F i v e

And you became like the coffee,
In the deliciousness ,
and the bitterness
And the addiction.

-Mahmoud Darwish-

☆

Mashal

It was a Sunday evening and I had spent the whole day on my laptop, searching for a job that would allow me to go to college and also, to wear a niqab. I had been skimming through dozens of websites but with no luck.

Finally when I was sure that there was no chance of me finding such a job, I slammed the laptop shut in frustration.

My eyes fell on the mirror and I scanned myself from top to bottom. I was so different from Minahil. Her hair were brown and straight while mine were black and curly. She had big beautiful hazel eyes while mine were small and black. She was curvy, I was petite.

She was beautiful. I was okay.
Not in my grades though.
Alhamdulillah.

I smiled at the thought and stretched my arms. I needed to relax and get out of the depressing air of my room so I decided to go down.

Walking down the stairs, my eyes fell on the numerous pictures that mama had decorated in beautiful frames, hanging on the wall.

With every step that I took, there was a new picture in front of me. The pictures had been there since ages but it was only today that I noticed something strange.

There was not a single picture of me.

There were pictures of baby Minahil, baby Abdullah and even the whole family, excluding me. I remember asking mama once about why I didn't have any baby pictures and why was I not present in any of the family pictures.

She said something like I didn't like taking pictures and used to cry whenever I saw a camera so they couldn't take my pictures.

That was hard to believe but I had accepted it.

Sighing heavily, I walked to the kitchen. My body was craving coffee and I had just started making it when I heard loud voices from the living room.

The kitchen was right next to the living room so I could clearly recognize papa's voice and another man's voice that was unknown to me.
I couldn't make up what they were arguing about but both of them seemed really angry.

Ignoring their heated conversation, I continued pouring milk into my coffee. I already had enough on my nerves to carry, I didn't need more stress.

Completely forgetting that there was an unknown man in the house and that I wasn't even wearing a hijab, I walked out of the kitchen with my coffee.

I had just taken a few steps into the corridor when the living room door burst open and my soul almost departed to see a young man, dressed in a black suit staring right at me. At first his dark eyes were burning with anger but after seeing me, they turned subtle. Almost worried.

My eyes scanned his black hair and dark eyes that looked so welcoming. I tried moving my legs to run away from the eyes of that stranger but they felt pinned to the floor.
As he continued staring at me, my hands shivered, unable to hold the huge coffee mug and it fell to the tiled floor, breaking into a million pieces.

Even though the shrill sound of the breaking mug should've woken me up but I was still lost somewhere, not knowing what had happened until he rushed up to me. "Mashal!" He shrieked, grabbing my hands "Your hands! They're burnt."

The coffee had burnt my hands, I was standing without a hijab in front of an unknown man, he had even grabbed my hands but all I could do was stare at his face.
The face that looked so familiar but yet unfamiliar.

"H-how do you know my name?" I whispered.

He smiled incredulously. "Mashal Naeem why won't I know you?"

My blank eyes begged him for an explanation as my mind tried to register that he had called me Mashal Naeem instead of Mashal Nadeem.

Before I could voice my thoughts, papa's voice hollered in the entire house. "Leave my daughter's hands and get out of my house!"

My mind snapped back to the reality with his words and I quickly pulled my hands away from the suited man's grasp. I felt pain radiating in my burnt hands as I saw papa and mama glaring at the one who had called me Mashal Naeem.

A cold shiver of realization radiated through my entire system. I was standing in front of a na mehram without any covering. As if it was a reflex action, my legs turned me around and ran up the stairs to my room without letting me glance back.

As soon as I reached my room, I heard the closing of the front door with a bang. Indicating that he had left the house.

I didn't know what to feel. I plopped down on my bed and hid under the blanket, pretending that none of that happened.

No strange man had ever seen my face since the last few years and today someone even touched me and I didn't do anything. I just let him touch my hands and see my hair open.

What's the use of me veiling myself If I couldn't even do that in front of him.

I cried and screamed under the blanket which muffled the sound. Maybe my hands got burnt as a punishment from Allah. I felt depressed. I felt like I was drowning in an ocean and had a heavy weight attached to me which didn't let me swim to the top.
All I could do was cry but no one would hear. No one would come to my rescue.

As if that was not enough, I heard my bedroom door being knocked violently. No, not knocked but banged as if someone's life depended on it.

"Leave me alone!" I muttered between my sobs. I couldn't face anyone at that time. It was even hard for me to face myself.

"You shameless creature!" Came mama's ferocious, angry voice, "You pretend to wear a niqab but you have the audacity to let a stranger hold your hands!"

Each word of my mother struck me like sharp swords, making me want to kill myself. She was so right.

I walked up to the door.

When mama didn't hear me reply, she continued speaking "You always say that Minahil should cover up! At least Minahil does not let anyone-"

Before she could complete her sentence, I opened the door and to her shock, I wrapped my arms around her and wept into her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'll accept any punishment that you give me."

I let the words escape my mouth as my tears made mama's shirt damp. I wanted her to hug me back but she didn't. I so desperately wanted someone to hug and tell me that everything was okay but no one did that.

Instead, mama pulled me off her and stared at me with an evil smile. "Fine." She sighed. "I'll forgive you. But only if you promise me not to ever go out of the house or meet that man."

"Mama" My red eyes pleaded, searching for her love "How will I go to college if I don't leave the house?"

Her smile turned into a chuckle as she stared at my helpless body "Sweetheart you're not going to college anymore."

I closed my eyes and then opened them again, not willing to believe her. "B-but you said that I had to do a job and-"

She shook her head "No. You don't need to go to college or do a job. That's it. We can't have you doing shameless things behind our back."

"Mam-"

"No!" She spat harshly and turned around to leave, as if my fate had been written and sealed.

I knew I deserved that. I deserved much more than that. How could I let someone hold my hands? How could I let someone see my hair?

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "But can you please allow me to go to the masjid?" That was my last shot of hope "Please mama." I begged.

"Fine." She said blankly without looking back at me as she walked downstairs away from me taking everything I had.

My studies.
All those amazing grades.
My pursuit to become a surgeon.
My freedom.
And left me with a tag of "shameless."

That night I couldn't sleep. I stay awake, washing my hands vigorously in the bathroom as if trying to take away the stain of "shamelesness" that man had left me with. I felt as if I was so dirty that no amount of soap would clean me up.

Who was he?
Why would he do this to me?
How could he dare to hold my hands in my own house, knowing that my father was present?

And why did he call me Mashal Naeem?

I kept on washing my hands over and over again with the shahadah on my lips hoping to purify myself. I wanted to stand for qiyam ul layl but I couldn't. I thought that I was not worthy enough to do so. I thought that no matter how many times I did wudu, it would not be enough.

The waterfall from my eyes continued. I couldn't digest the fact that my own mother would call me shameless just because of someone holding my hand when it wasn't even in my control. How could mama forget all those years of me wearing a hijab and a niqab?

This is how fragile shame is. Only one incident can destroy you. Only one event can turn you into shameless from shameful.

☆

PLEASE READ!

Yes it's short. But I needed to end the chapter here. :)

And I'm thinking of changing the title. So if you find the story with a different name, don't be surprised.

Have a good day!

-Muskaan.