Dare You To Love Me

«31» these broken wings

Yaseerah scrolled through the endless notifications on her phone, surprised that the battery had held for over 48 hours without dying.

Leaving most of the messages unread, she plugged her phone to charge and began to hunt for the other items she had come to collect, knowing that any minute from now, Lubna was sure to interrupt her.

And the last thing she needed was for Lubna to report her to her father, or for her to be caught in the act.

Slipping away had been easier than she thought it would be; Fou’ad had excused himself to pick up a call, Lubna had gone back to the kitchen to check on the food, and her father had been called into his home office.

Shedding her coat and sheila–exposing her arms and the multiple bruises on them–she knelt inside her closet, beginning the tiring task of prying open the loose floorboard to dig out the treasure she’d hidden beneath.

Pulling out the large shoebox, she sat back on her hunches, trying to regulate her breathing, her mind racing a mile minute.

She had no idea what she was going to do, if she was unable to raise enough money to pay for Mamu’s medical bills.

Bilal no doubt would blame her once again and it would sour their relationship once again.

No, she wouldn’t allow that to happen.

She would sell everything she owned, if it meant Mamu would be alright again.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the box, setting aside the fake passports she had spent great fortune to get for the three of them.

The gold jewelry set she had taken from her father’s safe in his office (which had prompted him to divorce wife number 4) stared at her in accusation, and she set those aside too, picking up the loose changes–in different currencies–she had managed to nick off of her shopping sprees.

It was in this state that Fou’ad found her, seated amidst different notes, opened jewelry boxes scattered across from her feet, and five different international passports clutched in her hands.

His gaze swept over the scene, taking in the unusual sight before him.

Yaseerah sprang to her feet, a surge of adrenaline propelling her upright. Her heart hammered in her chest, threatening to burst through her ribcage.

She could feel a lump forming in her throat as her eyes flickered nervously between the damning evidence strewn across the closet floor and Fou’ad’s stunned silhouette looming in the doorway.

“Fou’ad it’s...” she swallowed, unable to articulate any coherent explanation, her mind racing with the implications of being caught in the act.

“What’s this? What’s going on?” he asked, his face twisting with a mix of confusion, concern, and a hint of betrayal, as he stumbled back a step, his eyes widening in shock as he tried to make sense of the scene before him.

His mind raced, trying to connect some dots, to understand why his wife was kneeling amidst scattered jewelry and passports, his heart aching with the realization that he had no idea who he had fallen in love with.

But it wasn’t the jewelry or the passports or the money that held most of his attention. It was the blue and purple bruises decorating her arms like tattoos that held most of his attention.

“Yaseerah?” His voice was small, filled with so much emotion, it almost brought her to tears.

“Did I... did I do this to you?” His gaze was still fixated on her bruised arms, his heart sinking with guilt.