Bookworms | ✔

fifty-seven

Tears trailed down his cheeks, slowly falling into the depths of sorrow that ached his numbed chest, heart throbbing at the pain his life entailed him to. Nicholas gasped a sob back, forehead to the ground as his  lips whispered the calming hum of Allah's words, as his mind tuned to his prayer, his salvation. 

His heart broke over and over and over again, a continuous cycle of trying to win his parents' favor only to be shot with bullets in the end. He fell in love with a girl, with a religion, with his new life, yet they sought to bury him under disappointment and regrets like coils tightening around his neck, suffocating his desire to live, to breathe.

Lifting his head from the floor, he continued whispering prayers in a low breath, asking Allah to bless him like He did for the prophets. He continued asking for forgiveness, asking for a chance at redemption, begging for his freedom. In some twisted way, Nicholas was enslaved to his past, and the chains only began to rattle when he said his salaams to the angels on his shoulders, signalling the end of Isha (night prayer). 

Two weeks ago, he took full management of the marketing department of his father's work, the Muller family business. His parents disowned him, but he still invited them to his wedding, a date set for tomorrow. 

Why am I sad?

He would marry the girl of his dreams, the keeper of his heart, the love of his life, yet the heavy ballast on his chest refused to budge. It churned painfully across the hard edges of his body, an acute, sharp pain igniting the nerves. How Nicholas wished he could see Dina right at that moment, to hear her lilting voice tempt him away from reality, to stare into her mesmerizing eyes for all eternity, basking in her addictive personality, her beauty, her smiles. 

The doors to the masjid creaked open as two men stumbled in, whispering to each other as grins decorated their lips like ornaments during the holiday season. Haroon and Humaid caught Nicholas's eyes, grins widening as they walked towards him. 

"Assalamualaikum, Nick!" exclaimed Humaid, waving. 

Haroon nudged his twin in the rib.

"Ow!" he yelped, rubbing at his torso and glaring at his brother. "What was that for?"

"We're in a masjid, you fool. Lower your voice."

"You make a compelling argument," joked Humaid, a twinkle of mischievous intentions in his eyes. "We wouldn't want a repeat of our childhood days."

Haroon scowled. "This is exactly why I never bring you to pray with me."

Before Humaid could sass his brother any more than he already did, Nicholas leaned back on the palms of his hand behind him, smiling at the men who continued to bicker like a couple of school children, blue eyes brightening at the sight of his friends. 

Friends, he thought. Not just strangers or my brother-in-laws, but my friends, my allies in Islam. 

"Just a rule of thumb," interrupted Nicholas with a coy grin. "Maybe you should let the other person respond back to your salaams before you guys argue."

 Humaid chuckled deeply, kneeling beside Nicholas. "Well, sport, you're really learning the Muslim ways better than us."

Following his brother's actions, Haroon sat on the other side of Nicholas, meticulously observing the redness of Nicholas's eyes. Unlike Humaid, Haroon analyzed his surroundings, searching for a purpose in everything and a solution to every problem. He deduced a situation through observation like a detective. 

From Nicholas's puffy eyes, weary smile, and tired voice, Haroon caught up to speed quickly, a hand holding his shoulder. "Is something bothering you, Nick?" he asked softly.