Things Nadir N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ Said | [MUSLIM]

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Nadir

If one thing was clear after last night, it was that my wife was not going to be feeding these two any more Biryani. Not after last night.

Sami's suggestion offended me at the time. No one addressed it, and he didn't even try to apologise or claim that he meant something other than what it looked like. And, frankly, I was glad it wasn't discussed. For the sake of my mental peace, it was best left unaddressed.

But when they left and we were clearing the dining table, Zaeb was quite obviously detached. I knew she didn't want to talk about whatever was bothering her. If she wanted to talk about it, she would have. And I wouldn't need to worry.

But she wasn't talking, and I was going insane.

Gulping my paranoia and hoping she'd just tell me, I grabbed her hand at the kitchen door just as she switched the light off.

"Are you okay?"

It came out as a mere whisper, as if I was scared to know her answer. And to shock me, she replied in a whisper just like mine.

"Yeah, what happened to me?"

I left her hand and let her lead the way to our room, and it was completely clear that something most certainly had happened to Zaeb. And I didn't say anything, but not having any way to coax it out of her was crushing me with every passing second.

I went to sleep that night with another unasked question floating in my mind amongst thoughts of Zaeb's worried face.

Do normal people realise that they're infinitely lucky to be able to express their feelings?

____

"Papa," Mishal shouted from the kitchen. "I want to get married."

"What?" I heard Zaeb ask him. "What did you just say?! Get married?!"

"Yes. I want to get married right now."

Mishal said two or three shockingly childish things every day, but they usually just made me laugh. This one downright appalled me. Allah only knew what godforsaken TV show had convinced her that she wants to get married at five years old.

"If you get married, you will have to clean the house," Mustafa piped up in a poignant tone. "It wouldn't be fun."

"No. It would be fun. Papa!" She shouted again. "Are you hearing what I am saying? I want to get marriiiied!"

"But why?" Arij asked, following her as she hopped on the sofa beside me, in her hand some biscuits Mishal had been munching on.

"Because the weddings is fun. We wear dresses, and draw on our hands with henna, and...and be a princess. I want to be the princess!"

"So you don't want to get married, you only want a wedding, right, Mishal?" Arij laughed.

"No, no, I want to get married in the wedding, too."

"Get married on your wedding day, hmm," Zaeb said, her face pinched with laughter. "Fine, we will get you married next week. But have you found a boy who wants to marry you, yet?"

"I don't know. I can marry Ronnie."

"Ronnie!" Mustafa wrinkled his nose. "Ronnie smells of poo and cries a lot. Don't marry him."