HER CRUSH

Chapter22

Zarah
I quickly wiped the tears slipping from my eyes, hoping no one had noticed. My chest rose and fell unevenly, like my own body was fighting me. I was so lost, I couldn't even think straight.

The question wouldn't leave me.

Is Abdul using me, just like Asma said?

Her voice replayed in my head, smooth, mocking, dripping poison into my veins. "Do you really think he'll marry you? His father will never approve. You're just a placeholder, Zarah. Don't fool yourself."

Each time I remembered, it stung deeper.

His family would never approve. His father would never allow him to marry me. What if she was right? What if I was just wasting my time, waiting for a future that would never come?

For once in my life, I thought maybe I had made the biggest mistake by getting involved with Abdul.

I rubbed my palms together, shaky. Signs I had ignored danced back like ghosts. How he always complimented Asma excessively in front of me. How he reminded me, casually, that they had been together "for a long time." At first, I told myself he was teasing, trying to make me jealous. But now?
Now it all looked different.

Maybe I was the fool.

My heart whispered, He loves you. My head countered, He's using you.

I pressed my hand to my chest, whispering under my breath, "Ya Allah, guide me."

I wasn't after Abdul's wealth.... Allah knew that. But I also wasn't ready to sit and hear insults about my family, to have my dignity shredded in whispers and taunts. Maybe breaking up with him was the best choice, painful as it was.

I reached for my phone ....another missed call. His name lit up the screen: Abdul ❤️. I rejected it, just as I had been doing since yesterday. He even got Sufyan to call me, but I refused to answer.

My chest tightened. Why am I like this? Why can't I just talk to him?

Before I could spiral further, Aunty Ramla's voice rang through the corridor:

"Zarah!"

I flinched, quickly wiping my face. "Aunty, I'm here," I called back, forcing steadiness into my tone.

"You have a guest in the parlor. Go and meet him."

My stomach twisted. I didn't need to ask who. I knew.

Abdul.

My legs froze, then carried me the opposite direction ...back to my room. I sank onto my bed, pulling my pillow tight, and let tears slip silently down my cheeks. God knew I loved him, but I had to do this for my own good. I couldn't just sit back and let people tarnish me and my family.

Minutes later, Aunty Ramla stormed in, her brows furrowed. "Zarah, what nonsense is this? Leaving a guest alone? He's been sitting there for ten minutes!"

Her scolding burned. I couldn't argue. I rose, picked up my hijab, and adjusted it with trembling hands.
In the parlor, my breath caught.

There he was. Abdul.

Sitting on the couch, hunched slightly, scrolling his phone with that careless grace that made my heart ache. His grey jeans fit perfectly, his graphic red tee bringing out the warmth in his skin. His Patek Philippe glimmered on his wrist. He looked like he had stepped out of a magazine, Masha Allah.