As-salamu Alaykum wa Rahmatullah wa barakatuhu
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Ayzal sat poised on the edge of her bed, her lehenga draping elegantly around her, ready to step out of the room for what she hoped would be a day filled with joy. But before she could even make it through the door, her parents burst in, their faces a stark contrast to the celebratory atmosphere. Their expressions were clouded with sadness and shock, and Ayzal's heart skipped a beat. The weight of their presence was almost tangible, filling the room with an oppressive silence.
“Mom, Dad, what is wrong?” Ayzal’s voice trembled as she spoke, but her parents seemed too stunned to respond. Her eyes darted between them, searching for any hint of what was happening. When she looked at her mother again, she saw tears welling up, glistening like diamonds in the light. Her mother’s attempt to conceal her distress was futile as one tear slipped down her cheek. Ayzal’s heart ached at the sight. Without thinking, she hurried to her mother’s side, gently wiping away the tear that her mother had missed.
Her mother, overwhelmed by emotion, enveloped Ayzal in a tight embrace. The warmth of her mother’s body and the trembling of her mother’s shoulders spoke volumes more than words ever could. Ayzal was too stunned to reciprocate the hug immediately; she stood frozen, her arms hanging limply at her sides. When her mother finally pulled away, her tears had flowed freely, leaving streaks on her flushed cheeks. She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her sari, trying to regain composure.
Turning to her father, Ayzal’s gaze was filled with desperation. “Dad, please. What is happening? Say something. Your silence is unbearable.”
Her father managed a strangled attempt at speech, his voice quivering. “Ayzal...” His attempt to continue was swallowed by the lump in his throat.
“Dad, please! What happened? Tell me!” Her voice cracked under the strain of her rising panic.
“Ayzal, Murad… he committed suicide,” her father finally choked out, his face reflecting the torment of the news he had just delivered.
The three words that had come from her father’s lips shattered Ayzal’s world. Her breath hitched, and she felt as though the ground had been ripped out from under her. The enormity of the statement made it hard for her to comprehend. Murad’s decision to end his life was unfathomable. They had shared a bond that was built on love, not obligation; the news seemed incongruous with everything she knew of him.
___________________________________________
Two Days Prior
Ayzal was downstairs, helping her mother with the dishes, the rhythmic clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the calm of the kitchen. Her phone rang, interrupting the peaceful moment. With a quick apology, she excused herself and darted to her room. Her heart raced as she saw Murad’s name flashing on the screen. She answered the call, and after a moment of silence, Murad’s voice came through, soft and familiar.
“As-salamu Alaykum,” he greeted, his voice always carrying a warmth that made her heart flutter. Ayzal responded with “Wa-alaykum Salam,” her tone reflecting the relief of hearing from him.
“Is everything okay, Murad?” Ayzal’s voice carried an undercurrent of concern. She could sense something was off.
“No Ayzal, nothing is okay. My heart is beating very fast and my chest is hurting. It feels like I am going to die,” Murad’s confession was laden with distress.
“God forbid! What do you mean? Are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?” Ayzal’s voice rose in panic, her mind racing with worry. “Murad!”
“I don’t know what happened, habibti. I saw your picture on my phone, and I couldn’t help myself. You made my heart beat faster, again.” Murad’s voice lightened, and he burst into laughter.
In any other context, Ayzal might have felt flattered by his words, but his casual tone regarding something so serious was deeply unsettling. “Do you find it amusing? How can you joke about something so serious?” Her worry quickly turned to frustration.
“Okay, habibti, my fault. I am sorry.” She could almost picture him raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Sorry isn’t enough, Murad. I don’t want to talk to you. Goodbye.”
“Wait, Ayzal, are you ready?” he asked quickly before she could end the call.
Ayzal wanted to question him further, but her emotions were running too high. “Ayzal, habibti, I said I am sorry. Now you are making me feel guilty.”
“As you should,” she snapped, her voice raw with emotion.
“I know, and I know you have a big heart. You will forgive me, won’t you? Fine. If you don’t want to talk to me, I won’t force you. Take care, habibti.”
“For what?” Ayzal muttered softly, hoping he would hear her.
“What do you mean?” His voice was tinged with curiosity.
“You asked me if I am ready. For what?” She asked, her voice quivering with confusion and hurt.
He chuckled softly, and Ayzal could almost picture the playful grin on his face. “For being Mrs. Murad.”
“You and your arrogance, Mister. Bye,” Ayzal retorted, ending the call with a mix of exasperation and lingering affection.
YOU ARE READING
Eternity
Любовные романыAyzal's patience snapped as she poked him hard in the chest. "What have I done to deserve this?" Her voice shook with a mix of anger and hurt. He stayed silent, his eyes avoiding hers, hands stuffed in his pockets. She yanked him closer, her breath...
