Things Nadir N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ Said | [MUSLIM]

IV

IV

Nadir

After tucking my little ones in their beds, I started to walk towards my bedroom. I was wondering  if he was going to stay for a longer while.

Now, I did know I may have come off as rude back there, but I couldn't help it. I have no way to explain how overwhelmed I had become, suddenly. All I knew was that I didn't want to stutter and make a fool of myself in front of someone Zaeb knew so well. If I had stayed and tried to talk more, it certainly would've been humiliating for not just me, but also her.

My escape may also have something to do with the dodgy vibes this Sami guy gave off. I can't deny it: I was a bit daunted by his suave looks and demeanour. The confident personality, clearly expensive clothing, his manner of speaking - wording clear, firm statements with perfect eye contact - and the odd half-smiles he kept throwing at Zaeb...it was altogether quite unsettling to me.

The only reason I ignored his ominous aura was because Zaeb definitely wasn't feeling any of it. She quite liked his company, actually.

I had been living in this place all alone, with her and the kids, for five whole years now. I was probably just being paranoid because Sami was the first relative of either of us to actually come to visit. Our unfailing tradition of visiting our families  during Christmas break every year was quite convenient for everyone, and Mishal and Mustafa loved going there.

It made sense to conclude that being wary of a cousin of hers was not an inappropriate feeling on my part.

Because, for Zaeb, Sami was practically family...despite how things ended up changing as they grew up. He was someone she'd spent her childhood with, and had only separated from a few years before she left the country. My thoughts didn't, couldn't matter when considering how she must be feeling upon his arrival.

I decided not to express how I felt about his visit and focused on what I had been wanting to tell her.

Within seconds Zaeb came and stood quietly by the bed, her expression blank.

I grinned. "You won't believe what happened today," I started.

After I had narrated to her how I had almost fixed our problem, her previous enthusiasm resurfaced.

"Call her tomorrow itself!" she suggested, and I nodded.

"What's for dinner, by the way? I'm starving."

Her eyes widened as she stared at my face. "I am so sorry! Nadir, I'm so sorry. I got so into catching up with Sami after all this time that I forgot all about dinner," she said, looking abashed.

My eyes widened. "But we have a guest," I said, wondering if feeding him leftovers was what was on her mind.

"Order something?" She said, and then looked at the floor.

It wasn't a bad idea, I decided, and called home delivery from a local Pakistani restaurant we love to eat from.

Dinner was quiet, partially because the kids were asleep and also because it didn't convey any more reminiscences of Zaeb's childhood. And, although I would characteristically be thankful for such a scenario, I had figured it may be because of the abrupt and graceless way I had fled the living room earlier.

But, of course, I had no wish to do anything about it. And I had especially no wish to talk and change the mood of the table.

Thankfully Zaeb couldn't contain herself for very long. Soon they were back to chatting and giggling like teenagers, and once again, their conversations didn't need much contribution from my side other than the occasional laugh or hum.

It turned out that Sami had a friend in here, Fahad, and that he was going to be staying with him at his place until he settled with his work and had fixed a residence of his own. We learned that he was here to try his hand at exportation, and that his incentive to come to London had been not just Fahad agreeing to be his partner and helping him get a business visa, but also Zaeb. He claimed to have missed his childhood friend, and she herself, much to my astonishment, admitted that she, too, had missed him.

It wasn't news to me that Zaeb had had such a close relationship with her cousins as a child; it was just that she hadn't really shared any of these feelings of longing with me. In any case, they were both obviously glad to be reunited, and I wasn't sure if I was allowed to feel any other way.

Somehow the topic steered from home and Indian economy on towards Sami's marriage. Zaeb let out a cry when he disclosed, quietly and with the kind of tone which suggested that he wouldn't like much discussion concerning the matter, that the woman he had married against the wish of his entire family, and Allah Himself, had left him. And she'd taken their two-year-old son with her.

Apparently, Sami was heartbroken and dejected for about a year, and decided to delve deeper into work to get over the fact that he had no family at all, anymore. Indian divorces were a difficult and time-consuming affair as it was, what with the taboo around it, and their matter included a small child who obviously needed his mother's care. So trying to make up with his wife after a while was the only option he felt left with. The muddle with his religious parents had brought the man all the way here for some fresh air.

The story was indeed sad, and just imagining what Sami now had got to be going through made me look at him with softer eyes. It occurred to me as if I had misjudged him completely when I called the pain in his eyes ominous. All he was, really, was a miserable, lonely man.

To make up for finding a grieving man dodgy, I made Zaeb insist that he stayed the night with us, which, of course, she did not mind. While she readied our guest bedroom for him, he sat with me in our veranda. I was having the kheer she had asked me to order for Sami, and he, after finishing his, was smoking cigarettes.

"It's so nice to meet you guys," he said after a while, with a hint of a half-smile as he looked down at the city's skyline.

"It's nice to have you here," I replied carefully.

"I hope your family always remains the way it is," he took a long final drag. "You may not have much but you have peace. And happiness," he blew out smoke, and then crushed his cigarette butt on his empty bowl of kheer.

"I do hope your wife-wife returns, and if Allah wills, sh-she s-surely- " he cut me off.

"Your boy Mustafa," he paused. "He reminds me of my son. When I hold him, it's as if I'm holding my Shuayb, only a little older."

I looked at him blankly.

"And Mishal; she's such a beauty," he grinned. "Just like her mother."

Just as I was wondering how to respond to that, he said again, "I hope your family always remains the way it is."

I was not thinking anything, but I felt my face twist into a frown.

But before I could speak or react at all, Zaeb called us inside saying that his room was ready for the night, and I just looked on as he moved at the sound of her voice.