The excitement of going home kept Aisha awake the entire night. She tossed and turned in bed, and at 4 am, she finally gave up on trying to sleep and decided to pray Tahajjud.
Getting out of bed, she walked toward the washroom, but in the darkness of the room, she didn’t see Omar’s slippers on the floor. Her foot got caught in them, and she almost fell, letting out a scream that woke Omar from his sleep.
He quickly turned on the light to find Aisha bent over a table near the couch, breathing heavily. At first, he was confused about what had happened, but seeing her so out of breath, he asked, "What happened to you?"
Aisha glared at him, clearly upset. He asked again, "What?"
Pointing a finger at him, she seethed, "Kitni baar aapse kaha hai ke chappal ko apne bedside pe rkha kare... abhi mai gir jati toh..."
(How many times have I told you to keep your slippers by your bedside... What if I had fallen just now!)
She was right—if not for the table, she would have fallen to the floor.
Without waiting for a response, Aisha went to the washroom to do her ablution. Frustrated from the sleepless night and her husband's careless mistake.
After finishing her ablution, Aisha walked to the closet and stood in front of the mirror, tying her headscarf. But then, she suddenly realized what she'd done earlier,raising her finger at her husband in anger. A wave of guilt washed over her, and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. She had never acted like that before.
What must he be thinking of me? Astaghfirullah, how could I do that? Ya Allah, please forgive me, she kept thinking, muttering softly to herself.
With a growing fear of what Omar might say, she hesitated before walking slowly back to the bed. She thought he was asleep.
"Suniye?" she whispered softly, unsure if he was still awake.
(Listen)
"Bolo," came his immediate reply. His intense gaze made her nervous, and she forgot what she had meant to say.
(Say)
"Vo mai... vo... mai keh rahi thi... I'm sorry. Mujhe aapse waise baat nahi karni chahiye thi," she stammered, still feeling uncomfortable.
(I... I... I was saying... I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that)
Omar noticed her lowered eyes and fidgeting hands. "It's okay. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have left my slippers there," he said, his voice gentle.
Aisha froze. Her husband had apologized to her and not gotten angry. She couldn’t believe her ears. Realizing he was still watching her, she nodded quietly and went to get her prayer mat.
Omar, too, was feeling unsettled. He had tried to close his eyes after Aisha’s outburst, but when she came to apologize, it only added to his guilt. He realized how wrong he had been, how he had never let her speak freely without worrying about offending him. His apology was nothing compared to what she had endured over the past year.
As he watched her pray, he was struck by how graceful and peaceful she appeared, her movements fluid and her lips moving with perfect recitation. He couldn’t help but stare. She made dua for a long time, her hands raised before Allah, until tiny tears began to fall from her eyes. What must she be asking for? Does she pray for me? Is she unhappy? Why is she crying?
Endless questions swirled in his mind with no answers. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her. She would never be comfortable with him suddenly showing such interest in her personal thoughts. Besides, she didn’t even know he had been staring at her. Lost in his thoughts, he stared at the ceiling, until he heard her voice again.
His gaze snapped back to her. She had finished her Fajr prayer and was now sitting, reciting Surah Yaseen. Her voice was like honey, each word flowing with beauty. He didn’t even realize when he drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sweetness of her recitation.
When she finished, she put the Quran back on the shelf and moved toward the bed. It was 6:15 am, and Aisha decided to sleep for a while. It was Saturday, so Omar wouldn’t be going to the office, and a late breakfast wouldn’t hurt. She needed rest—her eyes were sore.
She turned to Omar and, almost instinctively, blew the recitation of Surah Yaseen over him. The last time she did this, she hadn’t realized he was awake, and she had embarrassed herself by falling over him. What surprised her even more was his calmness. He had gently tucked her hair behind her ear and gazed at her with those intense eyes. She blushed, remembering the moment as though it had just happened.
Shaking her head to dispel the thoughts that would only lead to unfulfilled expectations, she lay down and drifted into a deep sleep.
The morning started gently. Omar woke up at 9:30 am to find Aisha still asleep beside him, a rare sight since she was usually up before him every day. Realizing she might not have slept well the previous night, he decided to let her rest and headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. It was Sunday, after all—no work to rush off to.
Omar was nearly done with breakfast when Aisha appeared in the doorway, eyes widening as she watched him at the stove. "Why are you cooking? If you were hungry, you could have woken me up, I would have made something for you" she said, slightly surprised but not shocked. She knew he was a good cook, after all. Anyone who lived away from home for long enough had to learn to fend for themselves, and Omar was no exception. But she realized it was probably the first time she had seen him cooking since they married—she usually took over the kitchen happily.
"It's alright, I'm doing it because I can," he replied calmly. "You were sleeping, so I didn't feel the need to wake you up."
His response unsettled Aisha for a moment, sparking a pang of insecurity. Was he going to take away the little rituals she cherished, even cooking for him? Her mind wrestled with the thought, then dismissed it—she hadn’t slept well, and her imagination was likely playing tricks.
