𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ✔︎

||15||

I couldn't resist anymore to unfold the letter. I know it was the time. The rough and uncrunched surface of the letter swinged my heart with a thudding fear. What was awaiting for me finally reached its doorstep.

Black letter:

Husna,

Have you seen the most helpless person in the world ? Yes. You have. It is none other than me, Bilal.

I wouldn't blame you,I had no grudges or complaints. Who even cares if I have? I had put you in such state where no one would want to see herself. It is easy and normal for you to leave an unfortunate and hopeless man like me.

If you have decided to leave even after reading letter one,then think of nothing else but for my mother once more. If secondth time,your heart doesn't respond- you are free to leave us.

It will be a lie if I say I am not heartbroken. But-Just know that, I will never be displeased with you,nor will I curse you. But in the core of my heart,a mistake will be tainted which would say- I couldn't recognize the correct person. Maybe I took you wrong. Forgive me.You don't need to burden your heart, it's all about choice. I wish we never come in your thoughts after it and Allah make us forget from your memory, forever. Sorry for wasting your time. I had no choice left. I can't repay you the time I have wasted of yours but I would like to do my best. There's a check of your name under mother's bedsheet near her leg. Take with all your heart and forgive me. Please Pray to Allah,He disappears your name from my heart.

Have a nice life ahead. Forgive me.

Bilal.

The letters were breaking my heart with each shard crusting. He prethought the second answer of mine? He was ready for no! He had not believed me,but tested me? What if I said 'No' that time and read this black letter? I could have left mother-in-law. There would be still a way for Bilal? How easily he could say to leave,if I refused. Doesn't that prove he married me only to take care of his mother? Nothing else! He really didn't care about my feelings,about our marriage but he needed me as a servant.

It was my first thought after reading the black letter about Bilal,untill I knew there was another side of our story. This black letter didn't stated me in that time,as I had already chosen to look after mother-in-law. It stated what if  things would go different.

For a moment I gave myself a thought on what if I had chosen another path,changed my mind? Perhaps, I didn't have to serve mother-in-law with hardships, I didn't have to clean her clothes, pass a hard time in loneliness,keep tearing my heart everyday,keep weeping every sleepless night — I could have stayed with my parents and continue my education with the money. In some prospects,my decision could have been right. Evenmore, could I know myself enough? Get satisfied with what I might've done? Could I call myself who really I am? And the million dollars question, had I been able to love Bilal like I do now?

No, things could have gone different but not exactly they are meant to go.
It was planned in destiny that I was a savior,not a mere servant or a duster to clean someone's life. But I still couldn't get enough with what Bilal wrote. Though he wrote it not for me but for the Husna who might leave him but thankfully, I didn't become that one. The black letter wasn't meant for me. It was for the negativity and unkindness we humans carry inside us but they are often burried under kindness and love,Allah bless us with.

If the black letter wasn't meant for me then what there was? Bilal had thought both sides of mine. Then he must've written an ending letter to satisfy my heart to thread a ray of hope,I might have ignored.

So I engrossed my hands deeper in the letter box,the letters I had already read were messily tucked inside open envelopes but which I didn't was fresh, uncrunched and sticked with little glue at the top. I differentiated three letters which were unread. Somehow my hands touched the right one taupe colored with a dried minimal leaf stamped at a corner cutely. I rustled it delicately.

The first thing that crossed my mind was he used to write Dear Husna in every letter he wanted me to read except the black one where he didn't write dear. That approved to me,he was loving and hating  me at the same time. Was he aware of me, whether I was the one to be loved or hated? How was he living to imagine his wife as?

Those questions were unanswered to me, simultaneously raising storms of desire to find their answers which were caged inside the envelope in my hands. My eyes travelled there while ushering the words into my veins like they did when Bilal, himself wrote the letters.