Trust Me (An Islamic Love Story)

Chapter 65

It is weird when I wake up, I find Azar at the door at that exact moment. I sit up, feeling embarrassed and concerned. I push away the hair out of my face as I ask him, "Is it Suhoor time yet?"

"No, I was just checking on you," he answers calmly, but his eyes look tense as they bore into mine.

I get up, and he backs off slightly when I switch on the lights. The first thing I notice is that his shirt is stained with ink. I would have smiled at the sight if it weren't for his disturbing expression. "Tough time writing, huh?" I ask him lightly despite everything.

"I broke the pen," he proclaims instead as if shocked himself. He hands me the broken pieces. "I am sorry," he adds, staring at the pieces.

"What were you writing?" I ask so boldly that I even surprise myself.

"I wasn't," he just says.

Suddenly, everything is unbearable. His stained shirt reminds me of how I marked him in my blood, the look on his face almost as broken as it was that day. I can almost see the tears drop off his eyelashes, and I refrain from coming closer to him.

"Azar?" I find myself taking his name shakily. "Why didn't you clean the ink off your hands? It will leave stains."

"I know."

"I'll get you a clean shirt," I say, moving past him to leave the room. I am about to give him his clean shirt from the laundry, but I stop and repeat, "You should wash your hands first."

"I'm sorry, Abeer," he apologizes with a small smile that startles me. "I am worrying you, aren't I? You weren't supposed to see me like this. I am sorry I woke you up."

"It is okay. Did you want something?" I ask him gently, even though I feel extremely on edge.

"A little inspiration, I guess," he shrugs, looking away from me at his hands. "I couldn't write so I..." He pauses as if contemplating whether to say further or not, "I thought I should go back where I started, to what made me write in the first place." He looks back up at me, and I feel myself go red in the face.

He looks at the shirt and says, "I better clean up," but he goes back to his room without taking it.

I follow him into the room as I say, "Wait—" but I'm interrupted as Azar blocks my way so abruptly I almost bump into him.

"Yes?" He asks, his hand on the door frame, and I stumble back from him in embarrassment.

"Your shirt," I say breathlessly. "I mean your clean shirt."

"What about it?" He asks patiently, and I stare at his arm, wondering why he blocked my way.

"I was going to keep your clean shirt in your room as your hands are not clean, but you stopped and are in my way," I end up rambling.

"I stopped because you said to wait," Azar explains, a smile playing on his lips. "Why did you say wait if you didn't want me to stop?" He waits for me to answer, but I don't say anything, so he continues, "Anyways, keep the shirt on the sofa in the living room. I'll pick it up from there after I wash my hands."

"Okay," I agree, not letting my thoughts get the best of me. I do as he says, but I can't push back the feeling that Azar didn't want me to enter his room no matter how much I try. But what could he be hiding? There is nothing to hide, I try to reason with myself as I go back to my room to do some dhikr.

I hear Azar come out of his room an hour later, his footsteps quietly headed to the lounge and back to the room. I try to think like Madam Sabira, try to imagine her kind voice giving me advice. Just let him be, the voice says. Focus on yourself. Focus. I close my eyes, sighing, knowing my mind is answering me with brutal honesty.