F o u r t e en

He has so many
creations,
and yet He never forgets me,
but I only have One Creator,
and I've forgotten Him countless of times.

-Shaykh Saadi-

☆

Recap:
"Why are you doing this.......for me?"

He paused and stopped walking. "You still don't know who you are. Right?"

☆

Mashal

I stopped in my tracts and looked at him seriously. "I know who I am. I am Naeem Ansar's daughter and I'm a Syrian." I said with confidence because this was one thing about me, I was sure of.

Zeyara raised his brow at me, "But do you know who Naeem Ansar was?"

My whole system shook when he used the word 'was' with my father's name but I concealed it within. "I- no I don't. All I know is that he was a muslim, a Syrian and my father."

Zeyara looked away from me and towards the busy road of Sialkot which was bustling with cars. The agitated drivers were continuously honking, trying to make their way through the traffic jam.
To be honest, it felt as if the busy, buzzing road was like a metaphor for what I was feeling.
Jammed.

"Naeem Ansar was the leader of Alnihayya." Zeyara said, slowly exhaling the breath he was holding which caused a cloud of fog to be formed due to the cold.

I felt rooted to the ground as soon as I heard him mention 'Alnihayya'.
This could not be true!

Zeyara had turned away so that I was facing his back and I could understand why. He didn't want to face me after what he had said.

But I needed answers.
I turned a whole three sixty degrees to face him, causing my abaya to flow in the cold wind. "M-my father was the leader of Alnihayya?! That movement which fights against ISIS and taliban?"

"Yes. He was the one who started the fight against extremists and freed Syria." Zeyara explained, "He was martyred by them but the movement is still working as you see in the news."

"Unbelievable." I gasped but he didn't reply and continued walking. I followed him closely behind, still trying to process what was happening and what he had said.

Alnihayya is world famous for fighting against ISIS. They have killed thousands of terrorists and saved millions of people from terrorist attacks but they are still a secret. No one knows where they actually work and plan everything. Their base and headquarters have never been found. They have kept it a secret because if the terrorists find out their real identity they would not hesitate to kill them.

My brain was telling me everything I knew of Alnihayya and I was lost in that, not paying attention to what was happening in the real world. When I snapped out of my day dream, I saw that Zeyara had stopped walking and was trying to communicate with a rikshaw driver at the end of the pavement. The rikshaw was heavily decorated and looked like a piece of art.

I had never visited Pakistan but I had surely heard papa mention rikshaws. They are like an alternative and cheap taxi, local to Pakistan.

I watched in amusement as Zeyara tried to show the driver a Pakistani note of hudred and struggled to explain to him the adress using sign language.

Despite all that had happened, I wanted to laugh because Zeyara didn't know urdu and the rikshaw driver couldn't understand a word of what he was trying to say. Instead the rikshaw driver replied, "bhai maaf karo. Pata nahi kahan se bhikari ajate hain."
Which, in english means, "Spare me you beggar. I don't have money to give you."

I gave a dry, throaty laugh and took the money from Zeyara. He looked at me in confusion as I talked to the rikshaw driver in urdu, asking him if he could drop us off.
He quickly agreed because of the money in my hand and asked for the address.

"Zeyara what's the adress?" I asked turning around to face him.

"Wow." He gasped in awe, "You can speak Pakistani?"

Pakistani? Seriously?
My head leaned back as I laughed. "Its urdu, not Pakistani."

"Yeah whatever." He rolled his eyes. "They are the same thing for me. Anyways, it's the first house near the clock tower."

I wanted to debate about how urdu and Pakistani were NOT the same thing but I ignored it this time because the rikshaw driver was getting impatient, waiting for us.

I quickly explained the address to the driver and we settled in the rikshaw.

The rikshaw ride was bumpy and at times I felt that it was worse than the plane landing but nevertheless, at that time, anything would've been better than walking on an empty stomach with lathargic legs in a completely unknown country with someone who was not even my mehram.
But I guess, I could trust him more than a mehram.

