Beneath Guarded Hearts - 87

Previously…

Asma

3bdulla: “I’ll deal with it, and that’s all I’m promising. Now take that frown off your face, it doesn’t suit you.”

He kissed my temples and smoothed the creases of the long-gone grimace. I hugged him tightly and bade him a good day, and went over to start packing our things. I made a silent prayer to Allah to have this matter resolved painlessly and quickly. I pushed aside my worries and put my complete faith in Him, and started to take my belongings out of the closet. I summoned for the maid to come and help me, and I numbly packed the rest of my things as I worried over Rashid and 3bdulla’s conversation. Grimly, I thought of how to act in the case that Rashid’s mystery girl did, in fact, turn out to be me, even though the chances of it were sleek. I thought of 3bdulla, and prayed to God that it wouldn’t come to that.

__________________

3bdulla

            I wanted to get it over with, and I was tired of wondering about whether someone else was in love with my wife or not anyway. I was more annoyed of the prospect that Asma cared so much about it, about him. I knew she didn’t love him or feel anything of the sort towards him. I kept telling myself that, but the more I thought about it, the worse my mood turned out to be. I suddenly smiled as I remembered last night, relaxing my grip on the steering wheel and leaning back into the soft leather seat of my car. I still couldn’t believe it happened; it felt like it was merely a dream and I would soon wake up, but it wasn’t a dream. I thought she would never fully recover after she lost the baby, thought that she might be afraid, but there she was last night, showing me, in every way she could, how much she loved me. I would do this for her. I would have to clench my teeth and bear through it, even if Rashid’s “mystery girl” turned out to be her. Just as the thought entered my head, I found myself parked in front of their house, idly staring at the front door. I turned the ignition off with a set face and stepped out of my car. I suddenly felt like I was walking into a black hole. My hands trembled a little and I clenched them in disbelief, anger surging through me. Why was I nervous?

Rashid

            The last thing I needed on a Saturday morning was the maid knocking on my door and talking gibberish through it, as if I would actually be listening to her every word and would magically understand everything she blurted out when I was half asleep. I groaned and yelled at her to go away, shoving my head under the pillow and trying desperately to cling on to the lovely dream I was having. But the knocking persisted, this time in louder, more persistent thumps, and I kicked the blanket aside and stalked to the door, anger blazing through my blurred, drowsy eyes. I open the door just a slight, squinting through the tiny space and ready to burst into rage, when I paused and stared in confusion.

Me: “3bdulla? What the hell are you doing here?”

3bdulla: “We need to talk.”

Me: “What? Ma 7a9alt wagt thani?! Ever heard of something called a mobile phone? Use it the next time you decide to barge into my house and disturb my sleep.”

            I was about to slam the door in his face when he insolently set his foot inside the door and prevented me from closing it. I raised an eyebrow at him.

3bdulla: “I said we need to talk.”

            I groaned again and pushed the door open, hoping it hit his face, and stomped into my room, refusing to sit down. My sleep was ruined anyway.

3bdulla: “Get dressed, we’re going to a coffee shop.”

            Now he was pushing it.

Me: “Na3am? W ba3ad titshara6? I’m seriously in no mood to talk to you nor will I ever be in the mood. Now either you say what you have to say to me or get out of my house and go back home to Maryam and continue to do whatev-”

            Relief flooded his features, and his tight jaw relaxed as he curved a slight smile. I clamped my mouth shut when I realized what I had just said.

3bdulla: “Maryam?”

Me: “Asma… I meant Asma… that’s not the point!”

3bdulla: “That’s exactly the point. Now get dressed. Whether you want to or not, you obviously need a talk. You look like crap.”

            I frowned at him.

Me: “Awal shay, I just woke up, and since when did you become a therapist?”

3bdulla: “I’m not. I’m doing this for Asma. She’s worried about you and it’s getting damned annoying, constantly hearing your name on her lips. Now shut up and get dressed; I want to get this over with.”

            I don’t know what it was that seemed to calm me down, the prospect of Asma worrying over me, or the fact that 3bdulla looked like he was about to drag me out himself if I didn’t comply.

Me: “I’ll be out in 10 minutes.”

3bdulla: “La ta5ith ra7tk.”

            He turned and closed the door behind him. I groaned again. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to confessing my past, or talking about her. But I knew this day would come. I had involved Asma too much to avoid it.

3bdulla

            In precisely eight minutes, Rashid came out dressed and an obvious frown masked his face. I didn’t want to do this anymore than he did, but it had to be done. I offered him a ride, trying to be civilized for once in my life, and since he lived in Jumeira, I decided to go somewhere close by. I ended up going to Shakespeare Café in The Village Mall, and as were seated and ordered some drinks, I dove into the subject straight away. I was grateful that there weren’t a lot of people around, given that it was a Saturday morning.

Me: “Now then, who’s Maryam?”

To be continued…