Ishq-e-laa Mahdud

Sukoon-E-Qalb |3|

"The best of you are those who are best to their wives."
- Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ)

•••••••

The first dawn brought fresh tears to her eyes. Sitting on her prayer mat, she raised trembling hands in supplication, her lips quivering as she struggled to find the right words. The faint morning light seeped through the curtains, casting pale shadows across her room, but it did little to soothe the storm raging inside her.

How stupid was it to cry because she had married the person she once loved?

Or perhaps the real stupidity had been loving him in the first place.

A humorless laugh threatened to escape her. As if she had chosen any of it. People spoke about love as though it were a decision, something one could switch on and off at will. If that were true, she would have stopped years ago. She would have stopped the first time she caught herself noticing him more than she should. The first time his approval mattered. The first time her heart betrayed her by hoping for things she had no right to hope for. Feelings didn't work like that. They arrived uninvited, settled deep inside your chest, and left you dealing with the consequences long after they were gone.

And they were gone now... weren't they?

She wanted to believe they were.

The girl who had once admired him no longer existed.

She had seen enough to know that love wasn't enough. She had seen what his marriage had become. She had seen the anger, the mistrust, the walls he built around himself whenever things became difficult.

Once upon a time, she might have imagined a future with him. Now she knew better. Or at least she was supposed to.

Time had stripped away every illusion she had built around him. She knew him now- or at least she thought she did. She knew how often logic overpowered emotion in his decisions, how quickly he could become cold when something didn't align with his way of thinking. She knew how stubborn he was, how impulsive he could be, and how exhausting it was to deal with someone who constantly chose his mind over his heart.

The version of him she had loved had never truly existed. It had been a fantasy created by distance, admiration, and youthful foolishness. Reality was different. Reality was flawed. Reality was complicated.

Azlan wasn't a dream anymore. He was a man. A deeply flawed one.

So why did her chest hurt?

Why did the thought of ending this marriage make her feel relieved and devastated at the same time?

Nothing made sense. Not the nikkah. Not her feelings. Not him. Not the future suddenly standing in front of her like a road hidden beneath thick fog.

"Ya Allah..." she whispered, her voice breaking.