Zeyara sat quietly beside me, leaving excess space between us. He didn't even glance at me or utter a single word as he took out his phone and began typing away something.

I felt like it wasn't my concern to ask him what he was doing so I stared outside at the road while he continued scrolling and tapping his screen during the whole ride.

A few minutes passed by and then finally the rikshaw stopped outside a huge house. But I was more intrigued by the clock tower than the house.
It was beautiful and covered in lights. It wasn't so tall. I mean I had seen much much taller towers in the UK but this one was just different with all the crowd around it. It was so full of life.
In England everything is always so dull and quiet but this was lively.

"Have you ever been here before?" I asked Zeyara as we stepped out of the rikshaw and stood in front of the house that was supposed to be papa's.

He shook his head negatively and pressed the door bell.

So he's never been here before but still he is so confident?
Or maybe he's just pretending. I know he's good at pretending.

We waited there in the cold wind, examining the house which was a huge brick house but had chipped paint and a few broken windows. It looked very old and like something from a horror movie.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and glanced at Zeyara. "A-are you sure these people are trustworthy?"

He opened his mouth to answer me when the wooden door opened with a creak, revealing an old woman with a heavy chador wrapped around her. She stared at us with her pale, wrinkly face. "Mashal and Zeyara?" She asked in urdu in her low voice.

"Yes." I answered.

"Come in you two! I've been waiting for you since Nadeem told me you were coming." She smiled, opening the door completely and moved away from the doorway to let us in.

I smiled back and walked in with Zeyara who couldn't understand our urdu conversation and looked as clueless as a failing student in an exam hall.

"Ever since my girls got married, I've been living alone so having you two around would be fun!" She kept speaking cheerfully as she guided us through the long, dimly lit coridoor. Just like the exterior of the house, the interior was also horrific and ancient. There were cobwebs dangling from the ceiling and the flooring consisted of broken wooden panes which creaked when we stepped on them.
I just wanted to run away from there.

I glanced at Zeyara on my side with a scared expression on my face and he gave me a look of reassurance as if he were saying, 'it's okay. Don't worry'
which made me smile.

"Here you are now!" She exclaimed once we reached the dining room. "Have a seat and start eating before the food goes stale."

Not knowing what she meant, Zeyara looked at me with his brow raised.
"She's asking us to sit down and eat." I told him and he nodded understanding my translation.

We both hesitantly sat down on the old, dusty chairs and she began filling our plates with Pakistani food.
I could recognize some of the dishes as mama used to cook them such as biryani and korma but other than that I didn't know what the dishes were.

"Is this food edible?" Zeyara whispered to me, pointing at his plate which had been stuffed with foreign food I'd never even seen.

I supressed the urge to burst out laughing and answered lowly, "Well, I'm pretty sure it's halal."

"Come on now stop talking and start eating!" The old lady complained. She had already taken a seat and started eating.

Okay.
"Bismillah" I murmured and filled my spoon, bringing it closer to my mouth, only to realise that I was wearing a niqab.

Amazing.

I put the spoon back in the plate in embarrassment. Beside me, the clitter clatter of Zeyara's spoon against the plate told me that he had started eating.

My stomach was begging me for food but there was no way I was taking my veil off in front of him.

"Love why haven't you started eating? And I haven't even seen your face till now. Come on take it off!" The woman smiled at me. She was sitting opposite to me and stared directly at me.

"Uh- I....Can't take it off in front of him." I said shyly, even though we were talking in urdu and Zeyara couldn't understand it.

She stared at me in confusion as if I had used an alien language. "Why dear aren't you two married?"

"No!"
I almost jumped out of my seat by her remark and Zeyara sensed that.

"What happened Mashal? What did she say?" He asked, worried.

No way. I'm not going to tell him what she just said. Never.
"She- she said if I wanted to eat more....I said no this is enough." I lied, not making eye contact with him.

