Him & His Muslimah

49

Zaib/Zoya

"Sir, are you not feeling well?" The girlish, quirky voice questioned and the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor loudened as she made her way closer to his working desk. Zaib pointedly looked up; to his grimace, it was Aliya, his unpleasant, over the top junior.

She ran her fingers through her dyed blonde hair and pursed her lips as if she were about to say something and irk him out of his senses when he tactfully shot back, "just working since after all, this is a workplace." His voice was dully low, unnerving and uninterested.

No matter what he threw her way, she always managed to shamelessly, shake off his distaste. "Oh, of course! However, I can't help but notice you seem—disturbed, almost uncomfortable." She observed the scowl he wore and then carried on, "Is there something worrying you?"

Zaib gulped, uneasily. He didn't like his female colleague observing every little detail about his mood and expressions. Neither did he want to spill any of his problems to her. He knew better than to confide in some random woman whom he shared a workplace with.

"Aliya, go busy yourself. I don't want you lurking around my office." His stern-bitter- tone didn't seem to phase her as if she were a solid brick wall. She did, however, grow less radiant, her lips clasped in a tight, thin line.

"I wanted to collect the file meant for Mr Davis-" not even a millisecond passed when he grabbed the thick grey file from his drawer and pushed it forward for her to accept. She reluctantly held onto it and then took small steps away until she finally disappeared out of the transparent glass door.

Zaib heaved a breath he didn't realize he was holding and sat forlorn, his thoughts wandering to his wife who was probably at the university or the new job. He felt himself frustratedly throw a pen against the concrete wall, his heart stuttering as he imagined himself returning home to mere emptiness.

Zoya was hired as a healthcare assistant in a plain-sailing manner. Her university was a favourable addition to the resume, as it was a name included in the top five universities in the country. Her first semester grades were enough to blow them away; they were convinced when they saw her certification and accepted her job application. Three nights ago, when she broke the exciting news, his chest swelled with pride as he lunged into a massive hug and they celebrated with a voluntary prayer.

But he didn't quite realize what this meant for them, their togetherness.

He hadn't seen her for a while, well, in a conscious state. When he went to work, she'd be at university lectures- when he returned, she'd be at her job. She returned home very miserably and wordlessly fell to the bed, exasperated. He asked her about her day but noticing how her answers were short and unfocused, he realized she was completely drained. He then simply held her against him and kissed her sleeping figure.

And then morning, she'd already left.

He felt a strange hollowness inside his chest but refused to acknowledge its existence. Their evenings together that he had looked forward to seemed as if they had just been a dream.

He honestly couldn't blame his wife at all. In his past university experience, he was always stuck in the library or coffee shop sketching and calculating, reading books and perfecting his skills. He almost missed every meal and never attended unnecessary university events. Every hour-minute was as precious as a jewel.

So it was no surprise: Zoya's schedule probably had her piqued, perturbed, pestered. She was working recklessly, keeping her university and job intact. He didn't have a right to complain.

Despite knowing that, he still felt himself wanting more of her. He yearned to greet his gorgeous wife in the morning before leaving to work; he wanted to have breakfast-lunch-dinner with her and force her to lay lazily on his arm like it were her definite pillow.