Beneath Guarded Hearts - 88

Previously

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?”

__________________

Rashid

            I held my breath, hearing the hard beats of the pulse behind my ear as I tried to contemplate the fact that I was about to admit this. The only person who knew was Sul6an. I suddenly realized that I couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring myself to even say her name, to someone like 3bdulla. I felt vulnerable, and the only person I trusted my vulnerability with was my best friend… and Asma. Even when I confused my feelings for Maryam with her, turning desperate, protective and moody, she was still there for me. A new thought entered my head.

Me: “You said that this was for Asma, mb 9a7?”

            He nodded in impatience, waiting for me to answer him. I smiled at him slightly.

Me: “Then I want to be the one to tell her.”

            I felt relief flood through me as I found an escape route. And the best part about this plan was that Asma would never ask what I knew 3bdulla would dare to ask. I wouldn’t even have to confess much.

            3bdulla raised a brow at me in exaggerated patience.

3bdulla: “Na3am? YOU want to talk to her? I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that.”

Me: “And why not? She’s the one who’s ‘worried,’ 3ala goltek, and she can ask all the questions that she wants to hear the answers to. She’s satisfied, everyone’s happy, w 5ala9. Sho el mshkila?”

            I felt him tense, but I refused to give in.

3bdulla: “No.”

            I wiped my face of any emotion that might have been paraded.

Me: “Fine then, 3a ra7tk. You’re not getting anything from me.”

            I shoved my chair back in emphasized slowness, giving him a challenging stare as I got up. He seemed to be weighing something out in his head, unable to make up his mind, and I pinched my shoulders up in a careless shrug as I started to turn around.

            I heard a fist erupting the smooth wooden surface of the table and I flinched inwardly, blinking hard.

3bdulla: “Inzain.”

            I smiled triumphantly and continued towards the door, still not facing him.

Asma

            I was almost done! I just had a few last minute things to drop into the suitcase, such as toiletries, and I would be done. My room looked clean again, but it was also robbed of the “Asma touch” I had stripped from it. It was orderly, but very much empty. I smiled one last time as I took it all in, the room I grew up in, the room I had spent sleepless nights thinking about 3bdulla, the room in which I had stressed over my school studies, the room that felt like home. But I realized that home wasn’t attached to this particular place anymore, not even this house. My home rested where my heart lay, and that was with 3bdulla. He was my home.

            My web of thoughts was disrupted as I felt my phone ringing, and I smiled slightly at the sound of 3bady’s ringtone. My heart gave an immediate, hard thump as I reluctantly answered the phone, wondering how Rashid was and what 3bady found out.

Me: “Alo, esalam 3alaikm 3bady. Ha sho estwa?”

            I numbly heard him grumble through the phone, saying that Rashid refused to confess anything unless it was directly to me. I was a little taken aback by the news, but I recovered quickly for 3bdulla’s sake. For some reason, I didn’t want to face Rashid. What if the girl he loved were I, and not someone else? I mean, how awkward would that conversation be? But it couldn’t be me. How could it be? I shook my head as 3bdulla called my name again.

3bdulla: “Asmaa… sma3teeni?”

Me: “Yes, yes, I heard you. I’ll take Baba’s car and come right over. Where did you say we were meeting again?”

            My heart vibrated fervently against my bright, yellow top, and my cheeks were flushed crimson red. I did not want to do this at all.

3bdulla: “Meelas baitna. Did you finish packing kilshay?”

Me: “Yes, and I packed your things as well. I’ll bring them over with me.”

3bdulla: “Okay 7beebty, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Me: “Okay. Yalla bye.”

3bdulla: “Asma?”

            I heard the reluctance in his voice and hesitated, not exactly eager to hear what he wanted to say.

Me: “Sho?”

3bdulla: “Are you sure you’re okay doing this?”

            I bit my lower lip as I heard the edge in his tone. He didn’t like this any more than I did. But if he knew that, he wouldn’t even give me an option to choose whether I wanted to talk to Rashid or not. I had to mask my feelings for the moment.

Me: “Yes, of course I’m fine. Don’t worry about it!”

