ROUHI

thirteen

Hafsa's efforts were successful. Saaqib had kept eleven fasts that Ramadan, and went to attend taraweeh at the local mosque five times. She made sure to always hide her excitement but let him know that how he was doing things right, that she appreciated everything. She had missed the flush of Saaqib's cheeks every time he nodded and walked inside the bedroom.

It was on Eid that Saaqib suggested they watch a movie. An old Afghan film was all that was on that day at the nearby cinema, but the couple used the time to get closer again. Playing twenty questions as they got bored of the film even before the interval, Saaqib felt that he had hardly known or cared to remember many things about his wife. How was it even possible that he hadn't known Hafsa had been teaching the Quran to some kids for half an hour before Maghrib twice every week? How did he not know that her preference of clothes had changed, that she had started wearing long dresses and the niqab last December? When did her favourite colour change from pink to green? When did she stop eating pickle because she had grown a dislike for it? How long had Saaqib been a complete narcissistic a**hole?

"Beige," Hafsa, without a moment's delay, answered Saaqib's question about which colour he preferred his kurtas in. "White only for special occasions. I find it weird honestly." She scrunched up her nose before widening her eyes. "Pine looks the best on you!"

It was in bed on the night of the first day of Eid that Hafsa brought up Saaqib's prayer plan. "Salah is so important for Muslims. You know, we'll be questioned about it first in the grave." She stared at Saaqib's back. "The Prophet said, when we bow down in sujood, our sins fall down from our shoulders." She added, "Fajr and Asr are, like, extra important."

"Yeah, wake me up too?" Saaqib requested sleepily. Hafsa smiled in assurance in the dark, scooting closer to Saaqib's back.