After The Honeymoon

3. Baby Steps

"It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop." – Confucius

Noor

'He is on his way. Take care of yourself and call me in the morning if you want to decompress."

Madi had messaged me almost 20 minutes ago. Her apartment was just about that far away from our place which meant that any minute now Salman would walk through that door.

Or should walk through those doors, if he chose to come home, that is.

I had been reading the Quran and praying for my husband's safety when Madi had called, and it really felt that Allah had listened to my prayers in real time. The Quran says that Allah doesn't burden anyone more than they can bear. I trusted that to be true. But there were days, like today, where I honestly felt that I had reached the end of my patience.

But then I would remember another Surah from the Quran.

"O you who have believed, seek help through patience and prayer. Indeed, Allah is with the patient." (2:153)

I had to keep reminding myself that.

He is ill, just like I was. And I need to stand by him, just like he stood by me. 

Just then the door opened and in came Salman, wearing a mask and dressed in the black and red Manchester United hoodie that I had bought for him on his birthday just after we had gotten married. I still remembered how he was excitedly trying it on till he saw me. Wearing his real gift. And then it wasn't long before his lips were on mine, and his hands were exploring me over and under the silk fabric of my new lingerie, making me feel things that only he could make me feel. 

But those days now seemed a lifetime ago. He had barely been able to stay in the same room as me over the last few months, intimate contact was completely out of the question. I was still not sure what had come over me when I had decided to shed my clothes in front of him. 

Who am I kidding? I asked myself in resignation. I knew why I did it. I wanted to make sure his body still wanted me, even if his mind could not - knowing full well how sad and pathetic that sounded.  

"Noor, I am so sorry. I didn't realize you were trying to call me. My phone was on silent," he blurted out as soon as he closed the front door behind him. 

"It's ok Salman. I was just worried about you." 

I put my own mask on as well, and stepped into the furthest corner of the room away from him, hoping against hope that he would stay with me long enough to have a face-to-face conversation.

"No. It is not ok," he shook his head, standing still next to the door. "After everything I am putting you through I should have been more careful." 

Madi had been right. If he had PTSD from Ayah and I being sick, and extreme anxiety about getting us sick with COVID, it would make sense for him to avoid us at all costs. And if I triggered his panic attacks, I needed to make him comfortable with me. So tonight, I wasn't going to push him to do anything. I had tried to earlier and failed spectacularly. 

To my surprise, he did not go straight into his own room. Instead, he went and sat on one of the bar stools in the kitchen. Our home had an open concept layout, so I could still see and hear him in the kitchen even though I had sat down on the sofa in our living room. 

"I am sorry for the text messages," he started to speak slowly and remorsefully. "I should not have sent them. I never want you to leave. It would kill me if you did."

All I wanted to do was to let out a scream, to convey how frightened I felt when he mentioned the idea of vanishing. Yet, I chose to take a deep breath because, in that moment, he required me to be the composed one.