FIVE

The mid-August morning was warm and bright as Hâroon stood in the bedroom that he and Lila would be sharing by nightfall—which he couldn’t deny he was looking forward to—in the company of his parents. The old cabin-style home his grandfather had built for ’Alîyâ and Yahyâ when they’d married had been offered to him as the residence he and Lila would share, because his wife and brother could not live under the same roof.

It was the day of his nikkâh—a day he’d doubted would come several times in the past two months. He and Lila met many times and had frequent sit-downs that occurred almost every weekend—always chaperoned by ’Alîyâ and Maryam. But when they were together, topics connected to their wedding or marriage were rarely discussed, unless his mother or sister intervened. Despite her claim that she wanted to marry him, she seemed reluctant to consider the proposal or setting a wedding date.

By the end of the month, concluding that she really didn’t want to marry after all, he’d suggested they part ways and considered asking his mother to find a girl who actually wanted to marry. Then he’d been taken by surprise when Mrs. Kendall called ’Alîyâ and said Lila had accepted the proposal.

Hâroon was ecstatic. He’d had his doubts that a wedding would take place at all, or at least one between him and Lila, but it was finally happening. As expected of his mother, a firm believer of keeping engagements as short as possible, she had organized the nikkâh quickly. The men would have a simple dinner at his parents’ house and the women, mostly because Lila had been horrified by the simplicity, were having theirs at a fancy, expensive dinner hall that had definitely put a dent in his savings. They would meet to officiate the nikkâh with Imâm Muhammad O’Connor before then.

Hâroon couldn’t wait. He was looking forward to all that marriage would bring, especially a companion to share his life with and eventually children. He hoped to have the kind of marriage his parents did. He dreamed of a home of laughter and love, a wife who was affectionate and supportive. He hoped Lila could be that wife and that they’d spend many happy years together.

Hâroon looked over the renovated and refurbished cabin-style home his parents had lived in up until his grandparents had turned over the reigns of the farm to Yahyâ and taken up residence in a suburban home. The early years of his parents’ premature marriage had been spent between the four walls, and the way they kept exchanging glances and smiling reminiscently made him realize the small house was special to them. He hoped he and Lila would make equally good and pleasant memories.

Everything had received a fresh coat of paint and new furniture had been brought in to start off his new life with Lila at his side. Plumbing fixtures had been updated and even the kitchen had received a makeover. His mother and sister planned to see to some decorating before he and Lila arrived to give things a more romantic look in celebration of the first night together as husband and wife.

Hâroon deemed it best not to ask what they planned on doing or he’d just be embarrassed. It was Ya’qoob who liked to ask awkward questions that led to embarrassing answers—like when he’d asked Imâm Muhammad the signs of a girl reaching puberty when he was thirteen, leading to a conversation about the menstrual cycle that Hâroon hadn’t wanted to hear.

“Everything looks good,” ’Alîyâ said as she glanced toward the mahogany king-sized bed in the bedroom, already made. “I think we’re done here. Maryam will come by later and we’ll do our last minute decorating. Let’s relax a bit before evening.”

The group left the house and Hâroon locked it up and gave the key to his mother. She promised to return it as soon as she and his sister were done. Then they returned to the main farmhouse for some rest.

That evening, before the guests were due to arrive, Imâm Muhammad came to the house. Hâroon’s witnesses—Yahyâ and Arqam Paisley, his mother’s eldest brother—were already present. When Lila arrived in the company of her parents and brother, she was already dressed up and in makeup. Hâroon felt slightly uncomfortable that she appeared before the men that way, but he chose not to comment. She would need time to learn about hayâ and proper hijâb.

The group was seated in the den, Hâroon and Muhammad sharing the loveseat as Lila and her parents sat across from them on the couch, Jason perched on one of the arms. Yahyâ and Arqam had taken the remaining armchairs. Ya’qoob was there, too, leaning against Yahyâ’s chair and looking far from supportive. Though his mother wasn’t in the room, Hâroon had the feeling she was lingering in the hall so she wouldn’t completely miss the proceedings.

Muhammad, his Irish roots evident in his auburn hair and green eyes, placed the papers he’d brought with him on the coffee table and turned his attention on the Kendall family. “Lila Kendall, right?”

