Him & His Muslimah

53

Zaib/Zoya

A week seemed to pass as slow as a year. Everything Zoya had read in fictional novels was starting to become a reality; it never dawned upon her how painful it would be to hurt someone you love. She felt so pathetic and disturbed; her head was full of him, and she couldn't do anything.

That day, Zoya had sent the cab driver away, paying half the fare. There was no way she could leave for her mother's place. She messed up: she deserved to be left alone. She didn't deserve her parent's care or kindness. She should be left alone with an agonisingly empty house right before her.

The first night she spent wide awake. How could she sleep with traces of that appalled look on his face stuck in her head? She found it hard to breathe, so she stepped outside, gazing at the empty sky, her eyes swollen and red with grief.

The next morning, she found the chocolates he had bought over the day they had fought. Looking at the chocolate truffles, she wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him, begging for forgiveness; however, she couldn't do that.

Zaib wanted his space. He wanted to be left alone, and quite honestly, he deserved that liberty. He warranted time to think and remain angry with her. No matter how gut-wrenching this distance made her feel, she needed to stay put, waiting for him.

By the third day, her emotions were hurling. She didn't attend her lectures and couldn't find the will to finish her assignment. Every time she picked up her pen, she imagined Zaib would open the door and walk in with a plate of sandwiches lined for her; then he would kiss her cheek and leave to bring her some coffee as he always did. And just like that, Zoya's tears drenched the sheet of paper, and she was sobbing. 

Desperate to hear his voice, she called him. He didn't pick up any of her calls. She reached a point of insanity and miserably called his mother as a last resort.

His mother was oblivious to the argument, so Zoya had to pretend everything was fine. She didn't want to cause any more problems for her husband; if he wanted to share with his mother, he would've told her himself.

She precariously questioned about her husband, to which his mother answered, "He seems tired and doesn't eat much either. I'm guessing you guys argued?" She evaluated, and Zoya felt her heart tug, her eyes immediately flooding. She hated this so much.

"Mama..." she whispered breathily, tears pouring out. "I've made a mistake. Please stay with him," she rasped.

"You're crying? Zoya, was it a huge issue? Is it about Zain?" His mother asked worriedly. Zoya quickly wiped away the tears and sighed.

"No, it's not about Zain. If he doesn't tell you, I don't have a right to either," she muttered. "Mama is Zain doing fine?" she remembered the incident and asked.

"He's fine. I haven't said anything about it to Zaib. He already seems so drained. I can't break this to him yet," she had explained.

Zoya just wished she could stop hiding behind all the lies and tell him she did horrible things, but her intentions were pure. She loves him so much, enough to hide things from him.

Just like that, it was a dull Sunday morning, and Zoya was busy drawing a model for a new presentation. Even after hours of trial and error, she kept messing up the dimensions, so she lethargically threw herself onto the bed, her head hurting.

She was making mistakes a high schooler makes in their senior year. Her professor had even called to express their concerns regarding her sudden absences and dimwitted behaviour; in response, she could only apologise and promise to do better.

It was like the entire world was falling apart, except it was only her world crashing and everything around her was fully functional.

She missed him so much. Without him, the bed was cold, dinner was unappetising, and the sky was colourless; she never understood how this house could ever seem ugly, but without his presence, it was a foreign two-story house with nothing uniquely different about it.