FORBIDDEN VOWS

CHAPTER 09

Rania

A sense of contentment washed over me as the minutes ticked by. Talking to Soha felt like peeling back layers of an onion, revealing shared experiences and unspoken connections at every turn. Our similarities, like puzzle pieces falling into place, created a comforting sense of familiarity. Today's charade, the forced display of affection for my husband, felt like a distant memory. The weight of that performance hung heavy on my shoulders, a stark contrast to the lightness and ease of this newfound connection.

Then,my father-in-law made an inevitable suggestion. Long story short, Soha and her parents would stay the night. A surge of excitement, tempered by a flicker of apprehension, coursed through me. The prospect of spending uninterrupted time with her was intoxicating, yet the implications of such a decision were daunting. I nodded, my voice barely a whisper, a silent agreement to a proposition that held the potential to alter the trajectory of my life.

My husband retreated upstairs, a silent withdrawal from the charged atmosphere. My father-in-law summoned a servant and tasked him with preparing the dinner while our visitors were shown to their rooms.

As the evening wore on, a sense of exhaustion crept in. The initial excitement of our connection began to wane, replaced by the comforting weight of familiarity. We had shared laughter, secrets, and dreams, creating a bond that 'felt' both fragile and unbreakable and the suggestion to share a room, a simple proposal born from convenience, held a deeper significance and now made me feel super excited and looking forward to the night ahead.

Time seemed to slip away unnoticed as we delved deeper into conversation. It was as if we had known each other for lifetimes, our minds aligning with effortless ease. Laughter, a sweet melody, filled the room, a testament to the connection we shared. The world outside faded into insignificance, replaced by the warmth of our shared experiences.

Then, the intrusion. A knock at the door shattered the fragile bubble we had created. The maid's announcement of dinner was a jarring reminder of the world beyond our sanctuary. Reluctantly, we rose from the bed, the spell broken but the promise of continued connection a comforting thought. As we made our way downstairs, the weight of the world seemed to lift, replaced by a sense of anticipation for what the dinner with today's guests would bring.

The grand dining table, a masterpiece of culinary artistry, awaited us. As we took our seats, the familiar arrangement offered a sense of comfort amidst the swirling emotions. Soha sat across from me, her presence a beacon of warmth in the otherwise unfamiliar surroundings. Our conversation, a seamless continuation of the one we'd shared earlier, flowed effortlessly, a soothing balm to the chaos within.

More than 1 hour slipped away as we indulged in both food and conversation, the world outside fading into insignificance. It was a fleeting moment of normalcy, a respite from the complexities of life. Yet, the knowledge of impending separation cast a shadow over our shared joy. The inevitable approach of bedtime loomed large, a stark reminder of the distance that would soon separate us.
The thought of parting ways with Soha for the night was a bitter pill to swallow.

Then, a whisper, soft as a summer breeze, broke through my reverie. Soha suggested we share the same room, a simple proposal that held the potential to transform the night into something as a girls sleepover or something since its been ages since she had a sleepover with a friend or cousin. The idea of spending the night together, of sharing laughter and secrets, was both exhilarating and terrifying. A whirlwind of emotions swirled within me, a tempestuous battle between the desire for connection and the fear of the unknown.

The words, once uttered, hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the boundaries I was about to cross. I needed to consult with my husband, to seek his approval before proceeding. The thought of involving him in this decision, of exposing the depth of my connection to Soha, filled me with a sense of trepidation.

I turned to Soha, my voice barely a whisper.
"I need to ask my husband first," I explained, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She chuckled, her disbelief evident.
"Why would you need to ASK him?" she questioned , her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of amusement.
The absurdity of the situation struck me then. I was acting like a child seeking permission for a sleepover.

My husband, sensing the tension, interjected before I could formulate a response.
"Sure," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Confusion reigned as I struggled to decipher the meaning behind his swift agreement.

"Sure for what?" I managed to stammer out, my mind racing to catch up with the rapid-fire exchange.

My husband hesitated, his eyes darting between us. "You were about to ask me if you could spend the night with her." he clarified, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance.

The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation. How could he have been listening to our conversation? A wave of embarrassment washed over me as I realized the implications of my actions.

I turned towards Soha and told her that I have assured my husband and she went like,
"Kay let's go then?" with a load of excitement in her voice.

Sleep, my fragile embrace, was ripped away by the tempestuous fury of the storm. Thunder roared, a deafening assault on my senses, while rain lashed against the windows, a relentless drumbeat that pounded in my ears. Fear, a cold and clammy companion, crept into my heart. The darkness, once a comforting cocoon, transformed into a cavern of shadows, each one a potential threat.

A memory, a jagged shard of the past, pierced through the veil of sleep. The day, a storm brewing on the horizon, mirrored the turmoil within me. Panic, a wild beast, clawed at my chest, demanding release. My hand fumbled for the lamp, the sudden burst of light a stark contrast to the inky blackness.

Soha was gone. A moment of disorientation, a surreal pause as my mind raced to comprehend the empty space beside me. Was this a cruel trick of sleep, a phantom of the night? The room, unfamiliar and stark, confirmed the harsh reality. I was alone, adrift in a sea of fear and confusion.

A silent vow escaped my lips as I gathered my hair into a loose ponytail. Then I went to the kitchen to grab some water and somehow the kitchen became my only destination and a beacon of hope for help in the stormy night. With each cautious step, I navigated the treacherous terrain of the house, the creaking floorboards a constant reminder of my vulnerability. The storm raged outside, a mirror to the tempest within, as I made my way downstairs, a silent specter in the heart of the night.

As I approached the kitchen, a flicker of light caught my eye. A surge of adrenaline coursed through me. The image of a shadowy figure, a home invader, or worse, a menacing killer, flashed before my eyes. My hand instinctively reached for the butter knife on the dining table, a feeble weapon against the unknown. The memory of self-defense classes, a distant echo of a forgotten past, offered a flicker of hope. With each cautious step, I braced myself for the unexpected, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

The rhythmic cadence of the Ayat ul Kursi offered a momentary respite from the storm raging within. Seeking solace in the sacred verses, I ventured into the kitchen, a beacon of light in the otherwise darkened house. And then a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips as my eyes landed on the scene before me. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, time suspended in a surreal pause. A wave of disbelief washed over me as I struggled to comprehend the sight before me. My heart pounded in my ears, a deafening drumbeat against the onslaught of sensory overload.
The world tilted, gravity a fickle mistress, and then, nothing.

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