She was like a butterfly in spring. Flying from one garden to the next with her face pulled in a bright smile.
He was like a lonely Eagle. Soaring through the winds at high speeds, looking for happiness.
Life threw curveball on curveball in her path...
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گر بازی عشق کی بازی جو چاہے لگا دو ڈر کیسا جیت گے تو کیا کہنا ہارے بھی تو بازی مات نہیں - Faiz Ahmed Faiz
H O O R tossed and turned for the most part of the night. Feeling guilty of the words she had chosen to throw at her husband. The man who had been a victim, just like her. She did not even feel bad about his words, realising that they were important to make her realise just how rude she had been acting. Whilst Mustafa slaved away, trying to make her accept him, she had been crying about fate. While Mustafa tried to ease her worries and end her insecurities, she had done nothing but highlight his.
Perhaps it was the kind of society that she grew up in that made it seem okay to ignore the emotions of men. It was okay to brush off a grieving man. It was okay for a woman to feel like a victim but not the man.
Hoor could not stop her tears from slipping through. Why had she acted like an absolute douche? Why did she not take into consideration his feelings? Why was she not as compromising as Mustafa? Her heart hurt thinking about the innocent man who had been nothing but an absolute angel.
And then Mustafa had gone out and announced that he loved her. And God did she think she was not worthy. And why would she feel worthy of his love?
He was a man full of ambition and hope. She was the complete opposite. He tried to find some sense of normalcy in everything and she chose to sit and throw herself a pity party. In the four days that she had been married to him, the amount of times she had initiated contact with him could be counted on one of her hands.
And suddenly, Hoor began to see the light. She thought about how Mustafa had been patient. Accepting, caring, loving and all the good things one would want in their spouse. Sure he was different from the rest of the crowd. However, he was much better than a lot of men.
Mustafa despite being rich, was a humble man. He did not drink or raise his voice let alone his hands on her. She had heard of so many stories about men being dominating and abusing their wives to maintain their image. Her husband was nothing like that. Infact he was the single most understanding and caring man she had come across.
In the race of looking for the perfect man, she had only given importance to outward looks. She had forgotten that it was what was inside that mattered most.
Getting out of bed at Fajar, Hoor's feet softly padded into the large bathroom. She switched on the tap of water, performing her wuduwith cold water. She looked at herself in the mirror. The white ceiling lights highlighting her dark circles.
Sighing, she stepped out, laying the maroon velveteen prayer mat on the floor. Eyeing the grey skies that were visible from the large windows. Shaking her head, removing all negative thoughts from mind, Hoor clasped her hands on her breats, bowing her head infront of Allah. The Creator whose creature she had hurt. A sin that was unforgivable until the person you hurt forgave you.
