Forbidden

3. Push or Pull?

Sitting alone in the guest room, I felt the unfamiliar quiet settle around me, thick and still. Everyone had left for the mosque, and the house seemed emptier than I’d ever felt it. I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to rely on their presence—on the comfort of Kashifa’s family bustling around, the familiar sounds of conversation in the background, the closeness of people I was slowly growing attached to. But it was Kashifa's absence that weighed on me the most.

I found my hand resting on the arm of the chair, almost as if I’d half-expected Kashifa to be beside me, his fingers wrapped around mine, the way he’d always done. The warmth of his touch had become an anchor, something I’d grown so used to that now, without it, I felt unsteady, restless. I could almost feel his hand in mine, reassuring and grounding. It was unsettling, how much I craved that simple, quiet connection—so small and unassuming, but so powerful in its absence.

I shifted, glancing toward the door, counting the minutes until they would return, until I would feel that familiar comfort of Kashifa beside me. And yet, in these moments alone, my longing sharpened, became something undeniable. It was more than just his touch that I missed; it was him—his calm presence, his quiet laughter, the way he made even silence feel like something meaningful. I was holding on to that feeling as I waited, my fingers curling around nothing, but aching to hold him again.

Am I slowly falling for him? The thought caught me off guard, creeping up from somewhere I hadn’t dared to examine too closely. It was strange, this feeling stirring inside me for Kashifa, like a quiet pulse I couldn’t ignore. A warmth spread across my face, and before I knew it, I let out a small, helpless smile.

"Damn, August." I muttered under my breath, almost laughing at myself. "Don't fall too hard."

But even as I told myself that, I knew it was already happening. I couldn’t deny how deeply I’d come to care for him—how much his presence had settled into me, filling gaps I didn’t know were there. Yet the truth lingered, a stubborn whisper at the back of my mind. Kashifa was Muslim, and I was not. He came from a world where this—whatever this was beginning to feel like—wasn't just complicated; it was forbidden. Haram.

And yet, even knowing that, knowing how impossible this was, I found myself sitting here, my heart already reaching out in ways that scared me, hoping for things I couldn’t allow myself to have.

As I sat there alone in the guest room, I found myself drifting back to earlier that day, reliving each detail as if Kashifa had only just stepped out. I remembered the way he’d stood in the doorway, framed by the soft morning light, his presence filling the space with a quiet strength. His hair was still damp, neatly combed back, and glistening slightly, giving him a fresh, effortless look. The faint scent of his citrus cologne reached me, crisp and bright, lingering like a soft whisper in the air, a scent that felt like him—both refreshing and familiar.

A white, embroidered cap rested snugly on his head, a simple but dignified addition that made something tighten in my chest. He seemed so put together, his calm expression softened by that familiar glint in his eyes—the one that always seemed reserved just for me, like a secret we shared. His gaze lingered on mine, steady and warm, carrying a reassurance that felt deeper than words.

"Be back soon. Don’t miss me too much, okay?" He’d said, his lips curving into a small, teasing smile, one corner lifting in a way that made my heart skip. He said it lightly, as if it were only a passing farewell, but the words stayed with me, filling the quiet now, echoing as though he’d never left.

Abbu and Ahmad were already waiting outside, their voices drifting in from the yard, calling him to hurry up. And then I’d spotted his older brother, Zakeerin, standing in the doorway behind him, giving me a cheerful wave before ushering Kashifa along. I waved back, trying to keep my smile steady, even as I felt Kashifa’s hand brush the doorframe one last time. He looked back, holding my gaze, his expression lingering with a warmth that made me feel like I was the only one in the room.