3bdulla: “Okaay if you say so…”

Me: “Yalla bye 7abeeby!”

            I sighed heavily as I closed the phone. I called the maids and told them to carry the suitcases down to Baba’s car as I slipped into my 3abaya and shaila. Was it just my overthinking little brain, or was it weird that 3bdulla actually agreed to this?

           

            I tried not to think about it as I drove the car, and the distance between our houses was mercifully short. I stopped up short in front of the garage and fished for the remote from my handbag. As the garage door slid up and I parked the car inside, I felt like I was being enclosed into a hole. And the funny thing was, I started this mess. Why, oh why did I have to worry about Rashid so much? Why was I unable, for once in my life, to stop worrying? Why was I constantly putting myself in these situations? I heard myself ask these questions as I gave the key to 3bdulla’s maid so that she could unload our things. I gave her a genuine smile, stopped for a moment to ask about her wellbeing, and then mounted up the front steps into the house. I took in a deep breath and lifted my chin up, trying to conceal my anxiety.

Me: “3bdulla?”

            I heard a faint murmur of my name emerging from the majlis, and followed his response. The silence was awkwardly tense as I entered, and my heart fell when I saw Rashid, his head lowered, his hands clenched together. I mentally cursed myself for putting him in this situation. I was just about to call the whole thing off when 3bdulla spoke.

3bdulla: “Yalla, start.”

            Rashid and I both looked at him surprisingly.

Rashid: “Now? With you here?”

3bdulla: “6ab3an with me here, did you really think I would let you talk to Asma alone? She’s my wife.”

            I felt a little guilty as I realized that I was as surprised as Rashid was, that I thought 3bdulla would let us talk alone. Of course he wouldn’t allow it. How did I even come to think otherwise? In a way, I was relieved that he would be here so that it wouldn’t be so nerve wrecking, but it also made the whole thing more uncomfortable than it already was.

            3bdulla gestured me to take a seat next to him, and I did so obediently.

3bdulla: “Now start.”

            Rashid sighed heavily. The self-reproach built up with impeccable speed and I felt awful. I couldn’t make him do this.

Me: “Rashid, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to! Adre innik mb mrta7 and I’m so sorry, w madre balaya! I swear it’s fine, and it really doesn’t matter if I hear what you have to say or not, I mean it’s none of my business a9lan-”

3bdulla: “Asma.”

            I blinked sharply, a little dazed.

Me: “Haa?”

3bdulla: “Awal shay, you’re prattling. Thani shay, I thought you said-”

            My finger quickly shot to his lips to silence him.

Me: “I know what I said before.”

            I suddenly heard a low, exasperated laugh coming from Rashid, and we both turned to him.

Rashid: “Asma, it’s okay. Trust me, if I didn’t want to tell you, I wouldn’t have. I should have told you about Maryam a long time ago.”

            Maryam.

            Relief flooded through my veins me as I realized that it wasn’t me, that I wasn’t the cause of his pain. My heartbeat seemed to calm down, and I relaxed in 3bdulla’s arm that encircled my waist as I patiently waited for Rashid to continue. He sighed again.

Rashid: “Maryam was very much like you, actually. She was always smiling, always considering others before herself. Even her hair was similar to yo-“

            He stopped short as he saw anger and jealousy flame in 3bdulla’s eyes, his arm hugging me closer to him in a possessive manner.

3bdulla: “You can leave out the unimportant details.”

            To my surprise, Rashid actually blushed a little, and wouldn’t meet my eyes. He dropped his gaze to the floor.

Rashid: “Errm, sorry… Well anyway… She didn’t have patience when it came to- well not really, I mean she had patience, but she just wasn’t as tolerant of others when she was mistreated.”

Me: “Mistreated? How?”

            He was still looking at the floor, appearing extremely intrigued by the patterns on the Persian silk carpet that rested under his feet, appearing disrupted in his thoughts.

Rashid: “She… she held herself very high; she never ‘brushed off’ a rude comment and was never afraid of speaking up for what was right, not giving a care to what was ‘3aib’ to say or not.”

            He stretched a faded, reminiscent smile.

