Things Nadir N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ Said | [MUSLIM]

II

II

Nadir

I guess it would have been best if I had texted him last night, instead of asking him directly.

People ask me why I speak so little. They are amazed to notice how hours go by and I feel no need to chat with whoever I am sitting with.

And this is while I sit around wondering how and why everyone talks so much. Many conversations would look much better as emails, I think. And this is not my social and conversational anxiety speaking, I really do believe talking is sometimes completely unnecessary.

I don't regret asking my colleague Brad about his elder sister works in a daycare, this afternoon. But, Allah, I do wish I hadn't made it as awkward as I had.

But I had. How did I imagine I could hold even a single small conversation without ruining the whole thing by my talent of stuttering? There was no possibility of that.

Something very simple in theory turned into a mess when practiced.

I mean, I had been okay earlier. I had not had much of developmental issues growing up, though I still had never really been a 'normal' kid - I had been shy and reserved. People who first met me said they liked me; they said I was calm and quiet.

A little too quiet, they would notice, after a while.

But I was fine other than that.

But since I'd been about ten or eleven, I had begun stuttering. From there to this date, it has only gotten worse, and therapy has never helped. So, mostly I would be found doing my work, playing with my kids, or painting, which is my favourite thing to do, while making no sound at all. It developed as a defence mechanism: a way I protected myself from vain talking and potential embarrassment. The doctor at my speech therapy classes was terrified of the whole idea. He strongly recommended not to continue wanting to give up speaking altogether. But then I stopped going to him, so...

...yeah.

But things like this incident with Brad assure me that I am better off being quiet.

"Hey, Brad."

I practically hadn't even said anything, I'd just called his name. And I hadn't stuttered.

But he looked completely baffled. He was staring at me as if I weren't just a silent person, but mute. As if I didn't simply speak less, but that I was incapable of voluntary verbal conversation.

"Nadir, did you just call me?"

I nodded. I was already embarrassed by that point.

"Are you okay? Do you need help with something?"

That was when I started messing up.

"No, uh, no. You were once tell-telling Lucas that your sis-sister works in a d-d-daycare."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, she does . . . ?"

Confusion was clear in his expression. It was also quite clear that I was bothering him.

I went on, thinking about the helpless situation Zaeb was in. Brad's sister could contact a responsible care-taker for us since she worked in child-care.

"D-does she still work there?"

"No, not anymore."

"Oh. Uh, okay."

Now I began to try to get back to doing what I had been doing to take my mind off the weird-embarrassing situation, but he didn't want to let me go just yet.

I wished I hadn't ever approached him at all when he addressed me again.

"Why would you ask about something I mentioned, like, months ago?"

I decided not to say anything. I only shook my head, wishing he'd get the indication and just let it go, and began typing the email I had been writing earlier.

"Hey, Nadir. Come on, man. Tell me."

I looked at him long enough for it to register in his head by itself.

"Okay, wait," I saw him realise. "You have a kid, don't you?"

"Two," I said, looking away again. "I have twin-twin four-year-olds."

"Wow man, that's . . . cool. Would love to meet them someday," he said with a smile. I returned it; smiles were less hard for me to give.

Realising I had nothing else to add to it, he said, "So that's why you asked about my sister?"

"Yes."

Honestly, I was done talking to Brad-from-the-desk-behind-mine for the day. I wished he would just drop it and get back to work, but he didn't.

"My sister doesn't work at the daycare anymore," he said. "But I have a teenage neighbour who babysits. She is in college and kind of prefers babysitting in, uh, Muslim households. I think she could babysit your kids, in case you want something like that."

I had considered it. It would definitely be easier on my pocket, and Zaeb had told me we didn't really need a nanny in the actual sense; just someone to keep an eye on one of the twins while she took care of the other.

"I would really appreci-appreciate it if you introduced me to her," I suddenly seemed to have no control over my smile. Zaeb would be delighted to know, I was thinking.

He nodded. "I'll send you her number later today," he said, returning my smile. "Do you want to come with me to get a sandwich and coffee for lunch?"

Now, this was precisely the kind of drawbacks I faced because of being the way I was: I had no idea that the guy sitting behind me since forever was such a nice bloke. I actually had no idea about more than half the people who worked here with me, because you don't get that kind of knowledge just by asking someone to Xerox something here or passing a file there.

Another drawback is that now he may try to talk to me more.

By the time I left my office that evening, I had stopped worrying about the new friend I gained, because I was now planning how to break the great news to Zaeb.

I stepped out of my car grinning. I could barely walk straight into my own home, that was how chuffed I was.

It's quite simple, to be honest: Zaeb is amazing. She gave me what every man wants out of a marriage - a happy home, two little angels, love and peace. Sometimes I feel I haven't given her much, in comparison, so I can't describe how good it feels whenever I am able to find a way to make her happy.

This was one of those times, and my feet were barely on the ground.

"Zaeb!" I called as I entered the lift, my hands fumbling with the car keys.

When I came closer to the door of our flat, I staggered and halted. Because of the thin walls of our humble home, before I even entered, I could laughter from within. Zaeb's.

I love it when she laughs, and more so now, because she doesn't really laugh much these days. But at that moment, it stirred something inexplicably deadly within me.

Because I was hearing my wife's laugh, but also its catalyst - the deep, husky voice of a man.