Just Make Du'aa

• t w e n t y • o n e •

Farouz

           I would have felt worse about getting myself sick. If it were any other time I’d be kicking myself for being so careless with myself. And currently there were even more reasons to kick myself over it: I ruined Dina’s time with her parents and now she has to worry about me along with her grandmother. However, with all the pampering and attention I was getting from my wife I couldn’t really be bothered to overthink it. She was there before I even thought to call her, with something easy to eat, with medicine, or a book to read to me until I fell asleep.

           As childish as it sounds, I liked the attention she was giving me; and her fuss and worry gave me a warm feeling I never felt before. The night we returned home my fever surpassed 100 degrees. Through my bleary state and half consciousness, I remember hearing her speaking frantically on the phone, her cold hands never left my face. I don’t really remember exact details from that night, but the small details never left me. Like how she kissed my forehead and spoke softly; or how worried she was. I remember Aladdin walking into the room and my confused self was worried that he walked in on Dina without her hijab. But she was dressed and ready, her gentle hands sat me up, then she pulled me to stand. I remember Aladdin manhandling me through the hallway then her swatting him away and pulling me towards her; I laughed then, and her face lit up. They took me to the hospital to get my temperature down and when I woke up she was sitting next to my bed, her hand in mine, reading the Qur’an. When I caught her attention she kissed my hand and said, “Are you trying to kill me?”

           It was then I realized that my health no longer just affected me. We are in this together, our money, our home, everything is shared. She left her home to be with me and I have to take care of her; I can’t let myself wither away. This feeling though: of being in the boat together and having someone to worry and care about me, I never want to lose it. Some small part of me wondered if this is a feeling a caring mother gives a person, and forgotten anger bubbled up in me. I had to learn how to take care of myself and what medicines to take, my mother never worried about me or sat by my bedside. It’s sad, how new this type of care is to me.

           Turns out I wasn’t the only one thinking of my parents. I was watching reruns of an old show when Dina lifted the blanket and slid in next to me, handing me a mug of hot tea. She was awfully silent, no questioning how I felt or commenting on my taste in TV shows. From my six months with her, I knew exactly what type of silence this was. “What is it?” I asked, wincing at the stuffed sound of my voice, “what’s on your mind?”

           She tilted her head and arched an eyebrow, pretending not to know what I was talking about. Her dark hair fell off her shoulder, and her wide eyes entranced me for a few seconds. I miss kissing her, ever since I got sick I’ve tried my best not to get her sick as well, which meant I couldn’t kiss her; and you’d think I’d survive. I mean I survived 25 years! But goodness, this was torture. I squinted my eyes as a smirk played on her lips, she knew what she was doing. “Funny,” I mumbled, “but you’re not going to succeed.”

           “What are you talking about?” she batted her eyes, pouting her lips, and I groaned, throwing my head back. She’s too cute! I couldn’t help but smile though, watching her grow comfortable and confident around me proved I was doing something correct. I loved seeing her like this.

           “Oh stop it!” I pushed her away, but my strength was minimal, and she barely moved. “You want to tell me something! I know you.”

           Dina laughed, but from the effort she was putting in avoiding my eyes I figured it was serious, “I don’t want to ruin the mood.”