Thank you for the warm welcome and your encouraging response 😳 To say that I feel good, is to say almost nothing.
Without delay, I am posting the second chapter of this story with the hope that it will keep you on edge.
Oh, and don't forget to answer me when you are done reading:
Did you feel whatever she felt?
Waiting with baited breath...
And a pinch of salt
Oh, and sleepy eyes!
Until the next, buds,
Sincerely,
P.S. I couldn't send PMs to those of you who requested me cos IF probably doesn't allow newbies to send. Sorry 😕
***
Jealousy is all the fun you think they had.
- Erica Jong
***
Chapter Two
#Aaliya's Narrative
I droned, unconsciously annoyed at the slithering threads of the misty, frothy water draining itself from the bathtub. Despair bounced off my bare skin while I climbed up and wrapped a towel around me. As soon as I inhaled deeply, my head began whirling like I was attempting cartwheeling for the first time. The air was thick with the sublime fragrance emanating from the remnants of the shower gel but I didn't feel particularly refreshed. My limbs still felt stiff and my heart hadn't stopped thudding dully. And this godforsaken smell of spicy vanilla and essence oils was making me nauseous. Until yesterday, it was my favourite shower gel. Zain had taken the pain to find me something that smelled not overtly sophisticated and well, more like me and for once, I had agreed readily. Now, the bottle felt like a menacing reminder of the slow disillusionment that I had undergone since last week.
Truth be told, when the truth of Zain's involvement in Ayyat's rescue came to the forefront, I couldn't prevent that tempestuous whirlwind of emotions from consuming me endlessly until I succumbed to Maami's advice. I didn't know what to feel, or rather how to address each of those feelings. It was as if I was suddenly sucked into a pit of confusion. Watching him smile genuinely at my Abbu, drinking in his affection for my Ammi and marveling at Ayyat's unbound loyalty towards him, had made my heart both swoon and squint. My feelings had all jumbled together and at that point, standing beside them and him, a silent spectator to the unexpected spectacle that devastatingly frustrating man who I called my husband was, I couldn't help but wonder at him.
It seemed as if my mind had ripped itself apart. Each part was aggressively forming plans on how to confront him, or how to react to him henceforth.
But at the end, among all those emotions within me that could probably swirl the belly of an ocean in torpor, only one emotion stood out.
Gratitude.
And it was that which made me leave Zain.
Leave my marriage behind and walk out.
Or rather, walk away.
The corner of my eyes twitched uncomfortably. My lids felt heavier and I knew what it meant.
I was going to cry.
Again.
For myself.
I was letting myself drown into self-pity and let that Plastic Prada claim what was always meant to be-
Stupid me. What on earth was wrong with me?
I couldn't seriously be wallowing over someone as nefarious as Zain, could I?
He might have been a great son, a protective brother and a loyal son-in-law, but he was also a soulless husband.
A... A...
I clenched the hem of my towel tightly as I eyed his cologne. Should I spray some on me today?
Would he notice?
Of course not, a tiny voice inside my head reminded me, he would be too busy ogling at Stacey, or Stinky or whatever the hell her name was!
In a moment of undulated anger, I grabbed his cologne and dumped it into the bin.
I hoped he sweated like a horse while with her.
I had not seen Shirley from up front yet, but Zain had shown me their pictures, more like his fond memories and it would be extremely hypocritical of me to deny her beauty. She was skinny and flaunted the body type most men dream their girlfriends to possess now-a-days, with penetrating brown eyes with gold flecks around them and honey brown hair.
Apparently, and I merely quote Zain, she owned a face you would want to suck.
EW.
And she had long legs that to me looked like barbeque sticks minus the meat but Zain confessed were one of the primary reasons why he began dating her in the first place. Just to be able to run his hands all over.
Yuck.
I leered at my legs.
They visibly groaned under my weight. As if to say, we hear you, sis.
Oh, and did I mention a tiny mole near her lips, that according to Zain, made her oomph-factor skyrocket?
Whatever that meant.
I whisked myself towards the mirror, gritting my teeth. Wiping the foggy exterior of the mirror angrily with my palm, I peeked into it. The woman who looked back from the other side resembled me, that is, if you decided to ignore the large dark circles that made her look like a human owl, or puffy red eyes, that screamed insomnia again and again.
No, I was not even close to perfect. I was the very definition of oddity, both in this house and Zain's life.
And he, well, let's just say whoever says heart-breakers ultimately settle for simpletons in real life obviously never met Zain Osman Abdullah.
"Are you planning to sleep there, Aaliya?"
Came that irritating voice from outside. He must have finished his morning swim quicker than I was expecting.
