Masked

《18》

•{the mask}•

He's exactly the poem I wanted to write

-Mary Oliver

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Sometimes life really felt like a movie. Like someone had a motive behind it being how it was, like someone was behind the scenes, planning each and every one of her days. Allah's plan, no one really knew what it was, what would happen and when, but sometimes it really felt like what happened could never be predicted.

The Writer of her fate was really onto something with her, that's all she realized the evening she found herself playing rocking chair with her blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon.

But there was no time for anymore jumping around in anxiety, because they had to leave soon. The Ali family had called them for dinner that evening, and after the unreal coincidence she had come to know of, Asmah could not even get herself to think how she was going to breath in that house.

Why!! WHY YA ALLAH did it have to be Saalim's house that my dad ended up in! What am I going to do?! How should I act? Should I talk to him properly or ignore him like I've been doing all this time? Will I be able to ignore him? What would everyone else think? Ugh!

ASMAH ZAMAN! You're overthinking now, STOP IT AND QUICKLY GET READY!

With every nerve in her body slowly snapping at the thought of having to look at him, somehow she composed herself for the evening. Since Asad could not come, she felt things getting even more difficult for her, even if she did not want to admit it then.

You idiot, why did you have to book so many patients today!

And now she was at the door, standing right in front of it, praying deep down that it wouldn't be him who attends the door.

"Give the bag to Fathima as soon as you see her, okay?"

"Got it, mom."

Asmah replied with a boring expression, without turning to her. She couldn't get her eyes off the acacian door, as if a monster was to pop out of it any second then.

Monster, right.

A short while passed before the door pulled backwards, her shoulders rising simultaneously, her lungs inflating with the moment as well.

"Assalamualekum!"

Out came the medium-deep voice she was too scared to hear, the one she would've craved to listen to, had he not been the person he was.

Saalim.

She had to reply, but she couldn't get her eyes off his face for that split second. Asmah hadn't seen him at work that day, but she saw him now, and a portion of her heart was oddly satisfied on having finally seen the man. Quickly pulling herself out of her thoughts, she exchanged a look with her parents, before looking back at him, then shifting her gaze at the floor as she replied back.

"Waalekumasalam, wa rehmatullahi wa barakatu."

She whispered the last part, not wanting for him to hear it. But until when was she going to be secretly praying for him? Neither did she know, nor did he.

"Come in, please."

He stood aside, gesturing with his outstretched hand, as she walked in with swift steps, her parents following after. Now was the time, that she had prepared for all the while she was getting ready, fake smiling. Which she seldom thought that Saalim had outsmarted her in.