. . .

. . .

~

The Prophet Muhammad (SAW) said that Allah the Most High said, "I am just as My slave thinks I am, and I am with him if he remembers Me. If he remembers Me in himself, I too remember him in Myself. And if he remembers Me in a group of people, I remember him in a group that is better than it. If he draws near to Me at hand's length, I draw near to him at arm's length. And if he comes to Me walking, I go to him running." (Sahih Bukhari)

~

It seems that Zoya and Haroun's little nighttime bonding lasts only for a short period of time. Afterwards, the same heavy silence settles between them. Zoya goes to work mechanically — despite the protests of her mother-in-law who worries for her health and tells her to heed her doctor's warnings. Haroun goes to his temporary job every day, and although he doesn't mention it, Zoya knows he's worried that his little apartment will not be able to contain all of them for much longer.

At work, the employees who dare — such as Bill and Ibitoye — ask Zoya about her hushed marriage. Which the press has obviously found out about, despite Lucas' vigorous attempts at hushing the news. She tells them there may be an official reception later, but for now this is something she doesn't want to bring too much attention to. Already her days of absence from work have left the media baffled and confused, scrambling around for explanations despite Lucas' insistence that everything is fine and under control. She is approached by reporters to and from work, whom she tries her best to ignore. Sameer even hires an official bodyguard to escort her to places and ward off the reporters, but they're insistent. They take any chance they can to shove their mics in Zoya's face, and even threats from security hardly keep them at bay.

Although it's horrible having to face them, it also takes the press' mind off of Zaki Ahmed and the tension between him and Zoya. Off of the accusation laid on Haroun.

But the damage has been done. Zoya overhears Haroun frequently fretting to his mother over job offerings being withdrawn from him due to the accusation laid by Zaki. The concern and hurt in his voice circles constantly around Zoya like a plague.

Zoya feels as if she is being unscrewed from a wall, falling and falling to a place she doesn't know. The depth of which she has no idea of. Even after retaliating against Zaki Ahmed and having attained her life's greatest desire to be given Haroun, the emptiness doesn't leave her, only dulls slightly. The horrible, hollow emptiness that she thought would disappear after she grasped Haroun in her clutches.

But it doesn't.

It makes her want to crawl inside her own skin only to find that it doesn't fit and then crawl out, only to find that the world outside provides no comfort either. It makes her want to itch herself until she is raw and red and yet she does not feel anything at all. It doesn't help that Haroun is so distant from her, too. She would argue that he is even more distant than before their marriage.

Zoya Zameer is tired. She is so tired of something she cannot understand or grasp. She is so tired of her success that she always seems to want more of but never seems to have enough of. It feels as if she is inhaling and inhaling without ever exhaling.

She is tired of being pushed around by political demands, tired of being held back by decorum and constraints. She is tired of pretending, tired of primping and dressing and beautifying herself up only to find that the world still expects more from her. She is tired of this constant craving, itching restlessness that she can't even come close to putting a finger on yet it seems to have her in its entire grasp.

On top of that, she feels suffocated in Haroun's tiny little apartment. It's not really about the size of the apartment itself, but about being around more people at home than she has been around in her life, even though these people treat her nothing short of a princess.

And although it holds terrible memories, she misses her manor. The garden, the pool, even the servants.

She knows Haroun senses this, too, but he doesn't speak to her about it. He doesn't speak to her much about anything except to ask her if she's okay and whether she took her meds.

His demeanor makes her feel worse than ever. Because it forces her to continue to think about what she's done to attain him, about what she's risked. And when she thinks of him ever finding out, her throat clogs up so painfully she's unable to breathe.

About three quiet weeks after their marriage, Zoya approaches Haroun in their room, settling on the bed next to him as he reads a book. He notices her presence, looks up, and closes the book. "Everything okay?"

"Yes. I just wanted to talk to you about something."

Immediately a wariness takes over him, but he nods and sits up. "Sure."

Zoya places the file she brought in between them. "I wanted to talk about . . . my house."

Realization dawns on his face, as if he expected her to bring this up. "Okay."

"Look, I know you're not telling me, but you're looking for a new place. And this temporary job you've received will not be enough to sustain you now. We both know it." Zoya pauses. He looks uncomfortable but doesn't say anything. "I want us all to move into my manor."

He sucks in a sharp breath.

"I know it's a tough decision, for the four of you to pick up everything and move in with me, but I want to repay you for what you've done for me." And maybe it will make this nagging feeling go away for what I've done to you.

Haroun shakes his head. "It's not about that at all. You don't have to repay us for anything. Relationships don't work that way — as if we're trading. They're built on trust and mutual understanding." A sharp pang pierces Zoya's chest when he says the word trust. "It's that I'm responsible for you, and that I'm to provide for you. And you're in no way obligated to provide for me, not to mention for my family."

Zoya nods. "I thought you would say that." She nudges the file towards him. "But there's nothing wrong with me wanting to do so as a choice, from what I know. I earn enough to last us a lifetime." She laughs, and there is a hint of scorn in it. "So while you are searching for a more suitable job, you guys can live with me." Zoya shrugs. "Everybody's happy."

