of coffee, I returned to our bedroom. Ahmed stirred as I entered, his eyes blinking open in surprise.

"Good morning," I whispered, placing the tray beside him.

His eyes lit up with warmth and gratitude as he looked at the breakfast I had prepared. "You didn't have to," he said, his voice filled with affection.

"But I wanted to," I replied, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "It's a small token of my love."

We spent the morning in each other's company, savoring our breakfast in bed. Between bites, we talked about our dreams and aspirations, our plans for the future. Ahmed's smile was infectious, and every moment spent with him felt like a cherished memory in the making.

After breakfast, we decided to take a leisurely stroll in the park, hand in hand. The sun bathed everything in a warm, golden glow, and a gentle breeze played with our hair. As we walked, we shared stories of our past, our laughter mingling with the rustling of leaves.

Our love was like a vibrant tapestry, woven with shared dreams and whispered promises. We paused by a serene pond, watching as the ducks glided across the water. Ahmed pulled me into his embrace, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

"Fatima," he said, his eyes locked onto mine. "You are the love of my life, and being with you is a dream come true."

I smiled, my heart brimming with love. "Ahmed, you are my anchor, my confidant. With you, every day feels like a beautiful adventure."

As the day drifted into evening, we returned home, our hands still entwined. Together, we prepared a delicious dinner, working in perfect harmony. The joy of being in each other's presence filled our home, making it a sanctuary of love.

We ended the day on our balcony, under a blanket of stars. Ahmed wrapped his arms around me, and we gazed up at the night sky, lost in our thoughts. Our love was a masterpiece, painted with the colors of trust, respect, and unwavering support.

That day was a testament to the strength of our love, a love that could conquer any obstacle life threw our way. As we lay side by side, I whispered a silent prayer, thanking Allah for the gift of Ahmed and the love we shared. It was a beautiful day filled with shared laughter, dreams, and promises. But little did I know that it was only three months later that Ahmed's behavior started changing.

At first, it was subtle—a comment here, a suggestion there. He began to express his opinions more forcefully, especially when it came to my choices. Ahmed had always been confident, and I admired that about him. But gradually, that confidence morphed into something else—an insistence that he knew what was best for me.

One evening, as we were preparing dinner together, I reached for the red bell pepper to add to the stir-fry. Ahmed's hand stopped mine, a stern look on his face.

"Fatima, we don't need bell peppers in this dish," he said, his tone firm.

I hesitated, confused. "But I thought it would add some flavor and color."