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. . .

~

"And whoever relies upon Allah, then He is sufficient for him." (Qur'an 65:3)

~

Sumaiya Akhtar bites her lower lip nervously, knee bouncing up and down. When the man she has been waiting for arrives with his mother, her heartbeat rises. She glances at her parents quickly, and her father nods solemnly.

Haroun Suleiman greets her parents, hugging her father and nodding politely to her mother. The sight further increases the agony rising within her.

When the pleasantries have been exchanged, the parents excuse themselves and settle at a bit of a distance from Haroun and Sumaiya. Close enough to monitor them but far enough to give them privacy.

"How are you?" Haroun asks. A soft smile adorns his face; his eyes are lowered to the menu in his hands but she has known him long enough to recognize he is busying himself so as not to make her uncomfortable.

It makes this all the more difficult for her to do.

She clears her throat. "Good." Pause. "Alhamdulillah. You?"

"Good, Alhamdulillah."

Sumaiya marvels at how he manages to say this after all that he's been through.

An uncomfortable silence settles over them. Sumaiya does not know how to approach him about this issue. Any side she tackles it from, there is a risk of heartbreak. Besides, he and his mother probably think they are about to decide the date of the wedding.

The thought crumples all of her resolve.

"So the thing is, Haroun . . . " she begins. Hearing the tone of her voice, he glances at her swiftly before lowering his gaze. She swallows hard. "The thing is, I'm going to get straight to the point." He nods for her to continue. After releasing a breath, she blurts out, "We can't get married."

Although Haroun is not one to brazenly look into a woman's eyes, Sumaiya senses he can't help it when he raises his eyes to hers in bewilderment. "What?"

Please don't make me say it again. "We . . . can't get married."

He is quiet for a few moments, as if waiting for her to elaborate. Finally, he says, "Are . . . you're serious?" His face is drawn, eyes wide, voice uncertain.

Pull yourself together, Sumaiya. "Yes."

He remains too baffled to speak for a moment before he says, "Where is this coming from?"

Sumaiya sighs. Words fail her.

"Is everything okay? Did I do something?" An indent forms between his eyebrows. "Did I say something that upset you or — "

"No, no. You did nothing, Haroun."

There is hurt and confusion written all over his face.

"It's just . . . look, I'm really sorry for having to say it like this, but I can't marry you while someone is prowling on your back all the time."

"What are you talking about?" He sets the menu to the side. "Who's prowling around me?"

She keeps her head down. Follow your script, Sumaiya. "Come on, Haroun," she says softly. "Don't tell me you don't understand who I'm talking about?"

"If you're talking about Ms. Zoya — "

"The fact that you know who I'm talking about means you understand this. And don't worry — I'm not angry. I know it's not your fault. I just . . . forgive me . . . but I cannot compete with Zoya Zameer."

"What? Sumaiya, there has never been any competition. I respect both of you too much to place any barriers between you. I respect Ms. Zoya in her own way and I respect you in your own way. My choosing you has nothing to do with her."

"I know for you it doesn't. Trust me, I know. But I can't live my life with you in the constant fear that Ms. Zoya will be waiting for the right moment to pounce on us and separate us somehow. And I can't live in competition with her."

"Sumaiya." There is a helpless look on his face "I'm telling you that this isn't about competition. I respect both of you. But this has nothing to do with her." When Sumaiya doesn't reply, concern etches onto his face. "Please . . . don't do this."

"You're a decent man. And almost getting married to you made me think I was a decent woman. Since Allah says in the Qur'an that the decent women are for the decent men. But Allah has different plans for us, Haroun." Saying Allah's name on the same tongue she used to commit her atrocities makes her want to recoil in disgust at herself. "I cannot marry you. I'm sorry, but this is my final decision. I've talked to my parents about it and they just wanted me to talk to you about it." She gestures to her parents and Haroun's mom, whose face is now tensed in concern as they talk about the same news.

"So you've made your decision." His voice is awfully quiet.

"I just wanted you to know. I can't leave you without an explanation. I can't live my life in the constant fear that my husband may be taken away from me at any given moment. That he may be lured into someone else's trap. Someone waiting in the wings."

At this his eyebrows rise. "Do you have that little trust in me? That you think I would be 'lured' into someone else's trap so easily if we were married?"

Sumaiya's fists clench. This is an exponential mess. "No, I didn't mean it that way. I trust you, but . . . "

"But you're doubting Ms. Zoya's character." Sadness laces his voice.

Not knowing how to respond to that, she shifts gears. "Everyone can tell by the way she looks at you that she loves you."

Haroun scoffs. "Ms. Zoya does not love me." He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and stays like that for a while. When he looks back up, his eyes are watery.

"It's because of the rumor at Paki Enterprises, isn't it?" he says miserably. "You're covering it up by using Ms. Zoya but it's about that, isn't it? You believe the rumor?"

This frustrates her so much that she wants to cry. How can she explain to him that he is the last man on earth she would ever believe committed that act?

Ms. Zoya's words ring through her mind. Let him believe whatever he wants to believe. Just don't tell him the truth. Throw me under the bus as many times as you have to.

He takes her silence for affirmation. "The whole world can believe I committed that heinous act, but I never thought . . ." He clamps his lips together. Even now, he seems afraid to hurt her with his words.

Oh, Allah. What did I do to deserve the pleasure of meeting such a man?

"You . . . you always said that the desire to make something work makes you strong and determined," Haroun says unsurely. "But you're backing down so easily."

He's hurt, Sumaiya realizes with a pang in her chest. He is so hurt because otherwise, he never would have said something like this. Haroun Suleiman is incapable of manipulating other people's emotions, of making assumptions.

Meaning she really has struck a hard blow on him.

"I'm sorry," she manages through trembling lips. "Really, I am. I didn't want it to happen this way."

There is grief pooling in his eyes, but he nods all the same. Pressing his hands against the table, he stands. His eyes lock with his mother's, and there is so much grief in their gaze that Sumaiya looks away.

A heavy feeling settles onto her chest.

Haroun's pained voice breaks her out of her reverie. "I appreciate your . . . honesty." She can tell it costs him a lot to say this; it stands in stark contrast to the look in his eyes. "And . . . I hope you find someone who makes you happy, someone who brings you closer to your Lord, and . . . " He takes a deep, agonizing breath. "I pray he's someone who you think is worth standing up for."

Sumaiya's lips tremble as she watches Haroun face the ground with barely repressed grief on his face. The words are at the tip of her tongue, ready to be voiced. Like the warm up before bolting off for a race.

But she bites her tongue with anguish in her eyes. Let him think what he wants to, Ms. Zoya had said. Anything but the truth.

And if she can even hope for redemption and rectify all the mistakes she has made in her life — especially the betrayal she has inflicted upon Zameer and its reputation — it will only do her good to keep her mouth shut right now.

Even if it makes her insides twist in anguish. Even when an uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of her stomach — like a large, hard rock — as she watches Haroun Suleiman bid her and her parents goodbye with a solemn expression on his face, his mother's arm on his back as they exit the restaurant.

She watches him helplessly, her hands and tongue tied.

. . .