𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 | 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟎𝟏

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟏

ARZO

Faizan took me to the house we’d be moving into.

Unlike last time, I didn’t question him where we were going. All I knew was that I needed to clear everything between us and explain the reason behind my behavior while also praying that he doesn’t hate me or change his mind.

I didn’t change into any kurti trousers, I simply wore my gray abaya and wrapped my white jersey hijab around my head.

Faizan quietly holds my hand and leads me inside the house.

Unlike before, there’s a couch and dining table placed in as we walk inside. I guess he started getting the furniture moved in here.

Faizan takes me to the backyard porch and makes me sit on the couch.

“I’ll be back,” he says before he lets go of my hand and walks away.

While I wait for him to return, I try to prepare how I will explain to him the reason behind my behavior while trying not to make it sound like I have a mental illness.

When Faizan returns, he’s not empty handed. He returns holding a tray of my favorite comfort food.

Gol Gappay- also known as Pani Puri.

He places the tray on the table then kneels on the ground, facing me and holds my hand. I stare at him.

“Okay, listen to me,” he says, “the article has already been taken down, okay? The suspicions of the people will fade away in a few days, In Sha Allah. One of our business friends is doing press and when he is asked about the article, he will clear their doubt. Not only that, Farhan and I will do an interview with a journalist who will write an article in defense of us. You may also have to do an interview because the press wants to hear your side of the story as well.

“I won’t let this get out of hand, amar. I promise. I never expected this to happen and I promise it won’t happen again. Just please don’t avoid me, I.. I don’t like it.”

I stare at him, unblinking with my lips parted as he tells me his explanation.

He brought me here to explain himself..

He thinks I’m mad at him…

My lips quiver and a tear escapes my eye.

Then another.

Panic settles on his face.

“Wh- what? What did I say?- why are you crying, amar?”

Instead of signing, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder as sobs escape my lips.

He freezes when I hug him and doesn’t utter a word.

After a moment, his arms slowly wrap around my waist and he lets me cry on his shoulder while he gently rubs my back.

He doesn’t tell me to stop crying or if he’s uncomfortable. He stays quiet and holds me as I let out all the emotions I’ve been bottling up for the past two days.

I don't know how long I cry for but I know that somewhere in between my sobs turn into hiccups.

“Amar…” he says, softly, “tell me what’s wrong, please.”

I pull away, sniffling. He gently wipes my tears and hands me a tissue when I ask for one.

He doesn’t move from his place, he keeps his hand on my waist while I wipe my face.

“Feeling okay?” he asks, I nod, “will you please tell me what’s wrong now?” I slowly nod my head.

“I’m not upset with you,” I sign, “I haven’t been feeling myself because the accusation and the whispers in the office reminded me of the time when I found out I couldn’t talk. I built a hole for myself and stayed in it for months, feeling nothing and caring about nothing. It worried my parents and api because I was there but… mentally, I wasn’t.

“I was falling back into that numb and hopeless hole and I didn’t want you to see me in that state. I… I was scared you’d think something was really wrong with me.”

“I don’t think that, amar,” he tells me, his voice soft and soothing, “you’re my wife. If something is bothering you, I should and must fix it. I don’t want you to hide from me, not now, not ever.”

“These past two days were hard." I confess, "I wanted to talk to you but I couldn’t because I was scared. The phase I was in twelve years ago kept repeating in my mind. I felt so helpless back then and I don’t even remember how I lost my voice.”

“What do you mean?”

“The doctors found no injuries on my vocal cord to say I was a mute but when I woke up, I wouldn’t speak and it made me panic. I don’t remember how I ended up in the hospital that day.” I explain, “the doctors said that the incident may have a traumatic impact on me and I became a selective mute.”

“Did they say if you were going to remember it?”

I shake my head, “my parents took me to a psychologist. She told me that no one could force me to remember what had happened unless my brain allowed it. My brain wasn’t letting me remember the incident because… it was saving me from the impact it may have on me.” I swallow, “the doctors said that there is a chance I could regain my voice but it depended on my brain and what it accepted. For these twelve years, it accepted me as a mute.”

“What happened, then?”

I shrug, “I learnt sign language, fell into a numb hole for months then forced myself out of it and promised myself I wouldn’t fall back in it but… I failed.”

“You didn’t fail.” he says, “You weren’t falling back into that hole, you were just tired. You were tired of being falsely accused. You needed to distract yourself but you only thought of the time you last felt like that. You didn’t fail, amar. You’re not numb, you’re not hopeless. And I promise you, I won’t let you fall into that hole till my last breath.”

I stare at him for a while then sign, “thank you,”

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do. I really thought you were upset with me but you talked about it instead of.. Ghosting me.”

“I couldn’t do that. I am counting the days till I get to bring you home.”

That puts a smile on my face.

My attention turns to the food and I ask, “why those?”

“Oh, I read an article that the best way to cheer up someone is to get them their favorite food and I remembered you telling me that you could eat more than a dozen Gol Gappay.”

I blink at him, “you read an article on how to cheer up a person?”

A pause, “yes.”

I let out a small chuckle, “that’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone. They’ll think I’m an imposter.”

I silently laugh.

Faizan sits beside me and we eat together. We talk a little in between, I ask him when the furniture will be moved in, he tells me it’ll be done before the rukhsati.

The more time I spend with him, the more better I feel and come back to being myself. He notices it too because in between my ramblings, I catch a hint of smile.

While we were talking, I received my flowers- I don’t know when he ordered them- and my heart exploded with joy.

By the time we leave the house it’s almost time for the guests to be arriving at my parents’ house but I don’t care if I’m late.

He stops the car in front of my parents’ house and I gather my things to leave.

I pause with my hand on the handle and turn my face towards Faizan, who’s looking at something on the dashboard.

I quickly lean in and peck his cheeks.

He freezes at my sudden act and I run out of the car with a grin and my cheeks heating up.

Today took a good turn.

Alhumdulillah.