Accepting You

Chapter Fifty Eight

Yusuf stood up and began shuttling himself across the masjid.

He hopped on his feet, dodging stretched out legs, curled bodies, and spread-out palms like he was playing a game of hopscotch, before collapsing on the other side of the mosque.

Yusuf's head slugged backwards as the wall he was sitting against soaked up his body weight.

"Mate, did you overeat at iftar or something?" Dawood asked with a chuckle. "You used to lead some of these taraweh's man, and now you look like you're struggling to stand."

"Long day. Just tired," Yusuf shrugged sluggishly.

"Oh yeah? Say that to your pot belly bro," Dawood snickered.

"I don't have a pot belly," Yusuf mumbled with a slight frown.

"Then what's this?" Dawood asked as he launched his finger at Yusuf's stomach.

Yusuf slapped Dawood's finger away. "I'm trying to focus," he said as his gaze flickered to the removable partition separating the women and men.

"My bad. I'll let you do your ibadah," Dawood said with an unphased grin.

Yusuf muttered a thank you and closed his eyes.

All Yusuf had to do was focus. Lower the volume of his heart. Block out the other voices in the masjid. Listen out for her voice, which, due to where she liked to sit, would be easy to hear, and catch the beginning of her sentence, a letter of a word, or follow one of her small hiccups to one of her laughs.

Then, memorise it, dissect it and compare it.

Yusuf strained his ears, but Asiya's voice didn't stand out amongst the crowd of others, just like it hadn't stood out during the taraweh breaks on the previous days of Ramadan.

If they hadn't driven to the mosque together, if Yusuf couldn't make out the green shadow of her hijab through the grainy partition, he would've assumed she had left.

Yusuf began to try again, but after an uncle tutted about his so-called shamelessness and moved his finger in front of Yusuf's eyes, directing them away from the partition and instead towards the front, Yusuf gave up.

There was no point anyway. Hearing Asiya giggling and chatting with others wouldn't lead to him concluding differently about her feelings. It would only prove Yusuf's conclusion that Asiya was upset with him.

Even though Asiya said everything under the sun, claiming otherwise.

Asiya was still talking to him. Touching him and allowing Yusuf to touch her. Asiya was still doing everything she was meant to do. She would appear fine to an ordinary eye, one that wasn't clouded by the film of a close relationship with Asiya over it. Asiya was acting fine.

It was one of her best acts so far.

Asiya's movements around Yusuf seemed to have a lag like she was convincing herself to do them. Forcing herself sometimes. Her movements were robotic and lacking her usual bubbly spring. Whenever Yusuf got close to Asiya, she would stiffen up before mentally pouring oil on her limbs, gingerly loosening the gears in them and hesitantly relaxing.

Since Ramadan had started, Asiya hadn't started any conversations with him.

When she did speak to him, it sounded like the ends of her words were falling asleep. Her voice had also become spacey and felt distant like she had to search for it each time she wanted to respond to him.

Yusuf would watch Asiya speak, notice how she drifted into her thoughts, notice how they would slightly depress her face before she made an excuse, headache, I need the bathroom, I'm tired, I feel sick, and gave up on speaking to him altogether.