echoes of defiance (Rewriting)

chapter 31

We continued with our studies, but whenever my thoughts drifted toward the looming threat of Zain’s grandfather’s ultimatum, Zain would be there to comfort me, his presence always reassuring. It had been fifty days since that dreadful visit, and although the first month was nerve-wracking, I was finally beginning to find peace. His grandfather’s threat seemed like an empty one—time had passed, and nothing happened. The only change I was aware of was that Zain’s father had moved back to Qatar.

Yet, despite the calm, I started noticing the quiet worry etched on Zain’s face. His behavior shifted. He barely spoke as much, spending long hours in his room, murmuring in Arabic over the phone. Each time I asked him what was going on, he would evade the question, brushing it off with a smile, but I could feel that something was deeply wrong. His silence screamed louder than words.

One morning, after breakfast, he took my hand, his grip firm yet gentle, as if trying to ground himself. His eyes met mine, and the tension was clear in his gaze. “Baby, there’s something I need to tell you. Please don’t panic, okay?” His voice was calm, but the underlying worry made my heart race. A sense of foreboding settled over me, but I forced myself to remain composed, nodding for him to continue.

“Okay…” I whispered, though my voice was already shaky.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “There’s something I need to sort out in Qatar. I’ll be traveling for a few days.”

His words hit me like a tidal wave, and for a moment, it felt like the ground beneath me had disappeared. My soul felt as though it was drowning, but I tried to keep my composure. I knew he had been hiding something, and now that he was finally telling me, I realized how much bigger this was than I had imagined. A chill of fear curled through me, but I couldn’t let him see it.

“Okay, *hayati’m*,” I replied, trying to steady my voice. “How long will you be gone?”

“Four days,” he answered softly, his gaze never leaving mine. I knew he could sense my fear, but he didn't push it. He was leaving tomorrow, and every fiber of my being felt like clinging to him.

That day, we stayed in. Zain was everywhere—helping me cook, preparing meals, making a month’s worth of side dishes like we usually did, and simply being by my side. I could feel the urgency in his movements, as if he were trying to hold on to every moment we had before his departure. At one point, I warned him that we were out of contraceptives, but he just smiled, brushing a lock of hair from my face. “We’ll get more when I come back,” he said softly, as if nothing could break the perfect bubble we had created.

The night came, and sleep was elusive. We spent most of the time talking, laughing, and just being close. I clung to him like he was my lifeline. The hours seemed to slip away far too quickly.

At 4 a.m., we finally drove to the airport. I had just turned eighteen and recently got my driver’s license, but even behind the wheel, my heart felt unbearably heavy. This was the first time Zain was leaving me for more than a few hours in the six months we’d been married. The thought of being without him made my chest tighten, and before I knew it, tears started to pool in my eyes.

Zain noticed immediately, pulling me into his arms. “If you don’t want me to go, I won’t,” he whispered, his voice thick with concern as he held me tightly, his embrace warm and secure.

I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “No, I’ll be fine… just don’t stay too long,” I whispered back, though my heart screamed for him to stay.

He cupped my face gently, wiping away my tears with his thumb. “I’ll be back in four days. I promise.” His words were soft, but the firmness in his voice was reassuring. He leaned down and pressed a light kiss on my lips. “I’m going to miss you, wifey. Take care, okay?”

I nodded, unable to speak as he hugged me one last time before heading towards the terminal. He waved at me as he walked further away, and I waved back, my tears flowing freely now. I stood there, watching until he disappeared from sight, the emptiness settling in the pit of my stomach.

The drive back to Seoul felt long and lonely. I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that clung to me, but I tried to distract myself by focusing on the road. When I got home, the silence was deafening.

Zain and I kept texting during his flight. Each message he sent was a reminder that he was still with me, still close, even if only through words. I clung to those messages as if they were a lifeline. When he landed, he texted me one last time before saying he would call later.

But as the hours ticked by, my heart couldn’t shake the heaviness. Something was coming—I just didn’t know what.

This was the 87th time I called, only to be met with the same hollow recording, “It’s Zain. Leave a message.” His voice echoed in my mind, a cruel reminder of his silence for the past 15 hours. Anxiety clawed at my chest. **Where is he? What’s happening?** The questions raced through my mind, but there were no answers, only a deepening sense of dread.

I had just finished praying Fajr, my body heavy with exhaustion after a sleepless night, when my phone rang. My heart leaped into my throat, and I rushed to where it was plugged in. I froze when I saw my mother’s name on the screen. Her sobbing pierced through the line the moment I answered.

“Mom, who died? Is it Zain? Is my husband dead?” I blurted, panic surging through me like a tidal wave. My head throbbed painfully as fear squeezed my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“It’s Halima,” she whispered through broken sobs. “Ance she’s losing the battle…” Her voice cracked, shattering my fragile hold on reality.

“Amma…” I breathed, disbelief and terror gripping me tightly. “No, no… they must be mistaken. I just spoke to her a few hours ago!” My voice grew louder, desperate. **This can’t be real.** It couldn’t be happening.

“We’re trying to figure out how to bring her over there. She’s fallen into a coma,” my mother said, dropping another bomb that left me reeling.

“Hasbunallahu wa ni’imal wakeel,” I whispered, tears pooling in my eyes. **Ya Allah, help me.**

I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t breathe. Everything around me seemed to blur as my mind spiraled, trying to understand the weight of what I had just heard. **My best friend, my guide, my second mother...in a coma?**

“Mom, yazanyi? Nashiga uku…” I muttered weakly, feeling completely powerless.

“We’re hoping to fly her in tomorrow. Just keep her in your du’as, please,” she said, her voice trembling, trying to hold herself together, but I could feel her grief through the phone.

“I will, I will…” I whispered, though my words felt hollow. Numbly, I hung up and sat back on my prayer mat, the world around me spinning, my chest tightening with a crushing sadness.

With shaky hands, I dialed Zain again. I needed to hear his voice, to feel his reassurance, but all I got was that same haunting voicemail: “It’s Zain. Leave a message.”

A loud sob escaped my lips, my hands trembling as I clutched my phone to my chest. “Ya Allah, kamin maganin abinda yafi karfina,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face as I rocked back and forth on the mat. **Help me with that which is beyond my strength.**

The silence of my empty home seemed to swallow me whole, the weight of my fears growing heavier with each passing second. First Zain, now Amma The world was closing in on me, and I felt powerless to stop it.