Beneath Loves's Veil

4. The Morrocan Pakistani

Numbness washed over me as the room began to blur. In the distance, my brother's voice seemed distant as he mentioned something about a WhatsApp group and congratulating Amir on his nikah back in Canada. Despite his words, my mind struggled to grasp the reality of what he was saying.

Suddenly, I shot up from my bed, startling my brother. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched in his voice. I couldn't bring myself to reply. I couldn't even find the words. Ignoring his question, I dashed to the bathroom.

Clutching the corners of the sink, I felt a whirlwind of emotions bubbling up inside me. I spun around, facing the toilet, and everything came rushing out in a wave of nausea and despair.

I retched until nothing but bile remained, emptying my stomach until it felt hollow. Hunched over the now flushed toilet, I lingered there for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, I gathered the strength to rise, feeling drained and shaky.

As I stood and faced the mirror above the sink, I was startled by the reflection staring back at me. My hand trembled as I reached out to touch my face. My eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles, and my skin appeared ghostly pale against the harsh fluorescent light. It was a stark reminder of the turmoil raging within me.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed my brother was no longer in the room, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I wasn't ready to face anyone just yet. Turning my attention to the window, I saw that night had fallen, the gentle breeze blowing in from the seaside.

My mother's words echoed in my mind, haunting me. "He moved on to another girl right after our flight departed."

Was it true? Did I really mean so little to him?

Another part of me burned with embarrassment. Perhaps it was my fault. While we had ended things, it was me who couldn't let go. The connection we shared was undeniable, beautiful, and unique. I couldn't fathom experiencing it with anyone else. But now, seeing that he was married, it was clear he didn't feel the same way.

Resentment towards myself crept in as I pulled out my phone and typed his Instagram handle into the search bar. An invisible hand seemed to clench my stomach tighter as I saw he had changed his profile picture. The image of him beaming in a graduation gown had been replaced by one of him in a gray suit, a woman's hand adorned with a beautiful diamond ring on her left hand's ring finger resting on his chest.

His bio read

YYC | CMB
Exploring the uncharted with my plus one.
General Practitioner 🩺
@areebaxo ❤️💍

My hands shook so violently that I almost dropped my phone when I tapped on the handle in his bio. "Areeba Hameed," the name read. The profile picture displayed a stunning girl in a sage hijab, her arms wrapped around Amir, both of them radiating happiness. Beneath the picture, her bio read the following

🇲🇦 | 🇵🇰 | 🇨🇦
Just your above-average Morrocan Pakistani. 💅
Life got so much better with you in it. ❤️
@amir_2327 💋

I put my phone on the table and sank onto the bed, feeling numb. How long had it taken for him to move on from me? When had they met, I wondered? Did he know her when we were together? Did he ever miss me?

Slowly, I rested my head on the pillow. I wanted to cry, but it felt like I had cried all my tears away. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," I berated myself silently. How could I have been so foolish? Three years wasted, staying loyal to his memory. I had turned down countless proposals and disappointed my parents, all because I held onto the hope that he felt the same way.

Overwhelmed with emotions, I rose from the bed and spread my prayer rug on the floor, facing the Qibla. Bowing down into prostration, I whispered, "Ya Allah." The moment the words left my lips, tears began to flow once more. "Ya Allah," I sniffled, "please take this pain from my heart. Wash it away with water, snow, and hail. Forgive me for entering into a haram relationship. All this pain, I brought upon myself. But now, I turn to You, Ya Allah. If You forgive me and relieve this ache in my heart, I promise that I will accept the very next proposal that comes to me no questions asked.

I remained in prostration for some time, seeking forgiveness, when I heard my phone chime. Slowly, I rose and glanced at the screen. It was a message from Arwa.

"I hope you are feeling okay. I just overheard Dada talking to Nasser's dad right now. He said they weren't interested. I hope that makes you feel better 💖"

Okay, I breathed a sigh of relief. Hearing that they weren't interested brought a sense of ease. I was determined to stick to the promise I made to God – to say yes to the next proposal without hesitation. Deep down, I knew this wasn't a healthy mindset. It felt like I was on autopilot, following through with the promise out of spite. I wanted Amir to feel a sting when he heard I was married, even though I knew he probably wouldn't care.

I laid my head on the bed, convinced that sleep would evade me forever. Yet, against my expectations, it enveloped me, only to be rudely interrupted by the raucous competition of birds outside my window the next morning. As I pressed the iron against a periwinkle-colored abaya for work, my mom entered the room.

"Zahra," she began, her tone softened, "I'm sorry about last night."

"No, I'm sorry, Ummah," I interjected, feeling a pang of guilt, "I was foolish. I shouldn't have brought up Amir. I realized that I don't even have feelings for him. I was just using it as an excuse to turn down the proposal."

Her expression shifted, caught off guard by my admission. I knew I was bending the truth, but witnessing what unfolded last night made me realize I needed to let go of Amir. "I also wanted to tell you," I continued, "that whatever proposal comes next, if you and Dada approve and if the guy likes me, I don't even care how he looks. I'm ready to get married."

Ummah regarded me with a curious expression. After my outburst the day before, she knew something was amiss, but it seemed she was relieved that I had seemingly come to my senses, so she simply nodded and left the room.

I felt an overwhelming sense of numbness engulfing me. Every action, from brushing my teeth to getting dressed to eating breakfast, was mechanical, devoid of any real purpose. Even as I climbed into the hired rickshaw, it was like I was just going through the motions. But as the rickshaw pulled away from my street, something inside me seemed to jolt awake.

Quickly, I pulled out my phone and sent a brief message to the headmistress, informing her that I wouldn't be able to come to work today due to an unforeseen circumstance. I offered my sincere apologies, knowing that I had never taken an unnecessary leave before, so she couldn't refuse.

Sure enough, within moments, her reply came through. "Don't worry," she assured me, "focus on yourself. We'll take care of things here for you."

Feeling a sense of relief at her understanding response, I leaned forward in my seat and instructed the rickshaw driver to drop me off at One Galle Face Mall. He agreed, mentioning there would be a small extra charge, to which I replied, "No problem."

It was an exceptionally warm day, and my abaya clung uncomfortably to my skin. I longed for the cool relief of the air conditioning as I anticipated stepping into the mall. As we approached the Taj Samudra Hotel, overlooking Galle Face Beach, I began gathering my belongings and rummaged through my purse for some change to pay the driver. Today, I was determined to take a day off for myself.

I needed to calm down, to treat myself to some good food at the new restaurant my friends had raved about yesterday—a gathering I had missed due to yesterday's unexpected guests. This day was for me, a chance to collect my thoughts, recover from the shock, and simply recharge.