The Unwanted Marriage

Chapter 40

Zayd's POV

Three years. I don't know how fast the time flew. It feels like a blur of days, weeks, months, all without her. I miss her. I miss her so much it's a constant ache beneath my ribs. But it was meant to happen, wasn't it? Maybe Allah sent her to me to guide me to the right path, to break me down so I could rebuild myself. I am grateful for that, truly. Yet, there hasn't been a single moment where I haven't prayed for her, prayed for her peace, her happiness. I want her back, with every fiber of my being, but I respect her decision too. I have to.

After we parted ways, I threw myself into becoming closer to my Maker, begging Him to make me the man she deserved, the man I should have been. I want her back, and it's been three years of waiting, a silent, agonizing wait, but I'm ready to wait for her all my life if that's what it takes.

When I came back from India, I couldn't bring myself to return to the penthouse. Every single corner of that place reminded me of her, of us, and, most painfully, of how I behaved. It still tightens my chest, that suffocating regret that will never truly leave me.

I was standing on the balcony, watching the sun paint the sky with a soft, new light. I'd just come back from the mosque after Fajr prayer, the morning air cool and crisp against my skin.

"Zayd?" A sweet, familiar voice pulled me back from my thoughts. I turned around, a small smile finding its way to my face. "Yes, Mom?" I said, walking towards her. I had told her everything after our divorce, as shocking as it was. I knew Amina would never breathe a word of it to anyone. Mom was sad, heartbroken even, and furious with me at the same time. She didn't talk to me for a whole month, and I was devastated. It was only my connection with Allah that held me together during that time. But eventually, she forgave me, because she knew how deeply I regretted my actions.

I sat on the bed, and she sat beside me. I instinctively placed my head on her lap, and she began to gently caress my hair, a soothing rhythm that brought a fleeting comfort.

"Should I talk to her?" she asked softly, her voice filled with a mother's concern.

"No, Mom," I sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "I don't want to pressurize her."

"But I think you deserve a second chance," she insisted, her fingers still stroking my hair.

"It's up to her," I said, looking up at her, my gaze unwavering.

"I can't see you in pain, Zayd," she murmured, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Mom, don't you think I'm a better person now after she came into my life?" I asked, sitting up straight, looking her directly in the eyes. She nodded slowly, her expression conflicted. "I trust Allah," I said, before she could speak, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Without another word, I walked towards the washroom, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I stood in the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my body, hoping it could wash away some of the turmoil, making me feel calm, even if just for a moment.

I stepped out of the shower, the hot water having done little to soothe the turmoil in my mind. I quickly changed, opting for comfortable clothes. Today, Mom and Layla were heading to India. My little sister was getting married to my best friend, Saad. I'd always sensed there was something between them, but I never really focused on it. As long as my sister was happy, then I was happy. Today I will drop them off at the airport. I will go after two days; I still had some important work to wrap up here.

I went to Layla's room and knocked on the door. "Come in," I heard her soft voice. I opened it to find all her bags packed, a neat pile by the door. She was on the bed, meticulously checking a list. I smiled, but a wave of overwhelming emotion washed over me. She would be leaving soon.