"Sleep here? And not bother you for the rest of the night? Absolutely not!" I was trying real hard not to think much about how he looked when he dived into the cool blue waters of the pool we have at Barkat. Often, he had caught me staring at him while his muscles flexed lazily against the lapping waves and made tiny dents on his shoulder joints. The way those droplets grazed his skin and dribbled quietly, escaping to the hinges of his boxers.
Not that I would ever admit to him, but it somehow stirred something inside me... more like the lower part of me... well...
"Do you want me to sing you a lullaby, Aaliya?"
Just what did he think he was?
"I am sure you are speaking from experience," I spat, ridding myself of vile thoughts such as Zain cuddling Shirley, Zain biting Shirley's earlobe, Shirley whispering something making him smirk. It quickly followed myself bursting like a cork in pain exploding into the room and jumping at the two of them.
Zain's words came to the forefront in my mind.
And Chelsea, well she was a bit obsessed with me.
Was that what I was doing?
Obsessing over Zain?
I grumbled noisily and perched my arms across the sink, quickly applying cream to reduce the bags under my eyes and combing my hair as quickly as possible, all this while ensuring I plonked everything loudly.
"Yeah, being good in bed comes with its perks. Ask those girls I told you about," that two-faced shameless prick admitted gleefully. All I wanted to do was wipe that smirk off his face which I knew must have formed by now.
"In case you forgot, we happen to share the same bed too."
I saw his shadow move slightly and I knew he was leaning against the door now.
"Did I just hear disappointment roll off your tongue, babe?"
"Why don't you give me a break for once, Zain? And don't call me that!"
"I can't. You are my inexhaustible source of entertainment."
"Did you just call me a cartoon?" I glowered at the door, hoping to burn holes into his head through it.
"More like a stand-up comedian," he explained seriously.
"This is not over, Zain Abdullah. You- I won't let you sleep tonight! I promise you this!"
"Don't worry about me. I have been having nice dreams lately."
"Really? About what, can I know?" I jeered, not really wanting to know and concentrated on untangling the messed up locks.
"I am not sure I want you to intrude," there seemed to appear briefly a hint of amusement in his voice but it disappeared soon when he continued, "I mean, having fantasies about a certain chick is something, but I don't think I can accommodate a seething witch as well."
I gripped the comb so tightly, making its teeth nearly pierce the skin of my palm. It was not even funny. Still, I decided to be the bigger person and instead of retorting with a nasty comeback, I chose to look for my clothes.
"Wakey wakey, sleepyhead! It's time for school," he chimed, modulating his tone to make me look like a complete buffoon of a five-year-old who had sneaked into the theater room and had watched Pokemon all night.
His insensibility made me wonder if he could at all feel the heat of my gaze from across the opaque door.
Apparently not, because he suddenly began chuckling.
"Need some help in there?"
"What on earth for?" I checked the pile of clothes and with a pinch of nerve-shattering horror, I just realized something.
"You left your fresh clothes on the bed, babe," Zain confirmed.
Whoever believes such accidents happen in movies and stereotypical shows needs to visit a shrink ASAP.
All my life, I had craved to being wife to a man who would be so committed towards me that he would inspire me to overpower my usual shackled self, my shy, demure persona when around him. Someone who would help me project that confidence which women like Shirley so easily tapped into, although immorally. Yes, to the world, I would be the same, but to him, I would be more. Much more. And I wouldn't be afraid.
Because he wouldn't have me so.
But standing at the door, practically naked and bristling with self-detestation, I could hardly recall that wistful dream of such a man.
Zain not only made me want to cover up but also never allowed any such opportunity of inflicting humiliation escape from the tips of his fingers.
Such as now.
I glared as he broke into peals of laughter. Hard enough for me to hear the deep rumble of his chest. Unwittingly, my mind conjured up an image of him, wrapped in his satin red bathrobe, bared till the torso, reclining against this very door, separating me from him, a palm probably resting against the doorjamb, and the other stretched against the wood.
I walked towards the door and put my palms on the cold surface of the door, wanting to feel his proximity. But that godforsaken thing creaked dramatically making his laughter subside and declaring my current position.
"Hey..." he whispered, surprising me, his deep baritone reduced to huskiness. Living with Zain for over three months now, I had learned to honestly and consciously accept untimely innuendos. Thus, unsure of how to respond to that husk, I sputtered, "W-where are m-my clothes?"
"With me," he replied quietly.
"Oh. D-do you m-mind?"
"Not at all." He surprised me again and soon enough I heard a knock on the door.
"Well then, just shut the door when you go out so that I know you are not around." I bit my lip while opening the door a tad too nervously.
"Okay," he acquiesced, handing me the clothes before stepping away from the door. He didn't even try to peek. Would he have done the same if it was Miss Stick Legs in a towel just out of shower?