Omar had prepared pancakes, fresh apple juice, coffee, and boiled eggs. As they enjoyed their meal, he brought up a new plan. "I was thinking we should head home early to help with Hafsa's wedding preparations. I’m sure there would be a lot of pressure on Mamma and Papa if we don't go. I could book a ticket for Thursday, if that’s okay with you?"
"You're right," Aisha agreed. "I'm okay with whatever you decide. But I'll need to do some shopping and get gifts for everyone at home. It wouldn't feel right going empty-handed, especially since it’ll be our first visit since the wedding."
He nodded, acknowledging the unspoken tradition in Desi cultures of bringing gifts for family members back home. "Want to come along?" Aisha offered, though she fully expected him to decline. To her surprise, he agreed, bringing a bright smile to her face.
They both got ready, Aisha in a simple red abaya with a matching hijab, and Omar in a casual black shirt and jeans. He took her to a mall, where they wandered from store to store, shopping for family gifts. When afternoon came, Omar suggested they take a break and eat, noticing how her face still glowed with excitement at the thought of going back to Pakistan.
They found a restaurant in the mall, and while Aisha stared at the menu with a slight pout, clearly unsure of what to order, Omar couldn’t help but smile. "Want me to help?" he offered, and her eager nod made him chuckle. He took care to order only vegetarian items, knowing she wouldn’t eat anything that wasn’t halal.
As they waited for their food, Omar observed her fidgeting with her abaya, likely feeling self-conscious under his gaze. Finally, she looked up. "Aap..aise kya dekh rahe hai?" she asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
(Why... why are you looking at me like that?)
"Why didn't you get anything for yourself?" he replied, catching her off guard.
"What?" she asked, a little surprised.
"Apne liye koi shopping kyu nahi ki tumne?"
("Why didn’t you do any shopping for yourself?)
Realizing he’d noticed, Aisha replied thoughtfully, "I didn’t feel the need. I already have so many clothes, even in Pakistan. I just needed to buy gifts for the family."
Omar shook his head but dropped the matter as their food arrived. They ate quickly, their hunger amplified by the hours of shopping. Afterward, as they stepped out of the restaurant, Omar took her hand, leading her toward a fashion boutique.
The boutique had an elegant, modern decor, with rows of meticulously arranged designer dresses on sleek wooden racks and mirrors strategically placed to enhance the ambiance. Luxurious fabrics in a variety of colors adorned the shelves, creating a space that felt both sophisticated and inviting.
“Hello, and welcome to The Fashion House. How may I help you, sir?” the saleswoman greeted Omar in a rather flirtatious tone, not even bothering to acknowledge Aisha.
Aisha noticed—and so did Omar. To say he was irritated would be an understatement. “I’d like to speak to the owner,” he said firmly, visibly annoyed. Then, taking Aisha’s hand, he led her to a nearby couch where they both sat down. Omar knew he often attracted attention from women wherever he went, but he never encouraged it. Even before his marriage, he had always kept his distance, and now, as a married man, he had become even more vigilant. For him, loyalty was a matter of principle; he would never disrespect his wife or compromise his values, regardless of the state of their relationship.
Many women felt rejected by his indifference, just like the saleswoman who had gone to fetch the owner and was now casting annoyed glances at Aisha. Omar was used to it, but for Aisha, this was unfamiliar territory, and he didn’t want her to misunderstand.
"Omar… hum yaha kyun aaye hain?" Aisha asked, curious as to why he had brought her into such an expensive boutique.
(Omar..why are we here?)
"Tumhare liye kuchh khareedne. Sabke liye tumne le liya hai. Ab meri biwi ke liye bhi le do," he replied, his words making her blush. It was the first time he had called her that in such a way, with intention and warmth, just for her to hear. Omar watched her cheeks flush and couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t sure why he said it, but he didn’t regret it.
(To shop something for you,You've bought for everyone else. Now get something for my wife too.)
When the owner, Nusrat, appeared, a warm recognition passed between her and Omar. "Oh, Omar! It’s been so long!" she greeted him, her tone filled with excitement.
After a brief conversation, Omar introduced Aisha. "Meet my wife, Aisha," he said with pride. "Aisha, this is Nusrat; her husband, Daniyal, was one of my earliest clients here."
Aisha offered a polite smile, and Nusrat returned it warmly. "Oh, it’s wonderful to meet you, Aisha. You are beautiful!" she complimented, making Aisha blush. After a bit more conversation, Nusrat excused herself, leaving them to shop.
Omar led Aisha around the boutique, selecting pieces he thought would suit her—a light turquoise gown with intricate embroidery, some abayas, and a few other outfits for home. Aisha, though hesitant at first, couldn’t help but feel touched. The idea that he would personally pick out something special for her made her feel valued in a new way.
As they left, Omar insisted on carrying the bags, gently yet firmly refusing when she tried to take them. "Let me," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
When they finally returned home, Aisha looked at him, her voice soft. "Thank you… for all of this."
He looked back, his expression gentle. "You don’t have to thank me, Aisha."
They shared a quiet understanding in that moment, a warmth that continued as they settled in for a well-deserved rest.
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