Haroun watches her helplessly.

"And . . . " Zoya opens the file and turns the first page towards him. "If you're worried about living in my place, I'm ready to put the manor in your name alongside mine. You just need to sign these papers."

He gives her a look of pure shock, and suddenly Zoya remembers the last time she had someone sign these property papers.

The door to their room swings open, and her husband steps out. He swivels his head this way and that, looking around in confusion. "Zoya?"

A cold, metal point touches the small of his back. He freezes, probably getting a nasty feeling about what the object is.

"Move," Zoya says. Her voice is shaking. She hates herself for it.

"Zoya? What's going on?" He sounds so innocent, so unlike the monster that he is. But she will not be fooled by him.

"I said move." She digs the knife deeper so that he lets out a little yelp. But he obliges to her command nonetheless.

"What is going on, Zoya?"

Zoya's hands shake. Her body shakes. Her very heart trembles. But she nudges him forward into a chair, quickly gesturing to the guard standing by. He nods and begins zip tying and binding her husband's hands behind his back and his feet to the chair. Her husband swivels his head around, trying to make her see the bewildered look on his face.

"Don't — don't say a word," she stammers, slowly walking so that she's standing directly in front of him. The look on his face scares her, as it has scared her so many times, but she cannot cower before him now. Not when she's so close to getting what she wants. "If — if you try to do anything . . . there are guards all outside the house. They won't hesitate to hurt you."

His eyes widen in surprise, and the look satisfies Zoya somewhat. This is the only defense she has. Using his money to bribe the people who usually follow his orders. Taking valuable things and finding somebody needy enough to accept them.

She wields her knife like a dagger, like a sword that is so much stronger than the way she feels right now.

Zoya gestures to the papers on the table. "You will sign these, and then you will leave."

"What?" His voice is pure confusion now, mingled with oncoming rage. Rage she is so familiar with.

"Those are the property papers for this house, and those are the divorce papers. Sign them now and — and you won't be hurt."

Now he looks entirely perplexed, with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth wide open. He looks almost innocent. But she knows him too well. "Zoya, tell me what is going on, for Allah's sake — "

"Don't!" she yells fiercely, hating the last three words that come out of his mouth, the phrase that always surfaces when he's angry. "Don't ever say that in front of me again."

"Can we just talk about this? What do you mean 'divorce?'"

"You know what I mean." She steps closer to him, knife held out before her. And although he is the one tied to the chair, utterly helpless, and she is the one with a weapon wielded before her, she is still scared out of her mind. "Sign the papers."

After a few moments of silence — during which Zoya is entirely sure he can hear her pounding heartbeat — he says, "Well, I can't do that if my hands are tied, can I?"

Zoya laughs. It's a terrified, nervous laugh. "You think I'm going to untie you that easily? All you've done to me is lie." As she grows closer to the freedom she has planned for months, Zoya's shivers decrease. "You have ruined my life. The least you could do for me is let me go."

"Can we talk about — "

"There's nothing to talk about." She barks out sharply, and he flinches. Good. She likes that she can elicit that reaction from him. "Right now I will call a guard from outside. He will untie you — don't even think of doing anything — you will sign the papers, and then you will leave and never show me your face again."

His eyebrows rise, and Zoya's heartbeat staggers. He's supposed to be afraid. Why isn't he afraid? "Allah doesn't like — "

"Don't tell me what Allah does and doesn't like!" Zoya yells. "I don't care! You will sign these papers and you will get the hell out of my life.'"

"Is this about the supposed 'abuse' you're speaking of to our parents? You know, it's my God-given right to — "

"SHUT UP!" Zoya screams. "Shut. Up." Her chest heaves up and down as she breathes heavily. She steps closer and presses the tip of the knife into his chin. He flinches back, but she advances forward. His eyes flick to the guard, who stands motionless behind Zoya, making no move to rescue him.

"Sign the papers." Her voice is dead quiet. "And nobody gets hurt."

He looks into her eyes for a moment before he swallows. "Okay." His voice shakes, and the satisfaction rushes through Zoya. "Okay, I'll do it."

"Zoya?"

She blinks suddenly and registers her surroundings. Haroun. Their room. The present.

Haroun.

His eyes are worried, piercing deep into hers.

As she looks at her safe haven, she loosens a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Sorry," she murmurs automatically. "Just — remembered something."

He reaches a hand forward as if to comfort her but pulls back quickly. Zoya doesn't know whether that makes her glad or upset.

Instead, he nudges the file back towards her. "I can't. This is your property. Yours. I can't take that away from you."

"But I'm willingly giving it to you. And you're not taking it away from me — it will be under both our names."

He shakes his head. "I can't."

"Please," she says, exasperated. "Please come back and stay with me. Chase away his memory from there. From every nook and cranny of that place."

There is a moment of charged silence as Zoya realizes what she just admitted to.

Haroun stares at her, baffled. "Zoya . . . if the place hurts you so much, isn't it better to leave it? Start fresh. Start over."

