Tales of Love

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Silence permeated around the Waleed House. The night sky was silent as a weeping storm, the cacophony of the crickets the only sound that was heard. Pacing back and forth, Layla was biting her finger nails in anticipation. Donned in a black pishwas, her shawl wrapped around her to shield her from the brutal wind. It was way past midnight and her husband wasn't home still.

She shuddered thinking about his whereabouts. Every crevice of her mind was screaming that there was something very, very wrong with this night. Layla stopped and her breathing halted as she remembered the way Yousuf had treated her after coming back from that damn party. A single, lone tear slid down her face, creating a painting of miseries until it reached her chapped, bruised lips.

The house was empty as the servants had retired to their quarters after finishing their jobs. The living room was the only room that was not shrouded in darkness. From the window, she could see the vast black skyline. It was about to rain soon, she thought. At the sudden thought, her heart gave a jolt, her fingers became clammy with sweat and there was an undeniable tugging of something ominous that lingered in the air, tonight.

Rain was never good.

Layla couldn't stop herself from moving to and fro in complete nervousness. What was this feeling inside her? Ya Allah, why was she so restless? There were a number of questions yet no answer. By all means, she wasn't worried about her husband, what made her nervous was that it was late and if he was out getting drunk, then this wouldn't be so good for her. Layla shuddered.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the silent footsteps that were making their presence known. Wide, alert eyed, she turned around, her duppatta swishing around her. There he stood. From her peripheral view, she could make out his sturdy silhouette, standing like he owned the place. In a way, he did. His button down shirt was creased and crinkled, his tie askew and his coat was hanging lopsidedly on his forearm. Alarm bells were ringing in her head.

Yousuf was never this unkempt.

She swallowed. Joining her hands together, she tried to stop them from shaking so vigorously. He moved forward. As silent as the night, a predatory gleam in his sinister eyes. The brown irises reflecting her broken stature, her void existence. If there was one person who could instil fear in her, it was him.

"You're h-home."

Soft. A whisper. An undeniable silence.

He stared. The brown orbs fixated on her bare face with profound curiosity. Slowly, he walked forward, the thudding sound of his polished Oxfords on the wooden floor, grated on her eardrums. Layla stumbled backwards in haste. When he was within the near proximity of her willowy frame, she fluttered her eyelashes to see him.

Wavy, brown hair were tousled and his stubble was unshaven. He looked like a rugged man who had not seen better days. He kept moving forward, and she backwards. One step forward. One step backwards. It continued until she found herself pressed against the wall. Layla took a deep breath, this all seemed familiar. Yousuf moved closer to her delicate frame, caging her completely by keeping his arms on the wall beside her.

His silence was making her too scared to even utter or breathe, and then in her moment of panic; she caught an unfamiliar scent that was fluttering around him. As if she was doused in gasoline, her senses started kicking in and she realised that it was the smell of a woman's perfume. Her heart, that tiny piece of her lifeline was beating inside her ribcage with a static momentum. Thud. Thud. Thud.