Puranay Rastay ✓

chapter ‣ 10

 I didn't cry alone too long because a few minutes later the door gently opened and someone walked in. I recognized the sound of the footsteps as they walked through the hall and made their way towards the center of the room. Aqib.

I sat up and wiped my face, hiding traces of the fact that I had been crying.

There was no use in crying over words that meant nothing.

The bed dipped next to me as Aqib sat down only a feet away, his eyes glued to the cream marble floor. His shoulders were hunched with fatigue and overwhelm, so unlike the confident and authoritative way they usually were.

I could see that he was crushed, and that was all I needed to put my own grief on hold.

I touched his arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "It's okay," I comforted him, rubbing circles with my fingers. "Death, no matter how certain, leaves us overwhelmed," I whispered.

Wordlessly he removed my hand from his arm and held it, tracing the lines on my palms as if they were a puzzle. We sat in silence as he stared, processing everything.

With how he had managed everything since that morning, trudging forward without acknowledging his own feelings, I wanted to give him a moment of silence to get in touch with his feelings and to let them flow.

A sigh left his lips after what seemed like hours, and he mumbled, "I was with him." He met my eyes. "I was with Taya when it happened. He was . . . he . . . he was smiling at me for a moment, and then the next his eyes closed and his . . ."

"You don't have to say it," I whispered, meeting his eyes. They were pooling with tears which he attempted to absorb back in, blinking.

"You were crying too," he observed, touching my face.

I looked away, wishing that I could hide behind my veil. "Everyone cries," I offered. "Taya was good to me."

"Because you are good to others," Aqib announced, gently grinning. "Your presence gave him so much joy, he kept saying how he's glad I got my act together and married you."

Your presence gave him so much joy.

Some people take along their unluckiness with them.

His words stirred something in me and the floodgates opened. Tears began to roll down my cheeks unprompted, too fast and warm for me to wipe them away in time.

"It's alright," he comforted this time, oblivious to the real reason I was crying. "I know today has been a lot to deal with."

It broke my heart thinking how we were only a week into our marriage, I was still a new bride, my henna still dark, and yet the criticism had started.

My sobs grew more intense, rocking my body as the thoughts refused to leave my head. I tried to dismiss them, closing my eyes tightly as if I could unsee the women talking.

My reaction surprised him.

"What is it, Rida?" he whispered, sensing something was wrong.

How could he read me like that? I thought. I didn't want to say it, but my heart ached so much it was difficult keeping the pain under wraps.

"Some aunties earlier. . . they . . . they called me munhoos," I stuttered out. His body grew stiff. "They say I brought along death."

"Who? Who said that?" He asked, his voice laced with rage. "Tell me Rida."

"I don't know," I whispered, feeling like a tattle-tale. "Just some in the crowd."

He stood abruptly, his breathing ragged with rage.