ROUHI

nine

The silent tears just wouldn't stop flowing down from Hafsa's eyes and it hurt Saaqib to see that, now knowing the reason behind them. But the thing that struck him the hardest was that he had never seen her cry - save for when she left her parents to live with him after they got married and when she missed them a while after that - but now she was crying because her dumb excuse of a husband got stabbed.

"Hafsa?"

She softly dabbed a wet cloth on the stitched wound while putting the equipment away, still crying inaudibly.

Saaqib observed her, examined her. A few months ago he failed at finding whatever it was in his wife that he had fallen for. He must have been completely stupid, dumb, and oblivious, and ignorant. How could he not see it? Her beauty, her grace, her shyness, her devotion, her loyalty, her honesty, her wisdom? How was it possible that he missed everything? His eyes trailed down her face, memorising the gorgeous sight: her thick brows that she had once said she would never pluck because Allah has cursed those who do; her plain black eyes holding the depth of the dark oceans that somehow look overwhelmingly beautiful and precious; her flat nose that she had gotten from her mother, but wished she had gotten her father's sharp nose instead; her thin lips that even looked as soft as the most delicate of flower petals; her round cheeks where deep dimples would appear with the slightest movement of her lips; her long smooth black hair falling on her shoulders, creating a dark frame that put her face in the spotlight...

The scars from the incident hadn't subsided: one beside her left eyebrow, one on her right cheek, one just below her bottom lip stretching up to its corner.. Somehow they didn't look horrible at all. Nothing could look horrible on Hafsa, he thought. Not even scars.

Saaqib's eyes lowered to her unfamiliar dress. It was a white kimi, with the sleeves increasing in size towards the wrists. There were three buttons and a lacey design in the front under the high round neck of the dress. She was also wearing a single silver chain, an anchor locket hanging from it. Her trousers reaching her ankles were white too, matching her dress. She looked wonderful.

"When I was a kid, I'd read a lot of fairytales.. as weird as that sounds because I was a boy." He blurted out to encourage a smile onto Hafsa's lips too but that didn't happen. "Mama, teachers and friends would also tell me stories. They all described angels as the most beautiful things in existence: white garments, white wands, white wings, white halo, each one carrying a white glow with them." Hafsa was standing in front of him again, concentration etched on her face, her soft hands putting something on his wound which Saaqib didn't care to check. "How is it possible- he tilted her chin up to make eye contact -that you look even more gorgeous than all those angels, without even having wings and a halo?"

Hafsa stilled to the bone. Did Saaqib just compliment her? Did Saaqib just compare her to angels? Was he back? Not so soon. Was he?

Saaqib's eyes took in her surprised expression. No, her eyebrows weren't raised, her eyes hadn't widened. The view was that of a passport photo, completely dumbfounded. She was so caught off guard, she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He didn't pay much attention to that though. Right now, he wanted to kiss his wife. And he did. He leant in and pressed his lips against the sweet delicacy of those of Hafsa.