Him & His Muslimah

32

Zoya

The work table was neat, all her assignments piled up were now fixated within the drawers; the shelves which were distorted with tons of books stacked randomly were now the tidiest of libraries with books alphabetically sequenced; the bed seemed untouched as if no one had slept in it for days and the marble floor was giving off a distinct spark as if the room had gotten a newly built flooring.

It was twelve in the afternoon when Bilal walked past her room only to halt upon seeing her frantically wiping the mirror on her cupboard with a glass spray in her grasp. He scanned the entire room and stepped in realizing something was wrong.

"What's wrong?" His sudden intervention caused her to jerk around to face him.

"Don't disturb me." She went back to cleaning.

"You've literally turned the whole house upside down! My room is so neat it's like I never even lived there. Can you stop panicking!" He grumbled.

One of Zoya's habitual practices included, cleaning bizarrely whenever she felt anxious or uneasy about something. Sure it was a great habit, but Zoya always went overboard. Last time, she ordered an entire stock of gloves and toilet cleaners for the entire coming year to follow.

She remained unmoved, scratching the corner of the cupboard with the poor cloth. Bilal grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away. "What is it?" He demanded, rolling his eyes at her.

Her heart faltered and she felt herself grow heavy, so she let herself drop onto the bed, her eyes welling up. Bilal stared surveying her intently. Her nose was turning red, eyebrows furrowed and chin wrinkled. She looked like she was going to burst any moment now. "Do you want to talk?" He mumbled, worry written all over his face. Zoya shook her head which Bilal nodded upon and obliged, leaving her alone.

She brought her knees up to her chest and dropped her head into her lap. Three days had passed by and she hadn't heard a word from Zaib. The aftermath of her dramatic exit from the conference was unknown. She had contacted her friends who said they were told to leave as soon as Zaib returned to the meeting that day.

The horror and guilt weighted upon her chest like a giant rock making her feel uneasy every time she breathed. Zoya was always one to speak her mind and be able to argue with others when it came to her beliefs but this was different.

There was just something telling her that she was all wrong in this, that she shouldn't have reacted the way she did. Accusing Zaib of something which was not confirmed and him not contacting her for the past few days had added the things to her list of worries.

Should I text him an apology...

The idea pressed her every hour but she was too much of a coward to take action. What if he ignored her? What if he rejected the apology? Or worse, broke off their engagement. The mere thought of that had her sweating and her heart thumping.

Zoya, you idiot!

He had all the rights to be annoyed. The fear of losing him kept her caged and lost. These past days had been horrible for her, at every turn she found herself consumed by thoughts of Zaib. No matter how tired she felt, the second her head hit the pillow the dark and silence would welcome every thought to her mind- she hadn't been able to rest well. She quickly sprinted to the washroom, making wudoo and prayed extra voluntary rakaa's to ask Allah for mercy.

With tearful eyes, she made her Duaa.

"I am weak and imperfect. I always make mistakes and come to you for guidance. Allah, it was never my intention to accuse someone innocent of a wrongdoing, please forgive me for that. I should've rectified the problem instead of holding Zaib accountable for it. Oh Allah, he is honest and he'd never do something so awful. I'm sorry, please make his heart soften for me and let him forgive me."