Naseem-e-Subh

Chapter 12: rings and hearts

Asad's POV

I was good at hiding. When I was younger, me and Moiz used to play hide and seek, and he'd never be able to find me. Ammi's voice would echo in the house, demanding for me to come down because Moiz was frustrated and not playing anymore.

Today too, I was good at hiding. Not physically. Love and heartbreak over the years had made me a skilled mask-wearer. My sunny disposition was a good front for all the grief and fears that I'd pressed down my heart. Not even my closest friends were aware of what truly lay under all these layers of false smiles and silly jokes.

I didn't want to worry those around me, didn't want to burden them with my problems. Everyone had their own issues going on and didn't want to add onto them, although sometimes I could see ammi or abbu looking through me as if they knew. I hoped they didn't, but if they did, then I was grateful that they didn't speak about it.

Ever since Moiz died, there was a hole in my heart that didn't fill up no matter how hard I tried. I was sure it was something like that for my parents too, but of course I could only talk about what I felt. I didn't know exactly how they felt, but I knew my heart. Moiz was half of my soul and he'd been taken away from me. Half of my soul.

I believed in Allah and prayed that Moiz was in heaven right now, happy and eternal. I prayed to meet him there soon. But I couldn't help the sliver of resentment always simmering under my skin, because I should have been the one to go. Allah should have taken me first. It'd hurt my parents less.

The only person I'd shared so deeply with was Hafsa, my now ex-fiancé. Ammi wanted me to hide this broken engagement from Israh, but I couldn't. Israh deserved to know the truth, even if it was an incomplete one.

She deserved to know that my heart was someone else's for the time being. Hafsa was so ingrained in every part of me that forgetting her was a difficult task. I could move on but I could never forget the pain from flickering in my gaze and squeezing my heart at every sight of hers.

Hafsa, with her dark, long tresses and golden shimmers in her eyes. Hafsa, with a smile so bright she could light up the darkest room. How was I supposed to erase the traces of her touch from when she'd held my hand as I grieved my brother? Her fingerprints were seared into my skin from when she'd put the ring on my finger.

I had lost my heart to her when she looked up through her thick lashes, with her lips so red, so beautifully curled up as joy reached her eyes too. I'd caught her dancing wildly in the kitchen as she made halwa, and she'd rolled her eyes when I teased her about it.

Our engagement had lasted two years, and I'd grown pitifully attached to her. My ears still sought her voice, my gaze still lingered at her house's door when I passed by on my way to work. Sometimes, I struggled to breathe even.

I struggled to understand how she'd pretended to be in love with me, while desiring another.

When ammi first came to me with Israh's picture, I didn't dare look. I didn't want to. I knew I would unconsciously compare her to the loud, boisterous Hafsa. Ammi had squeezed my shoulder and kissed the top of my head, telling me I needed to move on.

I was still alive despite the heartbreak eating away at my insides. I had moved on. I didn't think about Hafsa as much. I didn't ache at the thought of her.

I threw all the pictures of me and her into the bin, gave her back the ring, deleted her music playlists from off my phone, burned the sherwaani I'd bought a week before our wedding. I didn't cling onto any of her belongings.

But the memories were still there, and ever since my rishta with Israh got confirmed, I was anxious. I remembered Hafsa again. My heart hurt again. I didn't want to feel this way.