She nodded jerkily. Despite her makeup and fancy dress, she didn’t look as enthusiastic about what was happening as Hâroon felt. She was probably nervous. Marriage was a big step, especially for a couple who were only eighteen.

“I’ve been enlisted to give you away in marriage. Do you consent to that?”

Lila looked between Muhammad and Hâroon with a furrowed brow. “You? But I don’t even know you. Isn’t my father going to give me away?”

Hâroon hoped Muhammad could explain why her family couldn’t give her away without any problems rising. Guests were supposed to be arriving in less than an hour. He didn’t want to be celebrating a marriage that hadn’t happened.

“Normally, yes,” Muhammad said, his tone patient and gentle. “But we have a different situation here. Your father is Christian and you’re Muslim. A Christian can’t give away a Muslim in marriage and a Muslim can’t give away a Christian in marriage. Since you have no Muslim relatives, I will be giving you away instead.”

For a moment, it looked as if she might argue that ruling. Her family didn’t seem too troubled by it thankfully, though Hâroon had glimpsed expressions of surprise that had quickly faded away to acceptance. Perhaps they should have prepared Lila for how the nikkâh would take place, but it was too late to go back. He could only hope she wouldn’t call it off just because her father wasn’t the one giving her away.

Before Lila could speak, Mr. Kendall placed a hand over hers. “It’s fine. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

She nodded, looking at her father.

“You’re doing the right thing,” her mother added, putting an arm around her. “He’s a good guy and you’ll be happy.”

Hâroon certainly hoped so. He knew he would try his ultimate best to make her happy. Her hesitation was making him nervous though and had him wondering if he’d even have the chance to try.

To his relief, she finally faced Muhammad again and nodded. “Fine. I guess you can give me away then.”

Muhammad nodded. “Do you consent to marrying Hâroon Scott?”

She hesitated for so long Hâroon started to fear that she’d definitely changed her mind, but then she nodded. “I do.”

Muhammad turned to him next. “I give you Lila Kendall in marriage. Do you accept?”

“I accept Lila Kendall in marriage.”

After the verbal consent, he and Lila were made to sign the contract Muhammad had brought with him, followed by his witnesses, and then Muhammad himself. They were officially husband and wife.

“I’ll return this to you after I make my copy for our records,” Muhammad told Hâroon as he picked up the contract. Then he handed the two stacks of stapled paper he’d also brought to the couple, one for each. “Considering that you’re both young and inexperienced in marriage, I put this together for you to help you. It outlines your rights as husband and wife and your responsibilities to each other. And if you have any problems or situations adjusting to your new life, it’s perfectly natural and I’m just a call away to help.”

When Haroon flipped through his, it was as Muhammad had said. It outlined the separate rights of the husband and wife and their responsibilities toward each other. It included a lot of tips on how to build and nurture a relationship. It also included a guide on sexual intimacy from the Islâmic perspective—what was allowed and what wasn’t—that Hâroon flipped past. He was not reading that while surrounded by his family. There was general information and tips for when children came along, too, and how to keep the relationship strong while being a parent.

“Thank you, Imâm,” he said as he closed it. Though he’d long ago learned the rights of husband and wife, the relationship advice would be useful. He’d definitely need to take the time to read it.

Muhammad nodded and rose. Goodbyes were exchanged and he left, promising to return to the dinner he’d been invited to. Muhammad was more than just the community imâm. He was a family friend who Hâroon had known since he was a child. Sâbir O’Connor, Muhammad’s brother, was close in age to Hâroon and they were good friends.

Though he’d hoped to have an opportunity to talk to Lila, guests were due to be arriving and she would be expected at the hall soon, so he didn’t have the chance to do much more than look at her longingly before her parents whisked her off.

When they were gone, he noticed the marriage guide Muhammad had put together that had been given to Lila was still on the couch. She’d probably forgotten it in the excitement. He picked it up, put it with his, and then put both in his room to take to his and Lila’s new home later.

It wasn’t long after when the guests started to arrive. Later that evening, the Scott home was filled with family and friends celebrating. Even Ya’qoob, who was among them, was making an effort, but Hâroon could tell the smiles were forced and his laughs lacked sincerity. Whether it was because Hâroon had ignored his advice and married Lila anyway, or because he hadn’t recovered from Noorah’s betrayal, Hâroon couldn’t tell—but it was obvious that his brother wasn’t enjoying himself as much as he was pretending.

