The room was dark. Cold air slapped against my bare skin. I shivered. Where was I? I looked around the empty room. There was nothing and no one around. My head ached, pounding against my skull. Rodents squeaked into the silent night. I could feel them crawl up my shoulders, and I flinched. My shoulders shook as I tried to get them off.

Footsteps echoed into the room, slow and steady. I lifted my head, trying to push my body to move. All I heard were the clanks of chains banging against the wet wall. I tried to move my legs, only to find that they too were constrained by the rusty metal.

Something didn't feel right. For some reason, I feared the man in the shadows. This fear was so deep that it made me tremble. My knees felt weak, my body was tired.

I was tired of fighting, tired of sick games, tired of life. I wanted my death to be quick. Why didn't the shadow man just kill me? What was he waiting for? He took everything from me. He damaged me beyond repairs. He destroyed me. This man shattered my soul with his actions and his words. This man carved all the torture I endured in my skin. He did the unspeakable.

He was cruel.

As his footsteps neared, I started to remember. Bits and pieces of my memory started coming back. Fragments started to fall together to create pictures. Emotions filed in right after the other with sorrow leading the group.

My heart squeezed painfully in my chest as I saw my parent's gentle faces. They smiled at me as they held a tiny toddler in their arms. The child's light brown eyes gazed at me curiously. I felt a strong urge to protect the little boy.

"Brother," the child mumbled. "Brother!" he shouted louder this time.

My lips curved up into a small smile. It was Bashir, my little brother. His tiny arms wrapped around my mother's neck, her hand reaching up to stroke his black hair.

Her white hijab wrapped around her head and she smiled at me. My father held onto her waist, bringing his wife close to him. His lips pecked hers as he whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pushed him away.

I remembered this. It was one of the happiest memories I had. People used to say my parents' love was so strong that no one could break their bond. They said that there were no two souls more perfect for each other than my parents'. They said noor (light) came from just my parents' presence.

Just as quickly as the memory appeared, it vanished into smoke. Dust covered my eyes. The shadow man stood in front of me. His head tilted to the side as he examined me. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver object.

The knife glinted in the moonlight. I glared at him. I wouldn't show him how afraid I was. His cold blue eyes looked at me with distaste. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to stare at him.

"Your arms have healed nicely," he noted.

I moved my face away from him. "Let me go," I hoarsely said.

He chuckled, darkly. "Why?"

"Because I have a family."

I felt the tip of the knife graze my skin. I tensed. The sharp object traced my old wound. I whimpered, praying to Allah that he wouldn't press it harder against my skin. His grip around the knife tightened. I knew what came next.

I frantically started moving, trying to shake the chains off me. My ankles felt sore from rubbing against the dirty metal, but I didn't stop. He was going to hurt me. I had to get out of here.

Then, he pressed the knife down hard.

I screamed, "Stop! Please!"

He only sneered at me as he continued. The blade ripped my flesh, the sensitive skin being torn apart. Blood oozed as the blade moved farther down, going in deeper each time. The veins in my neck were strained as I felt my tears stream down my cheeks.

Pain was erupting everywhere. My breathing faltered and I felt sweat beads fall down my hair. My skin was taut from restraint, yet the pain still followed. A burning stinging sensation followed the blade. He laughed.

"Please," I cried. "Let me go. I'm begging you."

He only smirked as he brought the blade down again. I screamed in anguish. My skin felt cold. I could hear my heart beating loudly against my chest.

Not again, please, I couldn't go through this another day. Allah, help me. Allah, save me.

I couldn't do this anymore.

My throat felt dry from my screams. It hurt so much. Please, Allah. Make it stop-

"Ibrahim!" a feminine voice shouted as my shoulders shook.

I jolted upright, gasping a breath of air.

Tasneem's arms circled around my neck. "You're okay. It was just a nightmare," she whispered softly into my ear.

My arms went around her waist, pulling her close to my chest. She scooted closer to me. The warmth from her body calmed my anxiety. I took slow breaths as she gently stroked my hair with slender fingers. I inhaled her heavenly scent.

It was odd how her presence managed to calm me down. The way she held me just made me feel protected. I felt safe. It was like she could chase away my nightmares.

"You'll be okay," she murmured.

