Abuja, Nigeria.
Aslam stood outside the door, his chest heaving. Amna's words played on a loop in his mind, it felt like a knife was being twisted deeper into his already wounded soul.
His hands trembled when he reached for the doorknob of his bedroom door. He paused, a part of him desperately hoping she would call out to him, tell him she didn't mean it, give him a reason to believe they could still mend everything. But the long corridor remained silent, save for the sound of his uneven breathing. His heart sank deeper into his chest.
He walked into his room and his gaze fell on the framed photo, a photo from their honeymoon in Bora Bora . The urge to punch the frame surged within him but he resisted, clenching his fists tightly until his knuckles turned white. Instead, he slid down onto the floor, burying his face in his hands.
The weight of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him, he wanted to scream, to let all his anger out but he fought to keep control.
Twenty minutes passed when he pushed himself up and walked to the closet. He grabbed sweatpants and shirts, a jallabiya, along with a few other essentials and running shoes, and quickly threw them into a duffel bag. His eyes landed on the BMW car keys on the dresser when he returned to the room. He grabbed them and made his way downstairs.
When he stepped outside, the quiet of the night did nothing to calm his racing mind and heart. He got into the car and roared the engine then sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He took several deep breaths and felt a tear slip down, which he quickly brushed away with the back of his hand. Finally, he started the engine and drove away, with no clear destination in mind, only the need to escape.
.
.
Amna stood frozen, listening to the fading sound of Aslam's footsteps as he walked down the corridor. When she finally heard the door click shut, it was as if a dam inside her broke. She collapsed onto the bed, her body trembling with the force of her sobs.
She buried her face into the pillow, the fabric soaking up her tears. Her heart ached with a deep pain, as if it were being wrung out with every breath she took. She could still see the look in Aslam's eyes, the hurt and confusion, and it tore at her soul.
She kept replaying their argument over and over in her mind. The words she had thrown at him were in anger, but she didn't want that. She wished things had turned out differently, she wished she could take back her words. But in her pain and frustration, she had pushed him away, and now the reality of that hit her with full force, like a physical blow.
When she heard the distant sound of his car engine starting, a fresh wave of panic surged through her. She quickly sat upright, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She ran to the window, watching as the taillights of his BMW disappeared into the night. A part of her wanted to call him to come back, to beg him to stay, to tell him she didn't mean it. She felt guilty, recalling all the effort he had put into planning a surprise anniversary dinner for her, when she'd even forgotten their anniversary. She felt selfish and loathed herself for her thoughtlessness. At that moment, she just wanted to call Khalthum and cry to her, and confide in her, but she didn't have that privilege.
She slid down to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to hold together the pieces of her shattered heart. The room was filled with her sobs, she stared at the clock which said 1:23am and wondered where he would go. Would he be alright?
.
.
.
Aslam drove aimlessly for a while, the streets passing by in a blur. His mind replayed the events of the evening.
