|COMPLETED| A man, a woman, a child and a horrible accident. What else could happen?
Lonely Izaad has forced to come to terms with his cold life. At thirty-two, alone and single (or accurately, divorced) he has nothing else besides his work.
At...
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Chapter 3: Perfect
Morning came with a wave of unmanageable excitement for Izaad. Which was an emotion that he could not remember experiencing in years. He woke up for Tahajjud easily, not once snoozing his annoying alarm, then he read some Qur'aan while waiting for the Azaan of fajr.
Soon after, his day began. He had spent much of the night before emailing his managers to handle his work affairs. Izaad was going to take the time off to rest, recover and recuperate. And perhaps to make sure that no one suffered because of his second of not concentrating on the road. At the top of his list was Haaris and Sania.
He didn't want to be bothered by financial reports, or client requests, Izaad just wanted the time to recover. After all, after 8 years in the company without any holidays, he had more than deserved the time off. In fact, his bosses were willing to give him a month off to recover – fully paid.
He showered immediately after asking Sania if he could meet her at around 9A.M to swap their appropriate medication. He wasn't interested in the hours he had missed with his medication, but he worried for her being in pain. She needed the medication far more than he did. To him, it was imperative that she receive the medication at the quickest, possible and most convenient time to her without him seeming like a creep. After his shower, he found that she had replied positively, he quickly dressed and headed to the mall.
_~-~_
As they agreed earlier (or, rather, Izaad had insisted to meet Sania at a place close to her home so that she still had her privacy, but the distance was close for her which would not over-exert her too much), Izaad met Sania at her home. He knocked on her white painted wooden door and let out a nervous exhale.
He heard her shout out that she would be there in a minute. Izaad looked down to see if his clothing were still decent and unwrinkled – they were, and he let out a breath. Alhamdulilah.
For an unknown reason, Izaad began feeling uncomfortable. He worried on whether or not he had chosen a decent enough outfit. Would he look appealing? Or does he still look homeless?
Was the black shirt stain free? Izaad panicked knowing his love for bleach. He loved his house to have that clean smell, which he knew contrasted with his hate for the completely sterile scent of a hospital. Did it contain a bleach stain?
Did his jeans fit him in all the right places? Was it too tight? Too loose? Was the blue denim dark enough? He didn't know.
Should he have brought her flowers?
No, he decided. That would seem creepy.
But he was visiting a sick person...
...only to exchange their medication, he reasoned.
"Assalaamu alaykum," she greeted a little breathlessly. Izaad felt the guilt eat him alive – she probably had to hobble uneasily to answer the door.
Izaad stared at her. Her creamy skin was bruised by the blue marks on the right side of her face, a glaring reminder of her accident. Her arm was in a sling and her foot in a cast. She was dressed a loose pastel dress that complimented her well. A white scarf covered her head, hiding the neck brace he knew that she wore.