Wait? What was I thinking?
I shook my head to rid myself off the vain thoughts and succeeded in failing miserably to withdraw myself from that cat called Curiosity nibbling my head.
"Wait!" I called and immediately, the sound of his footsteps receded.
"Yeah?"
"Are you alright, Zain?"
I heard slow thumping on the ground approaching the door again and soon the floor near me vibrated. He probably leaned against the door again as he answered, "What makes you think otherwise?"
"No, I mean you are not being your usual self." I rambled.
"And what exactly is my usual self?"
"Being a headache," I told him confidently and rather bluntly.
For a brief second, I thought he would be pissed. I wanted him to be angry with me, like I was with him. I wanted him to yell at me.
He didn't.
Just like that day when he pursued me to retrieve me from the station. No, it wasn't that I was hoping him to declare his unsaid feelings for me but I would lie if I say I didn't want him to feel affected.
True, he came. And for the life of me, I couldn't decipher the reason behind it.
Apart from his usual smug demeanor that shrieked the game's so not over'
Was I wrong if that treacherous part of me that had been craving his touch, his smell, and his caresses, wanted him to question me? To demand an explanation for throwing away everything we had?
He had then and he just did, once again, dash my hopes.
"Aw, babe, you miss me even when you are showering. Are you afraid that the Loch Ness Monster will appear in your bathtub?"
"For the last time, Zain, do not call me that! And I wasn't missing you. I am just surprised."
"As to why I am ignoring you?"
"Oh please! It's not like I care."
"So, you do think I am ignoring you."
Maybe I was imagining it but it seemed like a note of pure triumph in his voice.
"I have more important things to do other than obsessing over you."
There, see, I am not Chelsea.
"Hmm, maybe you are right." His voice began diminishing and I had to add hastily, "But Zain, when an insane man begins to behave normally, one has to ask. It's just a kind act of humanity."
"Says the witch with four legs."
"Okay, leave!" I yelled, frustrated.
"If you so desperately need my attention, you could have just asked. There was no need to leave your clothes behind."
"I do not need your attention!"
"Too bad. Anyhow I am a bit preoccupied right now."
"Really? With what?"
Did he finally realize what he had been doing was affecting me? Would he still go on a date with Stinky?
Zain chuckled and I knew he was smirking when he stated, "I am surprised nobody informed you. Not even Chand Khaala?"
I confess I didn't like that ominous tone. However, I asked, pretending to be bored, "About what?"
"Shirley's coming in half an hour to have breakfast with me."
My heart began thumping irregularly, and I wondered if Zain had observed. But then again, why would he?
"Oh." I barely managed, "Good."
"Yeah, I got to go! Dad wanted to discuss something. Hurry up!"
"Zain?" I hesitated.
I heard shuffling outside, the push and pull of the wardrobe and the sound of cloth brushing against skin. I chucked that image of Zain in satin bathrobe out of my mind forcefully and waited for him to respond.
"Hmm?" he hummed.
Stop it, Aaliya. Don't ask.
Don't be stupid.
Just d-
"Do you really have to go?"
It was a simple question and yet I felt exposed, to the bones. I was openly admitting to my dislike for that woman. Oh, why was it affecting me? I knew how he had been all along. I still haven't forgotten all those calls that I had the misfortune to receive when Zain left his cellphone.
His cellphone.
Tears pricked my eyes as memories of the wedding rose in my mind. And with that, came the crashing realization that no matter how hard I tried, I would always be someone he never wanted.
To Zain, I would always be the woman forced upon him. Or rather he chose to marry to keep his father's honor.
And that voice of sanity inside my head reminded me to keep my feet rooted. Things might change, no? Shouldn't we do what Allah wants us to do?
Fight for what is right?
He doused my hope again.
"Sorry, Aaliya. I have missed her like hell. I really am looking forward to this meet. Find yourself something worthwhile to do while I am gone, okay?"
I heard the door close behind him.
He misses her? Still? Or does he miss his flamboyant, carefree days?
Filled with pubs, booze and women? Waiting to melt in his arms.
I closed my eyes. Was I being wrong?
Was Maami actually right?
Was I really rooting him unfairly?
What exactly were Zain and I?
Enemies? Roommates? Friends?
I clutched the clothes at hand and turned my attention towards them dully.
That was when I realized he hadn't handed me my clothes.
He gave me his!
Why that annoying two faced cunning devil of a husband...
All thoughts of despair suddenly dispelled from my mind. It was as if a ray of pure light pierced through my clouds of self-subjected misery and I clenched my fists, breathing fire.
"It's on, Zain! It's so on!"
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