Veil of Lies

Shadows of the Past, Strength of the Present

★ Musfirah

I woke up with a jolt, the air around me feeling heavy and suffocating. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, but no matter how much I inhaled, it wasn’t enough. The dream, that nightmare again, it was all too familiar, but this time, the fear haunted me longer, sharper, like the ghost of my past refusing to let go.

I sat up in bed, clutching the blanket, my hands trembling. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. It was a safe room, our room, but in that moment, it felt foreign, like the walls were closing in. The memories from my old life, the lies, the missions, they all came flooding back, mixing with the fear that still gripped me.

I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, but my hands were damp, shaky. I tried to remind myself where I was, to ground myself in the present, but the panic swirled inside me, refusing to settle.

Through the haze of my distress, I heard the soft murmur of zikr. It was gentle, soothing, pulling me back to reality. I glanced to my right and saw him—Mustafa, seated on his prayer mat, his fingers moving silently in remembrance of Allah. His face was peaceful, illuminated by the faint light of the early dawn. He hadn’t noticed me yet, concentrated in his supplication.

For a moment, I just watched him, wishing I could feel that same peace, that same stillness he seemed to carry. But my heart raced, and my throat tightened, the nightmare’s grip still strong.

As if sensing my distress, Mustafa looked up, his brows furrowing in concern. He stood up from his mat immediately and came to my side, kneeling beside me on the bed.

“Musfirah?” His voice was soft, careful. “Are you alright?”

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. My breath was still ragged, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I wanted to tell him I was fine, that it was just a dream, but my throat felt too tight, like the fear was choking me.

His eyes searched mine, patient but worried. I hated that look, hated the idea of him seeing me like this, weak, afraid. After everything that had happened, after finally becoming his wife, the last thing I wanted was to burden him with my past. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod, but my body betrayed me, trembling as the tears welled up in my eyes.

“I—it's nothing,” I stuttered, my voice barely audible. “Just… a bad dream.”

He didn’t press me. Instead, he leaned closer, gently pulling me into his arms. His embrace was warm, firm yet gentle, and in that moment, I allowed myself to collapse into him. I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, so calm compared to my own.

His hand softly rubbed my back, his fingers tracing slow, comforting circles. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “I’m here.”

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his presence wash over me. He didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t push for explanations. He just held me, waiting for the storm inside me to pass. His patience was humbling. It made me want to tell him everything–to confess my fears, my past, all the things I’d kept hidden from him. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

After a few moments, I finally pulled back, wiping my face as embarrassment crept in. I must have looked so pathetic, waking up like that on our first night after the Nikkah. I was supposed to be happy, settled. Not... this.

Mustafa reached for the glass of water by the bedside table and handed it to me. “Here,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “Drink.”

I took the glass from him, my hands still trembling slightly as I sipped the cool water. It helped. It always did. But the unease was still there.