ROUHI

four

"I thought you went out with your friends, why have you come with an injury?" Hafsa enquired, examining the long scar that had appeared on Saaqib's right leg.

"Khaled had a fit. We ended up in a fight." Saaqib lazily answered, ignoring Hafsa's lingering touch on his skin. He wanted her to quickly dress the wound so he didn't get infected, and leave, go away.

Hafsa had become accustomed to this too. At first it was Saaqib's sudden mood changes, then his attitude crisis, next his laziness, carelessness, ignorance, meaningless anger and frustration, all the lies, coming home late, not going to the mosque, not praying at home, not opening the Quran even once a month, mixing with the wrong crowd, gambling, and now, fighting.

"Khaled wasn't there. He's at his in-laws' place with his wife."

Saaqib remained silent.

Hafsa closed her eyes and sighed. How long was he going to carry this on? "Was it for money?" She looked up at him.

Saaqib continued his silence, hoping Hafsa would stop the questioning.

Disappointed, Hafsa cleaned the blood and put antiseptic on. She was glad that he had only got hurt on his leg. Standing up, she looked at her husband with the deep affection for him that she had had for three years, the love that never deteriorated even a bit, no matter what Saaqib did. Hafsa just couldn't stop loving him, looking after him.

She bit down on her lip and tried once again. "Can you promise me that you won't fight ever again?"

"No." Saaqib's eyes shot upwards. Hafsa caught that slight softening of his expression, it was there - she had seen it for sure - but it didn't last more than a moment. He stood up and pushed past her, not before Hafsa grabbed his left wrist with both her hands.

"Eat with me. Please." It seemed like begging to him was all she did nowadays. She had read something long ago, about the reward of a husband putting even one morsel of food to his wife's mouth...

Saaqib hesitated. He had another fight. "I... have some work."

"I made your favourite curry. Just... have a taste. A few mouthfuls?"

"I don't have the time. I need to go." He moved forward and his hand slipped away from Hafsa's delicate grip. She saw him walking out of the door, leant back against the wall, staring up at the cracks on the ceiling, and exhaled. She reminisced the nights they would sit together in the middle of the room and have meals together. He would feed her with his hands. How pleasant those memories were. How long gone they were.