We Started Out As Friends

Chapter 2

Fatima stretched in her bed and looked up at her ceiling. She still smiled every time she saw it. Ali had written a poem on the ceiling in their bedroom when they had bought the house. She still had no idea how he had managed to do it, but he had, and it had been completed before they moved in. Whenever he had out of town games it comforted her in his absence. She always slept peacefully as a result.

Today she woke up feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. How could her best friend have been going through something so serious and not have confided in her? Yesterday it seemed that she was so angry with Rachel, and she definitely was, but she was also angry with herself. If she had been the kind of friend that she should be, she should have known something was wrong. Rachel should have felt comfortable to turn to her. She was partly to blame for this whole mess. How could she not have seen the signs? Was she so engrossed in her own family that she had neglected someone close to her who was in need? She could never let that happen again.

Fatima heard the front door and knew Ali was returning from his parent's house. Every morning he joined his father for Fajr-morning prayers and often had breakfast with Mama and Papa before returning home. In good weather Fatima would go with him and bring their daughters, but on days like today she was very happy that the best place for a woman to pray was her bedroom. She smiled and snuggled under her duvet.

Her room faced the front of their house, and with the window open she could clearly hear the birds playing. They were lucky enough to have Blue Jays nesting nearby. She loved the beautiful bluebirds and had one in particular that she was trying to teach to talk. She imagined them splashing in the backyard fountain in between the trees.

Ali had planted a fruit tree each time a child was born. He had planted a cherry tree for five-year-old Masuma, an apple tree for three-year-old Laila and pear tree for her twin sister Batool.

"Ali, should I put Fatima's food in the fridge?"

Fatima could hear the voice of Rahma, Ali's younger sister. She often came over in the morning to help with the children and socialize.

"No, just leave it on the table. I'll see if she's up."

"Ali, do you think I'm a good friend to Rachel?" Fatima hit him with the question as soon as he walked through the bedroom door.

At 6 feet 4 inches, Ali had an undeniable presence. Many people were intimidated on first meeting him, due to his serious demeanor. Only those closest to him knew the warm and loving man he could be. Though he indeed viewed and approached life seriously, anyone who was fortunate enough to catch one of his smiles knew there was more to him than appearances revealed.

"Of course you are. The best. Who else would do all that you do for her?" Ali replied.

"Do you think I'm trustworthy?" Fatima sat up surrounded by white bedding, her current favourite colour.

"I trust you with my life," Ali said as he sat on the side of the bed. "What's this about?"

"Well, do you think I'm too hard on her? You know, maybe I make her feel bad sometimes?"

"I knew something was up."Ali straightened his back. "What is it? Jamie?" His voice flattened. They all felt the same way about Jamie. They had seen how he had treated Rachel over the years, and how much her two sons suffered because of his neglect. No one was a fan of Jamie, and he and Ali had had more than one confrontation in the past.

"No. No, she's ok. I was just thinking, that's all."

The look on Ali's face let Fatima know that he understood there was more, but he wasn't going to press her. He knew when to give a woman her space. He stood up and walked toward the walk-in closet that connected their bedroom to the bathroom.