I didn't say anything. All I needed was her comfort. I didn't need anything else. At that moment it felt as if she were the light, my personal light. She could chase those monsters away from me. She could ease my mind. My arms tightened around her. She started to shift and pull away.

"Don't," I croaked.

She looked at me confused.

"Don't go."

She gave me a small smile as she sat beside me on the bed, outstretching her arms towards me. I gathered her small frame in my arms. My head rested on her shoulder as she leaned against the headboard of my bed.

She quietly hummed a soft tune. The room was dark, but this type of darkness was different. It wasn't scary or uncomfortable. I didn't feel anxious.

Instead, I felt comforted. For years, I felt alone. I knew nothing could ever stop the nightmares. My mind conjured images of my past to remind me. I just couldn't escape.

I felt so vulnerable in front of Tasneem like this. My heart was bleeding from grief, yet she seemed to stitch it back together with her presence. I squeezed my eyes shut, finding comfort from the delicate heart beating softly against her chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, quietly.

I shook my head.

She sighed, her hand stopped stroking my hair. "Ibrahim."

"It's complicated."

"That doesn't matter," she frowned. "I'm your wife. You can talk to me about anything. It doesn't matter if it's happy or downright depressing. I'll still be there for you in the end."

I sat up straight, watching her intently. She was beautiful, sitting on my bed like an angel. The moonlight did no justice to her beauty. "Just... stay with me tonight?"

"Of course," she nodded.

As we pulled the covers over our bodies, my heart drummed against my chest. Her brown eyes stared at me curiously. Her soft hand slowly made its way to my jaw, her fingers brushing against the black bristles. I closed my eyes.

She snuggled closer to me, her hand trailed to my mouth, tracing the outline of my lip. Her lips gently placed a kiss to my forehead, lingering a bit. I opened my eyes.

"I'm here," she reassured me.

But, for how long?

I was reminded of my nightmare; the feeling of the knife still haunted me. It killed me on the inside. It knocked the breath out of me as I imagined that day. I shook my head, trying to rid my mind of those dark thoughts.

Instead, I was back in that cold dark room. I saw his mocking face as he buried me in pain. I could feel the sharp blade digging into my skin again. Allah, make it stop.

"Ibrahim, snap out of it!" she exclaimed, holding me tighter against her. "It's not real. It's a dream. They're not real."

"They were real," I whispered as I felt my vision blur with tears.

She shook her head, frantically. "No. They're not. You're okay."

"I-It still feels real," I stumbled for words.

Her eyes were glazed with fear. Was she afraid of me? Would she abandon me like everyone else did? When will she realize that I was a broken mess?

I wasn't someone who needed fixing. I accepted my past. It was only at night when I felt my memories clash against my skull. At night, I had no distractions. I was free to remember, to feel. I could be myself at night.

Tasneem did the unexpected. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She didn't tell me she understood me. She rested her head on my chest, breathing slowly. Her arms fell across my stomach. She didn't speak for a while, allowing me time to think. She didn't deserve this. She needed a strong husband. She needed a normal man, not me.

"Go back to your room," I sighed.

"No," she mumbled.

"Tasneem," I warned her. She shouldn't stick her nose in something so complicated.

She inhaled a deep breath. "I don't know what you went through. I'll admit that I didn't have a difficult childhood. I probably won't ever understand the troubles of your past because I never went through it." She tilted her head up at me, the brown orbs glittering with sympathy. "I do know that whatever it is you went through, you shouldn't have to deal with it alone."

I looked away from her, running a hand through my coal black hair. "I can't tell you," I said.

"I don't mind."

"You sure?" I asked.

"Yeah. Allah will help you, Ibrahim. Allah is always there for us in the most difficult times," she said, softly.

"I know."

She yawned, "Don't lose faith."

I smiled fondly at her. "I won't," I promised.

That night, as we lay in each other's embrace, I felt different. I felt at peace. My mind relaxed and my thoughts wandered off to my wife. Her black hair was sprawled over the pillows. Her body was against mine, reminding me that she was real, not a figment of my imagination. Allah sent me an angel.

He gave me a wife to comfort me during those dark dreams. Even after all the efforts I showed to push her away, she still came back. No matter how rude I was to her, she managed to crawl back into my arms and stay.

"Goodnight, Tasneem."

May Allah forever keep you safe.