A Match Made In Jannah

Chapter 48

MAARIAH'S POV

"Nothing to lie about Abba. All I did was go for a drive through the countryside and then to the shop opposite the family clinic," I squeaked.

"Jee, nice cover up lie Maariah. You were always my angel, what happened now? You didn't go there. I did. I saw you leave the clinic. Why?" he asked.

My gaze flickered from Danyaal to Husna to my parents. Danyaal knew the truth, my parents needed to know the truth and Husna couldn't know the truth.

Abba turned to Danyaal and stared at him with daggers in his eyes. "Danyaal. Tell me the truth. Do you know anything?" Abba's voice boomed.

"No Abba."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Danyaal had my back and he wouldn't tell, I knew. That was a little lie. He wouldn't go further than just a deceitful no. I could already see the guilt wash over his face and play on his mind.

"Tell me again, Danyaal. DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT? Say Wallahi," my father roared.

My face fell. I knew that Danyaal would never lie on an oath. "Jee Abba, I do know anything, and I think everything, about this, but it isn't my place to tell. It's hers," he said quietly, avoiding my gaze.

"TELL MY NOW OR I TAKE A QASSAM ON ALLAH'S NAME THAT I WILL KILL MYSELF!"

Danyaal's eyes filled with fear and the sound of the "Qassam" resonated within the room.

"I will kill myself, I will kill myself, I will kill myself," the walls whispered.

"I take a Qassam, I take a Qassam, I take a Qassam," I could hear the voice echo in Danyaal's mind as much as it did in mine.

"Abba she's pregnant and it wasn't a mistake. Well, it was a mistake because she didn't intend to go that far but it wasn't rape. It was consensual. It's been three months," he blurted out.

My father's jaw dropped. My mother gasped and clutched her head in her hands. Danyaal looked at me remorsefully, but I refused to meet his gaze. The only person that actually seemed to care about me was Husna. She walked over to me, squeezed my hand tightly and whispered, "It's going to be okay."

As with any Indian family, the attention was diverted off me onto my mother, who wailed in utter despair. She howled and clutched my father's Kurta, until all her tears had bled onto it. He patted her head until she was a little calmer, although his demeanour remained stiff and unforgiving.

Danyaal stood in the corner, shaken, while Husna rubbed my tummy playfully. I knew that she wasn't actually in the mood for celebrations, but she felt as if she had to play the supportive best friend. We had made a promise when we were children that we would ride together, die together and have each other's backs regardless of what happened. If anyone happened to hurt the other person, or backstab them, it was our duty to put them in their place. Then, we were to comfort the wounded best friend and make her feel as if the world wasn't as terrible as it seemed at that moment. The guilt stabbed my conscience as I realised that Husna was playing her part. She was being the best friend that made the world seem okay, yet I could not be the best friend that defended her from a backstabbing enemy. I was her enemy now. I had hurt her and betrayed her, yet she did not know.

It was only a matter of time before she did.

"Who's the father?" my father demanded. He began to inch closer to me until his face was only inches from mine. " Who. Is. The. Father?"

My lips remained sealed. He repeated his question again. On his fifth attempt I muttered a low, "N.. N... N... No one."

"No one? Did you become Maryam?" he responded sarcastically. Husna let out a little snort and then forced the grin off her face when my father turned to face her.

"Husna, I'm warning you. If you knew about this, there will be consequences," he told her. She shook her head vigorously and the innocence in her eyes told no lies. His gaze turned back on me.

"No one,"  I repeated, a little more bravely this time.

Suddenly, his hand connected with my jaw and I stumbled backwards, shaken by the force of his blow. I could feel the sting against my smooth skin and looked up, afraid, at my father. He had never done that before.

"Abba, no!" Danyaal cried.

"All she has to do is tell me who the father is!"

His hand connected with my body again, this time with my arm. I writhed in pain.

Soon he began to hit me endlessly. Every time I recovered from the impact of the last blow, he would deliver another, and then another. He became careless with his aim and his hand made contact with my back, legs and then, unfortunately, my torso.

The minutes ticked by and his tiredness became prevalent. With one, heavy blow he nearly forced me against a wall, had it not been for Danyaal. His steady arms caught me and held me until I was steady. I coughed and coughed until my throat was dry, only to see blood splatter across Danyaal's Kurta. My stomach ached from the blow and I could barely stand. Husna was at my side in an instant, and offered me a seat and a glass of water. Meanwhile, Danyaal's patience had run out.

"Abba! There is a limit to what you can do! Yes, she's pregnant, yes she was wrong and yes, you can punish her, but not like that! Do you know that she might have miscarried? Most miscarriages are a result of domestic abuse and this is the exact definition! This is cruelty and you just took out your anger on your only daughter and not only that, her unborn child who is guilty of nothing besides being conceived without his will. Ya Illahi! This is insane. I'm taking her to the hospital now!"

"You will not take her to the hospital until she answers my question!" my father roared.

My lip was bleeding, my arm felt as if it was fractured, and my thinking capacity was limited.

"Just tell him, Maariah," Husna whispered to me.

I had no fight left in me. "Nabeel's the father," I managed to croak.