Him & His Muslimah

54

Zaib/Zoya

He rushed to the door of their house. Not having enough patience, he entered the password on the electronically locked door handle, and with a beep of confirmation, the door opened. He dashed into the room and looked around, starved for a sight of Zoya.

He stepped closer into the living room. His gaze ran throughout, scrutinizing the room. And there Zoya was. His heart stopped when he finally caught sight of his wife.

She was getting up from the prayer mat next to the balcony, her body covered in a pink jilbab.

His heart ached as he caught sight of her face: she looked pale yellow, her eyes were swollen and red, heavy bags of exhaustion carved under them; the life drained out of her frame. Yet, Zoya Malik still was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes upon; the hunger for a sight of her suddenly morphed into a longing to hold Zoya close and absorb all the pains from her into himself.

She then turned towards him and halted. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets, and she blinked rapidly, making sure she didn't imagine him standing before her.

He could see every detail even meters away; how the shock settled and her wide eyes grew wet, and tears soaked her cheeks; how her frame quivered and her lips trembled in awe.

After two long weeks of horror, she was finally there, right in front of him. At that moment, his chest flooded with love, the uncomfortable heaviness of his heart finally resting.

He watched her quivering and aching as she tried to hide her tears from him and realized that this woman sincerely loved him with every fibre of her being, and doubting her love was the biggest mistake he'd ever made.

No longer wanting to be apart, he found himself lunging forward. Zoya rushed from the other side, as well, sensing his longing, and when they both were close enough, he threw his arms around her; he pulled her tightly into him as if she were a missing part of his soul.

She responded immediately, wrapping herself into him. Zoya had gone through countless hardships, but this was possibly the biggest test of her life. She had to show patience and her trust in Allah's mercy. In these two weeks, when she had hit rock bottom, Allah was the only one she could turn to. And now, He had finally answered her long prayers in which she spilled her grief and asked for forgiveness; Zaib was home, holding her close to him.

With the warmth of his chest and familiarity of his scent, the feeling of home returned. Her eyes wept with gratitude towards Allah as she sobbed into his chest.

Without letting her go, he caressed her cheek, and, lifting her face, he kissed her with a ferocity and hunger none of them knew existed. They pulled apart, and Zoya opened her eyes with a soft smile, but she felt her heart plummet to the ground as she noticed the tears in his eyes.

It felt like someone had grabbed her heart, yanked it onto the floor, and trampled on it. She had never seen Zaib cry before, and after this day, she would rather die than to see that. She reached out to stroke his damp cheek.

"Stop," she helplessly muttered, her breathing unstable and heavy. "Please, don't. I'm so sorry," her voice wavered, and she broke into tears herself.

"Zoya," he rasped, his cheeks soaking in tears.

She held his wrist and pulled him towards the couch; she hated, absolutely despised witnessing him break. God, she hated it so much.

She sat on the couch and motioned him to as well, but Zaib did not do that. He dropped on his knees and threw his head onto her lap, his sobs overpowering the room.

Zoya stared, desperately wanting to stop his pain but felt useless as she couldn't think of any way to get him to calm down. Zoya then did the only thing she could think of; she softly ran her fingers through his hair, attempting to calm him down.