Trust Me (An Islamic Love Story)

Chapter 56

I sit down on the bed, trying not to think as only negative thoughts reside in my skull. I unpack my suitcase and pray Asr.

I do long Sujoods till my head starts aching from the rubbing, but I hardly say anything to Allah. I just keep saying I trust Him, and I know one day I'll get some justice. I hope one day I'll be okay. I pray for everyone's safety, and that's when the desperation kicks in. "Oh Allah, You give life and death. Please protect my family and friends. Please take them under your wing and guide them. Ease Azar's pain. Ease my pain."

I read some Quran after that, trying to get as much peace in my heart as possible. I have always lived in fear, but this is the moment when it is at its peak. I don't have the evidence with me. Raheesh is coming back to the country. and he will get me the moment he comes. I have so less time. I am not even sure I'll be able to stay here for five days. I'm not even sure I'll stay alive for that long. I try to get some sleep. It doesn't work as usual. I'm trying to kill time even though every second I kill is a second less I have.

Maybe Azar is right. When you dread the time to pass, it seems even slower. I only come out of my room after Isha to have something to eat. I enter the kitchen only to find Azar cooking something. Even if he noticed me, he doesn't acknowledge it.

I ignore the delicious smell filling the kitchen and search the fridge instead for food. There is nothing much there, just milk and some fruits. I decide to eat an apple with a glass of milk and use every ounce of control I have to not look at what Azar is cooking.

"How does it feel to eat off someone else's plate, angel?" He asks, startling me a little.

"Excuse me?"

"Doesn't it feel poison when you are eating off your enemy's plate?" he continues as if I haven't spoken. He glances over his shoulder to have a look at my plate before looking back at the cooking pot. "I wouldn't stop you from eating, angel, but it is really sad when you have to depend on me for food and shelter. It finishes off any dignity left in you, and I highly doubt it even existed in the first place."

I'm clutching the plate so hard that I am afraid I'll break it. I'm at loss for words.

"It is done," he informs, switching off the stove. "You can have it."

"No, thanks," I refuse in a strained voice.

"What is the use to pretend?" He prompts, turning around to look at me. He leans on the counter with a strange smile on his face. "Eating from my fridge is the same as eating what I cooked."

"I'm not hungry, but so generous of you to offer," I add briskly and go to my room.

I keep the plate down on the side table and stare at the apple lolling around the plate till it stops. I wonder if Azar actually cares about my hunger and wanted me to have a meal. Maybe he was so disgusted with himself that he still cares that he made sure to offer the food with poisoned words. I don't have the energy to forgive him if he does care. I rather have nothing than have his toxic care. I cover the glass of milk and lie down on the bed. I ignore my stomach's angry growls and try to sleep. I haven't had anything since breakfast which I am now so grateful was heavy.

I have been hungry for days before. This is nothing. I tell myself. Almost one hour later, after making sure Azar is asleep, I return the apple and the milk to the fridge. The night passes slowly, sleepless and hungry, but nevertheless, it passes like everything else has to, eventually.

At Fajr time, I message Mom asking whether I can come to visit her, and she tells me, of course, I can. I take a long, warm bath before I visit her. Even though looking at my body repulses me, I force myself to remember that I am still here despite these scars. I think I am mourning myself, I muse after I change. I remember Azar's sharp words and decide to leave a note on the fridge to inform him that I have left for Mom's and Pops' place.