Accepting You

Chapter Fifty Five

Yusuf hadn't seen his aunt Hina because she had been inside rushing around all day like an exploited, unpaid intern.

She had helped make and string up the decorations around the house and overseen the marquee decorators like a referee managing a football game. She had made five of the ten trays of food lined up on the tables, waiting for people to plunge spoons into them. She had filled the hampers, arranged the bridesmaids, paid for Rahimah's makeup artist, organised the dances and slipped Rahimah's shoes onto her feet like she was her prince charming.

According to his mum, there hadn't been a corner of this nikkah that Yusuf's aunt hadn't fiddled with. Aunt Hina had been obsessed with the success of this nikkah.

So she was in the second living room, massaging the pressure out of her feet.

Yusuf stood in front of the living room door.

His hand was in a fist, but it was swaying, hesitating at his side.

What did he want to gain from this? Was there anything to gain? Every conversation with his aunt had been futile. He would explain. She would disagree. He would accuse. She would deny. Their conversations went in circles, like a car driving around a roundabout, constantly missing its exit. Every conversation ended up at a dead end.

If Yusuf knew all this, why was he going in? Even mice didn't roam the same corners they had gotten trapped in.

Truthfully, to Yusuf, his aunt was no longer worth it, but as family, she had rights.

He whispered bismillah, knocked and waited for a few seconds before pushing down the handle and stepping in.

"You? What the hell are you doing here? Where's my aunt? What the hell is this?" The questions rattled out of Yusuf.

"She said we were supposed to talk," Sarah said as she sat up.

"Talk?" Yusuf spluttered like a car exhaust.

"Yeah. Wouldn't you want to?" Sarah asked slowly.

"Has the world ended?" He replied dryly, even though his heart had started to splutter too.

Yusuf scampered back to the closed door. His eyebrows tightened together. He hadn't heard the door shut and didn't remember closing it either.

Yusuf steadied his breathing. There's no way. They wouldn't dare, he inwardly reassured himself. But sirens were going off in his head as he gingerly reached for the handle and pushed.

Locked.

Yusuf was trapped. Trapped like a mouse with its tail under a metal bar.

Yusuf used his fingers to pinch the skin between his eyebrows. He didn't feel his feet move, but he felt his back graze the door as he stumbled backwards into it. The air around him felt thicker. The room was on fire, and it had been contaminated with smoke, and his lungs were heavy and filled with it.

This isn't real. This can't be real.

"Yusuf, aunt Hina said we were meant to talk– "

"No!" His voice wobbled through him. He had felt something coming. Why had he ignored his gut? Why hadn't he recognised the shift in the air, the change of direction in the wind, and noticed the colours moving across the sky were shades of grey and tumbling together with a warning. "Don't talk! No talking!"

Pressure swelled behind Yusuf's eyes as he recited authu billahi mina shaytani rajeem.

His fingers strangled the door handle before he shook it up and down. His movements were forceful, and while springing sounds came from the handle, the door didn't open.