Unapologetically

chapter nine

Mornings were torture for Rohail.

Before they had been lonely. Now there was so much movement, so much vividness, that his feelings had changed towards the opposite side of the depression spectrum. Depressed because things happened your way but not the way you wanted.

At abruptly 6 in the morning an alarm would go off and he'd groan softly, turning over and pulling the duvet over himself. His roommate would lay in bed for a few minutes and scroll through her phone after turning it off (but would deliberately be slow about it so she could irk him, he was sure about this.)

Next, Marwa would leave the warmth of the bed and even though she wanted nothing to do with him, he liked having her there.

She was meticulous about getting ready, almost ritualistic. Brushing her teeth, washing her face. Coming out dressed in her own clothes. The designer wear he had bought laying discarded and unused in their garment bags.

Her clothes, some of them, were very old fashioned. She seemed to like that. He'd often find her smiling at herself in the mirror as she'd zip up the kameez the rest of the way or drape her dupatta over her head. Then she'd drag mascara over her lashes, and he nearly grew intoxicated on the way the world seemed to still when she did just that.

Long, lengthy lashes covered in a layer of black. Lips pouty and eyebrows scrunched. He wished he could photograph and eternalize the look on her face.

At a quarter to seven she is fully ready and sits back in bed fully waiting for him to get up. He does, sighing, his alarm going off simultaneously. He showers looking at her things in the bathroom. The soap, the body wash, the shampoo made specially for her hair. He opens the bottles, sniffs them. Pretends the scent is directly from his wife. Imagines a world where she wouldn't be sleeping two feet away on the same bed, but rather tight against his chest.

By the time he is out of the shower and dressed to the nines, she is sipping on coffee. She doesn't eat in the mornings and that bothers him. He wants to insist. He wants to feed her with his own hands. But he feels he has lost that right before he was ever able to use it.

She watches him get ready and thinks he doesn't notice. Her eyes on the tie he hated but wears anyway, the cuff links he does himself. The way his hair is gelled but by the time they leave the house, a few strands have already slipped to his forehead.

Her eyes follow everything. He is haunted by them. Excited by them. He is in love with her eyes.

Afia lectures Rohail and Marwa about the importance of road safety. Tells them to keep fights out of the car. Then she winks at her granddaughter in law who gives her a sheepish smile as if she would never ever dare to argue with her husband whatsoever, and then they leave.

Rohail had said no to buses, to public transport, in much of the same way as he had to her jobs. It pained her to rely on him, especially considering it felt so nice. So nice to not have to worry about the pain of switching buses and being late and working her ass off.

He had a golden card over her and that was her Nani. He wouldn't hesitate to call the poor woman and make her bully Marwa into listening. A technique he had learned the night he had spent outside their room, too scared and too ashamed to come in. Her words ricocheting in his head.

He dropped her off, a steady gaze on her as she collected her bag. As her hand touched the door, he became brave enough to speak.

"Good luck okay? Just don't forget—!"

"Save it." She snapped, exiting the car, a ferocious look on her face as she didn't spare him a second glance and walked towards campus.

He scoffed, watching her disappear into the crowd of students. Marwa Kafeel was infuriating. Yet even this was something he enjoyed. A small smirk played at his lips on his way to work. He parked and sat for a few minutes in his car, formulating a text message he knew she would read.