Zoya shakes her head and smiles. "You fight your demons in hell, don't you? You never fight them anywhere else. You never fight them in paradise. The only way they go away is if you stand your ground and uproot them from where they came from. If you run away, they haunt you."

His hands inch forward once again to reach her fingers. He wants to provide her comfort — she can tell by the pained look in his eyes. But he maintains the distance, allowing their hands to simply rest in close proximity to one another. Close, but not touching.

It comforts her all the same.

"You know," Haroun says softly. "You are allowed to charge me for living in your house. You have every right to — as my wife — if you choose to do so. Because it isn't your responsibility to take care of me."

Zoya smiles, a warm feeling spreading within her. Every time he speaks, he gives her more reasons to fall in love with him. He's giving her power, something she's not used to attaining without snatching. He's telling her something that is advantageous to her and possibly detrimental to him, but he's making her aware of her rights as a Muslim woman.

And in her, a small part shifts. The tiniest, smallest distance. But a distance all the same.

Close to God. For giving her this man.

. . .

"You ready?" Zoya looks at Haroun. He takes a deep breath and nods slowly.

Farhan swings an arm around Haroun and tugs him close. "Don't worry, buddy. Once this stupid press conference is over, we'll go out to your favorite food place. And then we'll go zip lining."

Haroun looks outside the window, where rain is pouring heavily. He raises his eyebrows.

"Okay, maybe not zip lining. We'll go out to the city."

Zoya gives Farhan a blank look, but makes a mental note to weasel out of him information about Haroun such as his favorite restaurant.

The board of directors stands to the side, throwing the couple a thumbs up. When Lucas and them had first suggested to Zoya a press conference two weeks ago, she had been livid. But after some contemplation and some time talking to Haroun, she had reluctantly agreed, knowing this was probably the best thing to do at the moment.

Lucas says, "This should hopefully clear up some of the press' concerns, if not all."

Zoya nods, tucking her curls behind her ear. She slips off her handbag and thrusts it out to whoever is closest to her as she leans down to fix the strap of her heel. When she looks back up, Farhan is holding her handbag awkwardly.

She snatches it away from him. "Get your hands off my things."

"But you gave — "

"Guys," Haroun says in exasperation. His eyes dart to the two of them, but linger on Zoya for longer. There is an exhausted plea in them.

She huffs and shoulders her handbag, throwing Farhan a piercing look. When she isn't looking, Farhan makes a funny face at her back.

"Alright, guys," Ibitoye says, ushering the couple into the conference room. "We got this. And remember — " She touches Zoya's shoulder gently. "Remember to let Haroun speak first, okay? The press needs to know there was no coercion involved in this, so not only does what you two say matter, but so does the order of events."

Lucas nods in agreement. "And please keep this in mind: You are not obligated to answer anything you feel is too personal. Anytime their questions are too probing, you do not need to say a word."

Zoya nods and everyone follows her inside.

There are cameras poised everywhere, and where there is no room for cameras, microphones take their place. Mics with names of various news channels spread throughout the room. Haroun shifts uneasily, especially because the last time he had been in the presence of these many cameras was at Zaki Ahmed's launch party, but Zoya gives him a small smile of reassurance as they walk to their seats. Bill, Ibitoye, and Lucas position themselves at the side of the room. Sameer and Farhan stand at the other end, mock saluting to Haroun.

News reporters welcome the couple and introductions are passed for the sake of the cameras before Haroun takes a deep breath and gives them his statement.

His voice is steady, calm. Despite the trembling of his fingers under the table. He speaks only a few sentences, but from time to time he turns to his wife, and something in her face must give him reassurance because he turns back to the cameras with newfound fervor in is voice.

When he is about to say that he was not in any way manipulated into this marriage, he hesitates for the smallest fraction of a second. A fraction Zoya is sure the media will scrutinize and pigeonhole. Her body tenses.

But then he says it, and she hopes nobody can hear the sigh of relief.

Only then does she realize — relief does not make an appearance unless there is something to be worried about.

The reporters begin asking the two questions, most of which Zoya answers. At one point, one of them says, "Speculations have risen that to maintain a brand image, you" — he gestures to Zoya — "were coerced into a marriage by your employee, who allegedly sexually harassed — "

"He did not," Zoya says sharply.

The reporter pauses for a moment, calculation passing across his face. "Right, that's why I said 'allegedly' — "

"There is no need for you to bring that up at all, sir, since it is false. And it has been proven as a ploy when Zaki Ahmed's own character was brought into light." Her voice has taken on a dead calm.

He pauses again, then clears his throat. "Right. What I mean is, Ms. Zoya, people are speculating that after this . . . accusation has been laid on your employee, your rushed marriage was a way to maintain the brand image."

Beside Zoya, Haroun visibly tenses at this.

Zoya clears her throat, shoves her curls behind her shoulders, and throws the cameras a tight-lipped smile. For anyone who knows her well enough, that smile is not a good sign. "Sir, for some reason I feel as if there is a threat to my privacy in this room." She reaches up to rub her eyes, pretending to ward off faux tears. Lucas gives her a small nod. "I would like to maintain some dignity by keeping some things private, such as the nature of my marriage with Haroun."