ROUHI

one

It was the usual persuading him to be better, to improve his character, his personality - the usual pestering. Hafsa and Saaqib were both tired of it - one in little hope that her husband will change, one in frustration of being told the same thing repeatedly.

"Saaqib, it's Friday," Hafsa said, putting a hand on the doorframe of their bedroom, looking at Saaqib, who was lazily lying on the cot, with cold hopes. "Please go to the masjid. You haven't been there in so long. You would feel nice, I promise. You'll be rewarded so much for participating in congressional prayers."

Saaqib had recently started skipping Jumu'ah prayers, the only prayers he had been offering since around a year. It was saddening Hafsa day by day, how far away her husband had gone from Islam. He wasn't this way when they had first known each other; he offered his salah five times a day, kept fasts, helped around the house. He was a normal working husband, waking up early at morning, leaving for his store, spending the day selling groceries, eating his lunch, having tea with some friends in the evening, coming back home by half past eight at night to spend some time with Hafsa before dinner. Now though, all these daily activities seemed merely parts of a dream Hafsa might've had a long time ago.

What happened to the Saaqib who would greet his wife good morning being brighter than the sun, the one who enthusiastically made breakfast with her? What happened to the Saaqib who was always looking for opportunities to throw cheeky remarks, hold his wife in warm embraces, kiss her with deep affection? What happened to the Saaqib who would close his store a bit early sometimes so that he could take his wife out for a movie? What happened to the Saaqib who was always the one to talk energetically, sharing stories of the day, lying on the bed with his wife before they felt asleep in each other's arms? Most importantly, what happened to the Saaqib who was a good Muslim? Hafsa understood the lack of love from his side for her - maybe he got used to her presence, maybe he was over her - but she could not understand why he had turned away from Islam. She could not understand where and when exactly things took such a drastic turn that her husband didn't care about his Hereafter.

The good memories seemed like dreams to Hafsa, mere imagination. She wished they could come true.

"I have a headache" was all Saaqib cared to respond to Hafsa's pleading with.

"I'll give you some medicine, you'll feel-"

"Hafsa." Saaqib raised his arms from their previous position over his eyes and said through gritted teeth, without giving her a single glance, "I said, I have a headache."

Hafsa knew the conversation had ended here, and yet one more time she had failed to make him better.