With Love

Chapter 23: words that will never reach him

Dear Asad,

As you know, things at home haven't been good. For a long time now, but I think I made it all worse. I don't really regret it, but I do wish I had taken a different approach to achieve what needed to be achieved. Regardless, now it's done. I can't change it, can't fix everything that's been broken.

That's another of my faults. I want to fix people. I can't bear their sadness, their helplessness and I try to be there, to be the one to help even when I know there's nothing I can do to make everything alright again. I've noticed that more often than not, I either hurt people or I hurt myself.

But how else can things be alright again? If we stop trying, then how else can love and justice prevail?

This silence suffocates me. It's so heavy, so disappointing. I keep asking Allah what's next, but He doesn't tell me. For once I wish that I didn't have to guess.

They say Allah always has a reason behind everything He gives us and everything He takes away, and that someday we will understand, and we'll be grateful then. But I want to be grateful now. I want to understand now. Why is so much of life about waiting?

Waiting to grow up, to dream, to support our family, to study and find a good job; waiting to afford the things we want, waiting for the one, for marriage, for love, for support and kindness.

Will you really love me?

I know you said you have a hard time trusting people, and I know I said that I didn't care for love, but this ugly, disastrous heart hasn't learnt its lesson from all the ruins its seen. It demands something more. It demands you.

And I can't even say for sure what I feel, because I truly don't know, but I'm so scared of never being someone's completely, just as scared as I am about falling for someone whose affections just won't be enough.

I don't know what to do with my life. I don't know what to do with myself. I'm nothing, so I know it's unfair of me to ask you to love this nothingness, but dammit I'm so shamefully desperate, mouth open starving for something, for someone different. For you to be the one!

Tears blurred her eyes as she wrote, but half-way through she knew this letter wasn't going to be sent. This piece of her heart was going to stay pressed between the pages of her journal and never see the light of day.

Asad would get a lighter note, about seeing the sun and basking in its warmth, as she sat in the backyard to read a book she'd been dying to read ever since she saw her favorite book youtuber gush about it last year. He'd get to know that she lightly burnt her hand ironing the clothes, and that there was now also a hole in her favorite sage green hijab. She'd tell him that summers were nice but there was so much fuss about hay fever going around, that she preferred the iciest winters instead.

Asad would forever get the better half of her. Today's glimpse into her sadness was just that. A glimpse. Nothing more would be revealed, nothing more would be put out there for exploitation.

No one would break through, no one would understand, no one would be allowed to hurt her. Today and tomorrow, she would become the woman who didn't take sh*t from anyone.

If she wasn't benefitting anyone else anymore, at least she'd benefit herself.

* * *

"You stay close to family. You don't stand against them. Do you realise how big of a mess you've created?! Kiya image reh gayi hai humaari sab ke saamne?" (What image has remained of us in front of people?)

Israh looked up at her mother, disappointed but not surprised. "Image? To agar bhai bhabhi ko maar dete...to kiya image reh jaani thi humaari, ammi?" (Then if...brother had killed sister-in-law, what image would remain of us then?)

"Israh." Her mother's eyes were wide, incredulous, like she just didn't understand how Israh could even utter those words in this moment. "What's gotten into you. Tum aisi to nhi thi." (You weren't like this)

She wasn't like this. She wasn't the kind of person to say what was on her mind. She usually just let it simmer under the surface, and if possible, she'd try her hardest to repress it altogether.

But not anymore.

"Ammi, mujhe to ye nhi samajh aa raha ke aap kaisi baatein kar rahi hain. (Mom, I don't understand whatever you are saying) Israh, held her mother's hand tightly, as if pleading. Begging. "I get it, he's your son and you love him a lot, but don't be so unconditional and blind in this love. He's not who we used to know. He's not a good person, amma. That's the reality and you need to accept that. Stop making excuses for him. You and abbu have done so much for him and it's led to nothing. He's only gotten worse and worse. There's only so much we can do for him, only so much Allah will bless him with when he, himself, isn't trying hard enough. Why don't you get that?"

Sidra's gaze turned cold, unforgiving, and in an abrupt moment, jerked away from Israh's hold and stood up. "Tumhaare abbu sahi kehte hai. Tumhaara dimaagh khraab ho gaya hai." (Your dad is right. You've gone mad)

Israh was sure Jamal bhai was going to be bailed out soon. He'd come straight for her. He'd be angry and he'd probably be willing to hurt her too. She just hoped that Shakeela bhabhi and the kids were safe and well wherever they were. She hoped Shakeela bhabhi's brother stood up for her and not against her, that he'd be his sister's unmoving shield.

The kind of shield that Jamal bhai never was for his sisters.

Israh watched her mother go and sighed. Whatever her mother's thinking process was, was wrong, and Israh wasn't going to be the one to break her mother out of that toxic mentality it seemed.

Having a family was a great blessing, and supporting each other was their duty. But even Allah wasn't with the ones who stayed quiet against injustice, family or not.