Though Hâroon enjoyed himself for the most part, he wanted to see Lila and spend time with her more than hang around his family and endure the ribbing he was receiving from his cousins. When it ended, and his mother returned with Lila in tow, he was relieved and ecstatic.

When his mother left them alone in the den and headed to her bedroom, Lila sank on the couch. His brother had made himself scarce, which was probably a good thing since Lila was still in full makeup. He studied her, and she smiled.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, unsure of what to say.

She shrugged noncommittally. “I guess.”

That wasn’t encouraging. He’d tried to make up for the fact that the big church wedding she might have envisioned for herself hadn’t happened, but she didn’t seem satisfied. He wondered what he could have done better—but he wasn’t rich and couldn’t fritter away his savings on a one-day event when he needed the money to support him and Lila.

She looked around the room. “We’re not going to live here, are we?” She sounded horrified at the idea. “I’m not sure I want to live with your parents and brother.”

“No...” he said slowly, wondering if she’d forgotten all the discussion they’d had about where they’d be living. “We’re not living here. We have our own place.”

She brightened. “Great! When do we go?”

Since she seemed eager to head to their place, it was obviously time to leave. “Let me get something from my room and then we can go,” he said. “Wait here.”

She nodded, and he left the room. He looked around his room when he entered, grabbing the printed marriage guides off his desk. As he stepped back out, Ya’qoob stood in the doorway of his bedroom, watching.

“Leaving?” his brother asked quietly.

Hâroon nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ya’qoob nodded. Then, suddenly, he moved forward and engulfed him into a hug. He’d always been the most physically affectionate of them. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be happy for you.”

Hâroon patted his brother’s back. “It’s okay.”

Ya’qoob pulled away, looking like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Maybe I’m wrong this time,” he said, sounding more hopeful than confident. He locked eyes with Hâroon. “I’m sorry for trying to get in the way of what you want; but I was doing it because I’m worried. But I’m going to pray that I’m wrong and you and Lila will be happy.”

It was more than Hâroon had expected or hoped for. He smiled. “Thank you, Qoob.”

His brother nodded, smiled, and then disappeared in his room. Hâroon continued on his way back to the den, where Lila was still sitting.

“What took so long?” she asked.

Hâroon didn’t think he’d been gone for longer than five minutes—not long at all. “I was talking to my brother. Ready to go?”

She nodded and stood, and he led the way to the door. When they exited, he led her around the back to the smaller home they’d be staying in and removed the key from his pocket.

Lila gasped, but it didn’t sound like one of amazement or pleasure. “This is it?!”

Hâroon glanced at her. She looked as horrified as she sounded. His heart fell. She hadn’t even seen the inside and she’d already decided not to like it. He looked back at the house, trying to see it through her eyes; but he couldn’t see anything wrong. It was smaller than hers and less than half the size of the farmhouse, but it was well-kept and ideal for a young couple.

“Yeah,” he said finally as he unlocked the door. “This is our house.”

“We’re living here? Like on the farm?”

Hâroon was sure he’d told her that, and that he’d asked her how she felt about living on a farm. Now she sounded like he’d committed the biggest insult by expecting her to live on it. His night was off to a bad start.

“Where did you think we would live?”

“In a nice apartment in town or something, of course,” she said.

Hâroon was already beginning to wonder if he made a mistake. “Those are expensive,” he pointed out. “I don’t have to pay a dime if we live here.”

For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to argue, but to his relief, she nodded and smiled. “You’re right. We can move later when you get a job.” Before he could reply that farming was his job and would continue to be in the future, she passed him to the door. “Let’s look around then.”

Hâroon, already losing the excitement and enthusiasm he’d felt earlier, followed her inside with apprehension. With such a negative start to his night, he wasn’t sure it would get better—and it didn’t. Instead of admiring the hard work and effort that had gone into renovating their home, she complained it was too rustic and small, demanding he get her a bigger and better home as soon as possible. She was so unlike the kind, compassionate Lila he’d come to know that he was confused.