Rashid: “Her mother was always giving her some sort of lecture, complaining that she wouldn’t find a good husband. She always scolded Maryam, telling her how she would be valued more with her mouth shut and that outspoken girls were unwanted.”

            He paused for a moment, shaking his head.

Rashid: “But I loved that part about her. I loved that she was different.”

            I was completely touched by his words and felt goose bumps forming as the surface of my skin trembled. 3bdulla gently rubbed his hand over my arm with gentle strokes, responding to my body’s reaction. He knew me so well. I waited patiently for Rashid to continue, and after a moment, he finally lifted up his gaze, his eyes polished in a sorrowful, dark brown tone.

Rashid: “We had both volunteered at a charity event and that was where I met her. She was such a giver, always attending to everyone’s needs, always smiling. I admired her strength as a woman, and I wanted more. But when I tried to win her over, she made it very clear that she wasn’t interested in relationships. She said that if I wanted her, I would have to do it the proper way.”

            I nodded in understanding, knowing exactly what he was talking about, as it was a common enough situation to be in. Noufy had told me a good, endless fair of stories that ended with false promises and lies that guys would spin just to win girls over. Girls wanted love and marriage; guys wanted to fool around and have fun.

Me: “So what happened?”

Rashid: “Nothing happened. I certainly didn’t want to get married. We talked normally as acquaintances, and when we started to become closer, she told me that I had overstepped my boundaries. She broke contact with me, and in my blind devastation, I made her promise to wait for me, the thought of her belonging to someone else being unbearable.”

            He paused for a moment, playing idly with the tips of his fingers.

Rashid: “I made her wait too long. I did plan on marrying her, I really did, but then you came into the picture and everything just fell apart…”

            Wait a minute. What did he mean I came into the picture? I tried to put the puzzle pieces together but nothing made sense.

Rashid: “My father, he told me that he had arranged an engagement for me, and as you know, I tried to get out of it, I really did, but it was done. I found out later from 3awash that it was pre-arranged by both our dads for your safety. She convinced our fathers that I would be more useful if I knew about the twists behind the arrangement, and I understood enough. My father owed your dad, and this was how he was asked to return the favor. That’s why, when we went out as an engaged couple for the first time, I was completely, err… despicable towards you. I didn’t want any of it, I just wanted Maryam, and I had just fought with her over the phone, the news of my engagement somehow having reached her, and she was furious with me. I told her I would find a way, but your father’s past caught up with him and even though he knew what my intentions were, he asked me to stay as your husband until matters were resolved. I couldn’t say no, and by the time everything was sorted out, Maryam was gone.”

            He paused, letting the information sink in, and in an impulsive haze I blurted out the first question that popped into my head.

Me: “What do you mean ‘gone?’”

            He shifted a little in his seat, his uneasiness apparent. He rested his elbows firmly on top of his knees and held his hands together in one clenched grip.

Rashid: “I couldn’t tell her the real reason behind our engagement, I couldn’t tell anyone. So I told her that my father arranged it and that he was hardheaded, but that it could be worked out and that I would find a way out of it. As time passed, my reassuring words lost their value and she stopped believing me, thinking that I was making false promises. I tried to beg her to wait, just a little longer, but she refused and stopped talking to me. And after a while, I found out that she was engaged. When I tried reaching her, she ignored my calls and replied to only one of my texts, saying that she was ‘in love’ and that she wished me all the best in life.”

            For a moment, I had forgotten 3bdulla’s presence in the room, having been so absorbed in Rashid’s story. I felt so guilty, so terrible about everything that had happened, that I almost let the tears spill down my cheeks. It was my entire fault, all of it. This man sacrificed his happiness for me, and neither of us even had a say in the matter. It felt unfair, that I had gotten my 3bdulla in the end, but he never had his happy ending. Why was God so cruel to him? Did he not deserve any happiness? I shoved that thought away, feeling horrible for thinking that way. Everything happened for a reason. Maybe Rashid wouldn’t have been happy with Maryam. Maybe something better awaited him. That had to be it. Allah never takes something away from someone without giving him or her something better. Even I learned that the hard way. But as I struggled over what to say and battled down my sniffles, I thought of only one thing. How could I make Rashid see that?

To be continued…