Trust Me (An Islamic Love Story)

Chapter 62

The next few days go quite astonishingly well, and I think I know why. Of course, the holy month of Ramadan has come, and even the air feels at peace, but I also think another reason may be that I haven't mentioned Raheesh and Azar. In fact, whenever my mind goes to these two people, it is as if there is this gate that shuts them out. I busy myself, doing chores with the servants, and try to think about Madam Sabira. Actually, my mind is mostly occupied by her. I ponder over her words and stories. Sometimes, I ponder over how time is ticking away, and I wish for time to stop. The reason for my silent tears has now become her looming death.

Madam Sabira, however, doesn't seem worried about her death. She seems as happy and as kind as always. Physical changes can't be ignored, though. She looks frailer than ever. She has increased her dosage of morphine, and when she pauses while speaking, it always makes my heart skip a beat, thinking that she would never speak again, but then she continues as if she never stopped. I think this happens because of the immense pain, but she is commendable at hiding it.

We have started talking more about Jasim as well. We sit down for hours, reading his writings and then discussing them. They are beautiful, to say the least. The way he strings the words together is just unbelievable at times.

He has expressed his feelings very well, no matter if they are about pain, confusion, or thoughts, and even speaks about the world and religion in general. Once you begin reading them, it is as if you have dived into his sea of words, and you feel every word sink in as your blood pulses.

A week ago, Madam had stopped reading his writings aloud and asked me to read them instead, and I accepted her suggestion immediately as I realized how difficult it has become for her to speak.

One which stood out from all of them was called "Acceptance".

"What is acceptance?
An escape or a cage?
Peace or defeat?
Okay, or numb?
Closed or never opened?

What is acceptance?
Letting or letting be?
Breathing or just breathing?
Being you or losing you?
Broken or burnt out?

What is acceptance?
A fresh start or the last fall?"

I let out a breath as I always do after finishing.

"What do you think?" Madam asks me.

"I... It is hard for me to accept that someone can feel so similar to me. I know what he is talking about too well... I wish sometimes I can just talk to him about it directly, you know. Did he ever discuss with you his writings?"

"No," she answers, and I wait for her to speak more, but she doesn't, and I assume it may be a touchy topic, so I decide not to push it.

"Have you ever felt like this, Madam?" I ask her, scanning the paper with my eyes again.

"Yes, I have," she replies. "It was when my family passed away in the fire."

She pauses, and I caution, "You don't have to talk about it."

"I don't think I'll get time later," she counters with a weak smile, and I gently place my hand on top of hers.

"My sons Amr and Hashim were born after two miscarriages, ten years after my marriage," she begins. "They were twins, so adorable and smart. They got along quite well, confided in each other, and always had one other's back. People got shocked when they found out how much compatibility they had. They were the implementation of the saying, 'One heart and two bodies."

Madam Sabira coughs vehemently, and I offer her a glass of water, but she refuses and continues, "Just after they got married, Amr got an extremely good job offer from the west, and when he expressed his view on leaving, a huge fight broke out between my sons. They stopped talking for months. Hashim and his wife moved out. Jasim and I would try to bring them together, try to make them understand to let the fight go. It was on Eid when Jasim convinced them to have a family dinner together for my happiness. Jasim and I had actually locked them in a room together and told them we wouldn't let them out until they sort out all their issues. Their wives Asma and Noora were just going along with my sons' decisions though they didn't support their fight. They were quite happy that night as well and were talking late at night in the next room, laughing about the little things. Amr and Hashim were banging on the doors, and we assumed they wanted to be out because they didn't want to be locked together, but after around fifteen minutes, the shouts died," she gasps with a sob, and my heart breaks. "Jasim and I had gone to bed, with smiles on our faces, but we woke up soon because of the smoke. Our house had caught on fire because of short-circuiting. My sons and their wives had passed away."