What started out as hurtful for Hâroon soon turned humiliating. Hâroon tried to make their first night together special and memorable, despite his inexperience in the romance department, and it was, but not in the way he’d been hoping for. She barely noticed the candles and flowers ’Alîyâ and Maryam had decorated with to give the house a romantic atmosphere; she didn’t thank him for the meal he made for the two of them as a romantic gesture; and the jewelry he’d stressed and wracked his mind over for hours before finally choosing was too simple and the other heartfelt gifts weren’t even worth a comment. His clumsy advances became a source of amusement and his inexperience something to mock. Though he’d accepted and forgiven her past, she showed no appreciation that he’d saved himself for marriage.

When he retired to bed afterward, he felt hurt and humiliated, wishing he’d had the foresight to choose someone as awkward and shy as he was. Despite his adamance that Lila had changed and that she was the one he wanted, he began to think she hadn’t changed that much after all.

He woke up the next morning to the sound of a shrill beeping. He slowly opened his eyes, the early morning darkness of the bedroom surrounding him. It took a few moments for him to recollect where he was and why he was awake. As he turned over to his side and was met with the sight of Lila’s sleeping form, his memories flooded back.

It was the very morning after his wedding and also time to get up and prepare to leave for prayer, but as memories of his wedding night passed through his mind, he sighed. Nothing had turned out as planned.

Lying in bed as he collected himself, he stared at his wife’s sleeping form without the joy he’d once thought he’d have to wake up beside her. All he could think of was the pain and embarrassment he’d suffered as a result of his attempts to be romantic and loving. Dismissing his thoughts and disappointments, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, aware if he continued to delay for much longer, he would miss his chance to pray Fajr with the congregation at the masjid.

However, before getting up to prepare to leave, he decided to wake up Lila for the prayer. He nudged her gently and shook her shoulder. “Lila, wake up...”

She moaned and grumbled, but didn’t open her eyes. With a sigh, he shook her harder. “Lila.”

To his relief, she opened her eyes. She stared at him blankly. “What misfortune has befallen us in order for it to be necessary for you to have waken me? I don’t like people interrupting my sleep.”

He winced at the acidic tone in her voice. It was as if the sweet-spoken, gentle Lila he’d known and had begun to fall in love with was gone. He tried to convince himself that it was a combination of stress from the wedding and moodiness from being abruptly aroused from sleep. He couldn’t believe that it really had been an act as Ya’qoob had claimed; he didn’t want to.

“It’s time for prayer,” he said firmly. “Get up.”

She stared at him and then glanced at the clock on his nightstand. “Are you insane?!” she screeched. “It’s four a.m.!”

He stared at her in shock. In all the years his parents were married, even in the midst of a disagreement, ’Alîyâ had never raised her voice to Yahyâ, and he’d expected that same respect from Lila. He glanced at the clock. It was closer to four-twenty, but he chose not to correct her. “It’s still time for prayer,” he pointed out, trying not to let her tone anger him.

“I want to sleep!” she snapped, turning her back to him and pulling the covers up to her chin. “I’ll pray later!”

“You can go back to sleep after you pray,” he persisted, disturbed by her resistance. “You’ll miss it if you go back to sleep first.”

If he was shocked by her tone, he was aghast by what she did next. Without warning, she grabbed the unlit candlestick on her nightstand and threw it at him—he realized her motive and jumped away just in time—screaming at him as it crashed to the floor. “Get out! I said I’ll pray later!”

As he stared, torn between anger and disbelief, she turned away and settled herself beneath the covers again. Hâroon didn’t even know how to justify the unexpected behavior; it took far more than a bad mood to explain his new wife throwing something at him, something that could have hurt him. Deciding he’d done his best and having no desire to tempt her to carry out another act of violence, he turned away and left her.

He washed up in the bathroom and quickly dressed. The thought passed through his mind that he should probably kiss Lila goodbye before leaving, but when he glanced toward the bed, all he felt was anger and humiliation from her behavior. He had no desire to kiss her or touch her.

He left the bedroom without another word and exited the house, meeting his father and brother along the way as he trekked to the house of worship. He feigned a cheerful happiness he didn’t feel so they wouldn’t suspect how horribly wrong his marriage was already going.

