The Unwanted Marriage

Chapter 19

Amina's POV

I woke up and sat on the edge of my bed, my heart heavy. Flashbacks of last night flooded my mind, and tears filled my eyes. Why does he hate me so much? What have I done to deserve this kind of treatment from him? I only agreed to this marriage for my parents' sake, yet I've been trying my best to make it work. But him? He never misses a chance to put me down.

Isn't he a Muslim? How can he drink and neglect his prayers so easily? How can he be so consumed by worldly attachments? My parents must have seen something good in him, but now I can't help but wonder—how did they think he was the right man for me?

I sighed, brushing away the painful thoughts, and got up to freshen myself in the bathroom. After completing my morning routine, I headed to the kitchen. The memory of last night lingered—he had been so drunk. He's definitely going to have a terrible headache this morning, I thought, worried.

Should I make hangover soup? The thought tugged at me. Yes, I should—it might ease his headache. Deciding on it, I searched for a recipe online and prepared the soup with care.

Once done, I poured it into a bowl and covered it with a lid, my hands trembling slightly as I carried it to his room. With every step, my heart pounded louder, the tension tightening in my chest. Stopping in front of his door, I took a deep breath. You can do this, Amina. Just make sure you don't wake him up.

I opened the door slowly, relief washing over me as I saw him still asleep. Quietly, I walked toward his bedside table and placed the bowl down. He looked so peaceful, so unlike his usual self. As he slept, his features softened, almost childlike.

An unexpected urge bubbled within me—to brush my fingers through his hair. It looked so soft, inviting even. But I quickly shook the thought away, chastising myself. Focus, Amina. Get out before he wakes up and accuses you of taking advantage of him again.

The sting of that possibility settled in my chest. Why does he think of me like that? Does he truly believe I'm so desperate? I clenched my hands, swallowing the ache of his constant misjudgments, and quietly slipped out of the room before my emotions could betray me.

Without another glance, I closed the door gently behind me, letting out a soft sigh.

I returned to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast, determined to finish before he woke up. The more I stayed out of his sight, the better—it might help dispel his misconceptions about me.

"What does he think of himself?" I muttered under my breath, frustration bubbling up. "Sure, he's handsome, but that doesn't mean every girl is dying for his attention. Maybe they are, but I'm not every girl."

Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself, I'm only fulfilling my duties as a wife to please Allah—nothing more.

With breakfast ready, I quickly set the table and retreated to my room, determined to avoid any encounter with him.

I closed the door behind me and went to my closet. There was still so much to organize—something I hadn't gotten around to before. It took me a while to finish, but the sense of accomplishment was worth it.

When I stepped out, I assumed Zayd had already left for the office. As I approached the dining table, my eyes fell on the empty plate he'd eaten from earlier. A small part of me was glad he'd eaten before leaving. I ate my own breakfast, completed the house chores, and then returned to my room to pray Zuhr.

After prayer, I recited Qur'an, and as the verses filled the quiet space, I felt an odd sense of calm. Once I finished, I decided to cook something light for myself. I walked into the kitchen and instinctively let my hair down, the damp strands falling loosely around my shoulders. It was still wet from the wash earlier, but I hadn't bothered to dry it properly.