The Year of You (on hold)

chapter 10

A/N: I'M SO SO SO SORRY!!! MY LIFE HAS TAKEN A VERY UNEXPECTED TURN AND THE PAST FEW MONTHS OF MY LIFE HAVE BEEN A BIT DIFFICULT. PLEASE FORGIVE THE EXTREMELY LATE UPDATE AND I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT!!!

BUT ANYWAYS

I'd like to thank you all so very much for 2k reads!!!!! That is really great to come home to! So thank you all so so much! Hope you are all well. I've missed writing so much. BUT I'M BACK NOW YAY! 

And because you all are so special and extremely patient with me, this is chapter 10 of The Year of You. 

 "Get up Muneerah." My eyes flutter open to find Nabeel standing in front of me. "I've been looking for you everywhere, what brought you here?" I sit up and actually look at him. He's still in his pajama's. I look to the clock on the wall. It's half past 7. I look back to Nabeel, who's still standing there with a perturbed expression.  It dawned on me that I missed Fajr. "I have to pray." I rushed to the bathroom where I made wudhu and rushed back out to the living room I was in which Nabeel was reclining on the couch. Upon realizing that there was no prayer rugs or Quran's in any of rooms of this house, I ordered loads online and put one Quran and one prayer mat in each room. Nabeel watched me as I took the mat from where I had kept it. I notice that he is intrigued. Ignoring his looks I begin my prayer. Somewhere in the middle Nabeel leaves the room. As I finish my salah, I find him sitting beside me. He looks at me as if unsure what to do and then I realize he's praying. He says his salam and looks back at me, almost like he's asking me if he did it right. And for a split second I almost smile and he closes off and looks at the ground. "Lets have breakfast." he says in a small voice. I silently pick up my prayer mat and nod my head. Nabeel is shy and vulnerable and I don't want him to feel weird so I don't bring light to what he did. On the inside, I was feeling overjoyed that he prayed. 

In the kitchen, Nabeel rummages through the fridge in pursuit of something to eat. I tell him not to, since I've been cooking just about every meal in this house and I know where everything is, but he insists that he help me. After a whole month of silence Nabeel's behavior strikes me as odd. He busies himself in his cooking, but he can't do much with a still broken arm. I tell him again that he should sit and let me cook, but instead he insist we do it together. My heart skips a beat and I agree. He gives me an onion, a tomato, a potato and starts to beat 3 eggs in a bowl. I am very careful not to get too close to him.

We produce a very tasty breakfast and sit to eat when Nabeel asks me, "Do you have your passport?" I almost choke on my food. "What?" I ask, astonished. Nabeel hands me a glass of water and explains. "We are traveling soon and I need your passport to get your visa." I'm speechless and Nabeel understands. "I went ahead and booked flights for some parts of Europe and Asia. We're due to fly out in three weeks and we'll be gone for four. Don't overpack, we'll buy things there."

Three weeks fly by and Nabeel is extra busy. He stays out much later than usual, but he doesn't come home intoxicated. A week before we're meant to leave we visit my family. Nabeel offers to let me drive since he's still nervous to get behind the wheel. On the way back, after having eaten a wonderful meal cooked by my mother, I ask him. "Has Allah ever disappointed you?" I feel his eyes on me as I carefully turn the wheel, not daring to look at him. He chuckles and I am silent. "You're being serious?" he inquires, and I can hear the joking tone leaving his voice. "Yes, I am. Has there ever been instances where Allah disappointed you?" He stares out the window and I steal a quick glance at him. He draws in a breath and says "Disappointment is all I've known my whole life." I scoff at this and he says "What? You think I'm lying?" 

"Not lying, but look at such na3ma* you're in, you're driving a Benz, you live in a mansion in Connecticut, you've lived up to such success at such a young age what are you -" He cuts me off "God had nothing to do with that." He says, I can hear the temper creeping into his voice. "But-" I start, but I decide it's better off to not say anything at all. "Alright." is all I say. I can't help but think in how many ways Allah has disappointed me. He made Nabeel my naseeb. He put me through this miserable marriage. I stop before I start to think too much. Astaghfirullah*, Aouthobillah*. I think to myself. What has gotten into me? Why is my attitude changing towards Allah? I'm living in a dream. I've married the man I always wanted to marry. He's supporting me financially. My parents are pleased with me. What more could I possibly need? His love. I start to frown. 

"You still with me?" Nabeel's question startles me. "Huh?" I ask. "You missed a turn. Was I too harsh? I didn't mean to upset you." He says and I manage a weak smile. He moves his hands towards the radio as if to ask me before turning it on. I nod and he changes immediately a mans voice is crooning wondering why his lover has left him. Nabeel turns the nob a few times, and an upbeat techno song plays. He rests his hand a little above my knee, and strokes it gently with his thumb. The hairs on the backs of my exposed forearms stand up and heat runs through my body, emitting from the spot where his warm hand is placed on me. I shiver and I can tell that he notices the affect he's having on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can just barely see his half smirk. "So are you excited?" he asks, barely making an effort to mask the smugness in his voice. "Huh?" I don't understand his question. "Oh, right. Yes, I am." I'm taking such caution to speak normally, as if my heart isn't running wild in its chamber in my chest. "I've travelled overseas before but airplane rides get me so nervous." I say, trying really hard not to sound desperate. He inches his hand upward and I grip the steering wheel tighter. "Oh, that's neat. Have you ever been to Europe?" he asks, but he's not focused on this conversation. I make the greatest effort to cling to his words, and drive my attention away from his hand creeping up my thigh. "Yes, once. But I was too young to remember much of it. We went to visit my chacha, my dad's brother. It was his wedding and our whole fam-" His hand moving further up my thigh cuts me off. I glance at him and draw in a breath. Why is this car ride taking so long? "My whole family flew over from Baba's side as well."  I can feel him staring at me. His hand is now over my pocket. My knuckles are white. I don't want to be an object of his lust. I don't want to give in to him this easy. Thankfully, "Your destination is on your left." The computerized female voice startles Nabeel and breaks the silence and he pulls his hand away from me.