He put all thoughts of his new wife behind him as he entered the masjid, able to find peace by not sparing her any further thought until he stepped out over an hour later. By then, the sun was rising, and he, Ya’qoob, and Yahyâ returned to the farm together, and as was their habit, they started some of the morning chores before heading home for breakfast.

Hâroon delayed returning to his own home for as long as possible. He hoped that by then, he would have cooled down and Lila would have woken, prayed, and started on breakfast. Maybe they could start over on a better note.

Hâroon finally walked home almost half an hour after his father and brother had left for breakfast, but when he entered the house, it was silent and still, and there were no signs of breakfast. Disappointed and prepared for what he might find, he wasn’t too surprised to find Lila still asleep in bed. He was almost tempted to turn back around and go to his parents’ to eat instead of waking her up, but he knew his family would instantly be worried and suspicious if he spent his first morning as a new husband with them instead of his wife.

Sighing, he stepped forward and sat beside her. His gaze fell on the thrown candle, left on the floor where it had landed, and he shuddered. He glanced at her nightstand to make sure she had no other hard objects within reach to throw at him and then shook her shoulder. “Lila, wake up.”

She groaned and opened her eyes, glaring at him. “What now?”

“It’s been hours,” he said. “It’s past seven. Get up. You need to pray.”

She sighed. “I will. Stop pestering me.”

Hâroon studied her, trying to recall if he’d asked her about her commitment to her prayers. To his embarrassment, he remembered that it had been Maryam to ask and Lila’s vague response—that she was working on it—was far from reassuring when he remembered it now. He wasn’t sure what “working on it” meant to her if she kept delaying a prayer that the time had already passed for.

“What about breakfast?” he inquired then. “Aren’t you going to make something? I need to get back to work soon.”

“Work?” she echoed, sounding confused.

“Of course,” he said. “I work on the farm, remember?”

She didn’t look like she did, but then she shrugged. “You can make something, can’t you? You know how to cook, right?”

“You’re not going to?” he asked, feeling both surprised and disappointed. Though he wasn’t adverse to the idea of cooking now and then, he had always assumed she’d do it. After all, he would be toiling most of the day on the farm, while she’d be in the cool house, free to do as she wished. Cooking his meals seemed to be a small expectation.

“Why should I?” she asked. “You can do it fine yourself.”

“Because you’re my wife,” he pointed out.

“I don’t like to cook,” she said simply. “You figure something out.”

He sighed. It would be easier to just walk the short distance to his mother’s for breakfast, but he couldn’t bear to explain that Lila refused to cook for him, so he decided to make something himself instead. “Fine,” he said, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

As he turned to leave the room, she called out after him, “Make something for me, too.”

At first, a surge of anger passed through him and he was tempted to snap back that she could make something herself, but he controlled it and trudged to the kitchen, feeling frustrated and annoyed. Nothing was going as he’d hoped. So far, his new wife had been mostly thoughtless and mean, and now she was being inconsiderate and unhelpful.

When he entered the kitchen, he’d already decided he was only making food for himself to pay her back for how she’d been treating him, but then he thought of some well-meant advice his father had given him the night before. “There will be times your wife might do things you don’t like or maybe you have a disagreement,” he’d said. “Don’t pay it back with your own anger. Be gentle and do good, even when you’re angry. It will make your marriage stronger and make your wife love you more.”

It would be more to his benefit to try to implement his father’s advice, Hâroon realized. Maybe Lila had her reasons for acting out. It was possible that she was upset with him. She’d obviously been disappointed when he had brought her to their new home last night. She could still be recovering from the disappointment of whatever expectations she’d had. He could make it easier for her by being gentle, kind, and patient. If he made her happy, she would soon forget her disappointments and be satisfied simply to be with him, regardless of circumstances.

With that thought in mind, he set to work to prepare their breakfast. Minutes later, he set two plates of French toast on a tray, two mugs of coffee, creamer and sugar for Lila if she wished to add it to her drink since he wasn’t sure how she drank her coffee, a bottle of syrup, and two knives and a fork. Then he picked up the tray and carried it to the bedroom.

To his disappointment, Lila didn’t react with the gratitude and joy he’d hoped for. Whenever his father did something of similar nature for his mother, she lit up and thanked him profusely and went out of her way to do things for him days afterward to show her gratitude. Lila simply watched without a word and then finally sat up when he set the tray down beside her and sat down. It made him feel like a servant.

