With Love

Chapter 9: pride and glee

He didn't really say anything substantial, about jobs and finances and kids. While everything he did say was appreciated and respectable, there were far more important things to worry about when it came to building and maintaining a marriage.

"What do you think about me working after marriage?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I earn enough, but if you want to work then who am I to stop you?"

Wasn't that what her own brother had told his wife before too? Later, he changed his mind and kept her at home instead.

"How...soon do you wanna have kids?" It felt awkward and weird to ask him something like this, something so intimate and personal when they didn't even know each other that well yet. Israh though wasn't keen on having children so soon after marriage. She wanted to get to know him better, to be comfortable around him before any more responsibility was thrown their way.

He took a moment to reply. "I'm willing to wait. No rush."

That was also probably something all men said to appease the women, and then later, like it happened with Aneesa, the woman became a mere child-producing machine and nothing more.

Israh didn't even know why she was asking all these questions, what she was expecting from him at this point. No matter what he said, she'd doubted that she'd be completely satisfied with his responses. Everything was a risk at this moment. Marriage was a risk, and she wasn't sure whether she was willing to take it or not.

She heard him sigh beside her, before he uncrossed his arms and instead put his hands into his pants' pockets, as he looked up at the peeking moon again.

"Do you think it matters?" She suddenly asked. He looked at her, askew and she just shrugged nonchalantly, as she hugged herself. "The past. Do you think it matters?"

"Depends, I guess. Sometimes."

"When does it matter?"

She wondered whether ammi or abbu had ever mentioned Aneesa to this new family, or whether they'd met Jamal bhai. She wondered whether Asad's impressions about her and her family would change, whether uncle and aunty would withdraw and refuse this rishta, whether Aneesa's notorious reputation would be hers by simple association, whether bhai's failure to work would be deemed her failure too, whether her parents' lack of progress in terms of success throughout their life, would be deemed her inability to succeed.

She shivered at the thought of such things happening, of being seen as a lesser person. She didn't want to be questioned concerning her character and heart. She didn't want to be associated with people that weren't so good. She didn't want to fail and be stuck in the same place for years and years on end. She didn't want to die alone and miserable.

Because she knew that deep down, she was going to disappoint everyone. She knew that the things she hid so well, the lies she told so skillfully were going to be revealed and it was only a matter of time before she shattered everyone's expectations. It was only a matter of time before she broke her parents' heart.

She wasn't smart. She wasn't their smart daughter. She could never be. She tried hard at first, but now she didn't even try. Fear paralyzed her. Anxiety had her in a chokehold. She wanted to cry. To scream. To die.

And as she turned to see Asad's face as his eyes tried to assess her and pick her apart, she knew she was going to disappoint him too. At least, though, the ultimate discovery of her failures could be delayed a little more. She'd marry him, and then all about her studies and her job hunts and buying a house for her parents and being dumb and useless, would be a thing of the past for a while.

She'd give Asad everything. Every bit of hers. She'd cut herself limb by limb if it meant that he'd stay in the dark about her true heart, that he'd never get to know about the real her, about how boring and passionless of a woman she was. He didn't have to know that she suffered, and once she died of numbness, then well...dead people told no tales, right?

"When it has the potential to hurt yourself or someone else later. That's when it matters."

She paused, letting his answer settle in the space between them. "So only when it's dangerous?" she asked, her voice soft, almost testing the idea. 

He considering her words. "There's always some danger festering in the past...but some things are easier left behind. Especially if digging them up brings more pain than healing."

That word—festering—stuck with her. Like the past wasn't just this neutral thing we could choose to ignore, but something that rotted if we didn't deal with it. Israh wondered what exactly he was leaving behind, what parts of his past he was afraid to look at too closely. And she wondered if Hafsa was one of them.

Israh wanted to reach out and question him, to push harder, but she hesitated. There was something fragile in the air now, like if she pressed too much, it would all crack and leave them standing in the rubble. So Israh stayed quiet, waiting, hoping that her thoughts were wrong.

"We should head back inside."

She practically ran from there. Even though, he was still behind her and obviously he'd have to still pass through her in the kitchen back to the living room, and then they'd obviously still see each other while eating, but for now, the curiosity and weirdness was catching up to her and she needed to breathe.

As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, her mom glancing at her, she hurried over to the saalan and put the dish in the microwave.

"Baat ho gayi?" (Are you done talking?) Her mom asked and she merely hummed, highly aware of his eyes on her as he came into the kitchen too. She only breathed out deeply when he was gone, and a moment of clarity washed over her softly.

"Yeah. Ho gayi." (It's done) When the microwave alerted that the saalan had been warmed, she caught her mom's hand and squeezed it tightly, almost for her own reassurance, to gather some courage. 

She repeated his answer in her head and re-heard it. Though cautious, it carried its own kind of wisdom. The past was dangerous, in its own way. Israh could understand that. It wasn't about running from it or ignoring it—it was about knowing when to leave it alone, when to protect yourself from the harm it could bring.

 She didn't need to dig any further. Not tonight, not about this.

 "Ammi...meri taraf se haan hai." (Mom...it's a yes from me)

The glint of joy that she witnessed in her mother's eyes in that moment was incomparable to any other moment. Every other time she'd seen her mother smile and gush over her, was nothing compared to how she hugged and whispered duas and love into Israh's ears now. She might as well have saved the world from bursting or something, because the way her mother looked at her now was just...incredible. Proud. Her mother was proud of her. Wow.

The world had suddenly lit up, the kitchen grew wider, everyone's laughter rung in her ears and her chest overfilled with love. It was probably the happiest time of her life. This. Right now. Tonight.

She had no idea what the future held, but for now, she'd relish in everyone's happiness. For now, she'd let herself be hopeful too.