He didn't seem convinced by my answer but still nodded in acceptance. His eyes wandered off to the untouched food on my plate and then back at me. "Why are you not eating? I tried it. Its really good."

Without replying, I looked up at him, straight in his eyes and saw a realisation slowly washing over his face when his eyes scanned my veil. "Oh" He gasped in a hesitant, akward tone, "I'll just go to some other room."

I watched with my heated cheeks as he stood up with the plate in his hands.
"Where are you going young man?!" The lady asked anxiously.

Zeyara couldn't understand her language but by her expression he understood what she was asking. He leaned nearer to me and murmured, "Tell her I'm tired and want to go to my bedroom. I'll eat the rest of the food there."

I nodded in acceptance and translated his sentence for the woman.

"Okay then.....I thought you both were married so I prepared only one bedroom for you both-"

I felt myself redden like a tomato. Who on earth told her that we were married? This was so embarrassing.

Zeyara looked at me with his brow raised, waiting for me to translate the sentence for him but I ignored him and kept talking to the woman.
I mean what could I say to him? That she thinks we are married and so we should sleep in a single room.
Even the thought of it made me cringe.
Astagfirullah.

"What if I sleep in your room. We are both women...." I said to her expectantly, trying to find ways to avoid the akwardness.

"Don't be silly!" She shushed me swinging her hand as she said "This house has over ten bedrooms. You can have a separate one. It just won't be that clean."

I gulped in horror. By 'won't be that clean' I hope she doesn't mean it would be like a haunted house.

However, I smiled reluctantly and saw her take Zeyara out of the dining room.
"Tasbah ala khair." He whispered to me before he left.

From the little arabic that I had started learning, I knew that it meant 'good night'

I smiled to myself after he left.
No one had ever said good night to me before.

I took off my niqab when I was sure he was not around and took a deep breath to calm myself down. The food in front of me was very inviting and it didn't take me long to finish it.

"The food was really good." I smiled enthusiastically with the new energy it had given me.

"Thank you love. You will like it here. Except for the frequent electricity cut offs. But don't worry, there's an emergency light in each room." The old woman replied cheerfully as I followed her closely behind. She was taking me to my room now and I was secretly praying for it to not be scary.

But now that she mentioned that there would be load shedding, my heart skipped a beat. This was going to be a total nightmare.

"And I'm sorry for that marriage thingy. When Nadeem told me that you are coming with a boy, immediately thought him to be your husband. I mean who travels with an unknown boy to a different country." She confessed, opening the door to my room.

Her words carried so much meaning that I felt guilty. She was so right. I travelled all the way to a completely different country with whom?
My neighbour.
And I even laughed along and chatted with him as if it was completely normal.
Astagfirullah.

Everything else blurred for me as I kept thinking of that. I didn't even respond when the woman told me to have sweet dreams before she left me alone.

When I got my senses back, my eyes scanned the room. It had a single bed by the broken widow, a pedestal fan and....Yeah that was it. Except for the emergency light.

When I heard the muezzin's voice from the masjid nearby, calling for the maghrib salah, that was when I knew for sure that I was no longer in Manchester. I was in a muslim country where no one would give me weird glares for wearing a niqab or praying salah.

I spent the time between maghrib and isha sitting on the prayer mat, crying.

I don't know why I was crying but I was. I guess my tears were tears of joy because I had just learnt that my father was a shaheed.
This reminded me of Marwa's mother and her cuteness when she said "She is a sheed."
I let out a muffled laugh, remembering the time she told me that I talked just like her sheikh.
I couldn't help but thank Allah for everything that was happening and I repented for all those times that I complained to him or when I felt hopeless. I also prayed to Him to keep Ibrahim safe. I still didn't know what Zeyara had against him but tomorrow he would tell me in sha Allah.

Whatever it is, he is still my brother and will remain.

《○•°●•°○•°●•°○》

I said I'll update once a week but I just couldn't help it. I hope no one minds. 😂

Have a good day!

-Muskaan.