Turmoils- A Muslim Love Story

Chapter 33

Two days later, we came back to Karachi. I had talked to Farhan and Ayan about the house and they decided to rent it out to a family. That way, it would still have people living inside and not stand abandoned.

We could go there, from time to time, since it had extra bedrooms and stuff. But secretly, I wanted to turn it into an orphanage.

Or an NGO.

I wanted it to be a place where abandoned and alone children, like myself, would be loved and cared for. Where children would be given shelter if their elders refused to do so. I'd talk to Farhan about that a bit later.

I wanted to settle into my own life first.

As we got out of the car, Fatima skipped ahead to unlock the doors while the men unloaded our stuff from the car. Ayan and his wife had been kind enough to bring a bag of Farhan's stuff too.

I looked at the house and smiled. It was still the same. Even though I hadn't been away for long, it felt as if I was seeing it years later. In the sunlight, it looked as radiant as ever. I realised I had never gotten a good enough look at it while I was here.

Then again, I had a lot going on then. I probably got blood on the front door handle that day too.

"Shall we?" My husband's voice broke me away from my thoughts and I smiled at him.

I nodded. "We shall."

I looped my arm through his and we walked inside together. It was completely in contrast to when I'd first come here. I'd come in on my own, went up on my own.

It felt like my life was finally beginning. The sweet feeling of butterfiles rumbling inside my stomach gave me a sense of joy, something I thought I'd stay robbed of forever.

It wasn't like my heart or myself was happy only because of my husband. It was just that, when I was by myself, I found it harder and harder to smile. I usually laughed when I looked at someone or joked around with someone. But when you're alone, you find it pointless to smile without reason.

As I sat inside the room, I realized that the mirror was cracked. Frowning, I stepped closer to observe. It had cracked terribly, a few shards missing.

Farhan walked in. "Hey, what would you like for dinner?"

I didn't answer and grabbed his hand instead. No slashes. I grabbed his right hand and there they were.

His knuckles were split open.

"What's this?" I asked.

He tried to pull his hand away but I grabbed it again. "Nothing, really."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What is this?"

"Uh- a birthmark?" He more asked then told.

"What?! Does this look like a birthmark to you?" I exclaimed. "How did the mirror break then?"

He sighed, knowing he couldn't get out of it. "I punched the mirror." He mumbled.

"Why?" I sounded more gentle now.

I made him sit on the bed and grabbed the pack of band-aids from the drawer. The wound looked treated beforehand so I just applied another one.

"I'm fine really. It's an old wound," he stated, an amused look on his face.

"The skin is still split up. What did you do?" I asked.

"I didn't get into another fight, if that's what you're asking," he chuckled nervously. "I hit my hand on the desk and kind of forgot that I'd broken a mirror before. And I broke the mirror because I was mad at myself."