With Love

chapter 21: hanging by a thread

"Hamza. Enough is enough. Get ready now or I'll-"

"Jamal, relax. I'm talking to him, aren't I?"

"What an amazing job you're doing. Your pampering and obssession has spoiled him so much, he won't behave even at someone else's home."

"My pampering?! What about your anger? Why do you always blame me for the littlest inconveniences?"

Israh sighed and looked around. Though the corridor was empty, the rooms were not. Thankfully, the room next was her own parents', otherwise aunty and uncle would probably hear this ridiculous argument too. What would they think of her family?

She thought about going in and putting an end to this drama. She nearly memorised all the lines she would say if she went in, her own frustration buzzing deep within her bones. She wanted to shake her brother hard enough, so his brain rearranged itself somehow, enough to make his heart slip and twist a little—anything to get him to calm down, to not get triggered by everything that didn't go his way.

She wanted to go up to her sister-in-law and persuade her to just get a divorce, to take the kids somewhere far away from them, to be at peace and let Jamal bhai wallow in his own misery. He didn't deserve to have a family. He couldn't even take care of himself.

When she heard someone's footfall on the stairs, Israh immediately turned the knob and entered the room, momentarily silencing her brother and bhabhi's argument. Hamza was crying as he sat cross legged on the bed with his shirt off and his hair sticking up everywhere. Little Mariam confusedly laid on the bed chewing on a teddy bear.

Despite everything she wanted to yell at the top of her lungs—just freaking stop it already!—she clenched her jaw and headed straight for the kids. "I'll get Hamza and Mariam ready. You both go and do something else." Hamza cuddled into Israh's arms and sniffled.

"Ek to isko bhi boht bolna aa gaya hai. Abhi itni bari nhi hui tum ke humse badtameezi krti phiro." (She's learnt how to speak too. You're not old enough to be disrespecting us yet)

"Kiya badtameezi bhai? I just said ke I'll handle-" (what disrespect, brother?)

"Bas. Chup ho jaao ab." (Enough. Shut up now)

As Jamal bhai stormed out of the room with his red eyes and shrinking heart, bhabhi sat down on the bed with a soft thud, sniffling as she wiped her tears. Hamza cried harder at the sight of his mother crying and wiggled out of Israh's arms to sit on bhabhi's lap. Both mother and son wiped each other's tears, comforting each other for things out of their control.

"I'm so tired..." Bhabhi whispered brokenly, and ice washed over Israh.

Was this what life after marriage was? This tiredness, these tears, a broken heart and a broken fate. Where did love disappear after marriage? Wasn't Nikaah supposed to be a blessing? Wasn't a life partner supposed to be like a tree's shade on hot summer days?

As fear twisted in her gut, Israh tried to occupy herself with changing Mariam out of her pyjamas, into a Barbie pink dress and glittering leggings. She smiled sadly at Mariam once she was done, and a flash of Aneesa sneaked its way to the forefront of her mind.

A pregnant Aneesa with dark circles under her eyes and bruises on her wrists. She'd been pulling the sleeves of her kameez over her wrists the entire evening, smiling through the tears, covering her eyes with her hair to avoid anyone seeing her on the verge of a breakdown. Israh wasn't sure whether their mother just hadn't noticed, or whether she was pretending like nothing was wrong, but it was infuriating either way.

Israh wished she was older, bolder. That way she could have gone to her sister's husband and slapped him hard enough to ask, did that hurt? Maybe then he'd realise how much he hurt his wife too. Maybe one of his loose screws would finally fit well and he'd see regretfully, the damage he was causing.