Her first words were far from complimentary or grateful. “I don’t like French toast much.”

He tried not to feel upset. “You didn’t say what you wanted. I just made what I was going to have.”

She shrugged and said nothing more, picking her knife and fork to cut into the food. She popped a piece into her mouth with her fork and chewed. “Not sweet enough. How much sugar did you put?”

Wondering if it would be such a great sacrifice on her part to say something nice, he sighed. “I didn’t put sugar. It’s plenty sweet without it, and we’re having it with syrup anyway.”

She glanced at the bottle of syrup. “I don’t like this brand.”

Though frustrated, he shrugged nonchalantly. “Suit yourself.” He took a sip of his coffee and then continued to eat.

Thankfully, Lila had no comments about the coffee. She added generous amounts of both creamer and sugar that made him wince and then took a sip.

Not another word passed between them for the duration of the meal. Once Hâroon had finished his coffee and French toast, he rose. Since he’d made the effort to make Lila breakfast, and without any gratitude on her part, he figured the least she could do was take the tray back to the kitchen.

“Get up and pray after you’re done,” he instructed her. “Our walîmah is after the noon prayer. Be ready by twelve-thirty and go over to my mother’s. That’s where the women will be.” Arqam had offered his house for the men, which Hâroon had accepted.

“Walîmah?” she echoed, sounding confused.

“We talked about it when we planned the wedding,” Hâroon reminded her. “Don’t you remember? The feast the day after the wedding.”

“Oh, right,” she said and shrugged carelessly. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

He thought that maybe he should stay a bit longer to ensure that she really did get up and pray, but he had work to do before the walîmah and he honestly didn’t want to stay in her presence any longer. Her behavior had given him a true wakeup call—she wasn’t at all what he’d imagined, but it was too late to go back, so he could only hope that if he remained patient and kind that things would improve and the kind, sweet Lila he’d known would return somehow.

“I’ll be going then,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Assalâmu ’alaykum.”

She mumbled a reply he couldn’t make out, though he thought it might be an attempt to reply to the salâm. He left the room and exited the house, heading in the direction of the fields to see what jobs needed to be done. Physical labor seemed to be just the right thing to get his mind off his disappointments.

🌾

Three months flew by, and in those three months, Hâroon became acquainted with the true colors of the girl he’d chosen as his wife—a reality that had quickly turned from what he’d thought was dream come true into a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. The kind, compassionate wife he’d thought he’d married was in truth a selfish, self-centered girl who cared little about him and much more about her own comforts and amusement.

At first, Hâroon hoped that patience and good treatment would improve Lila’s regard for him, but it wasn’t working. If anything, the nicer he was, the more hurtful she was to him. He’d believed she loved him, or was at least on the way to loving him, and had wanted to marry him. After all, she had consented to it, but he was beginning to have strong doubts on that front. She complained about any and everything—about him, the farm, their house, and all the things she believed she deserved that he wasn’t giving her.

He soon realized Lila Kendall may have changed her religion and attire—of which he’d started to doubt the sincerity—but all the things he’d noticed that had made him dislike her in the beginning of their acquaintance had not changed at all. She didn’t care about others’ feelings. She was a bully who enjoyed laughing and making fun of those she thought beneath her, and this time, he was the target. She wasted no opportunity to mock, tease, and belittle him. She even pushed him or tripped him a few times. In school, he’d found ways to handle bullying and to avoid the instigators, but his wife was the one bully it was impossible to escape—not without questions from his family he wasn’t ready to answer.

Even physical intimacy was uncomfortable and usually humiliating. He was probably the only one of his age group and gender who didn’t look forward to it. Satisfying desires of the flesh wasn’t worth the humiliation that came with it. Lila consistently poked fun at him for being awkward and inexperienced, ruining any pleasure he might have taken from it, so he avoided touching her far more than satisfying desires he battled with.

His first year at John Paul College of Business gave him a well-cherished escape from her during the day. He’d double-majored in business and agriculture, just as his father had done before him, which gave him more classes than usual and a heavy course load that kept him holed up in the campus library even after the classes were over. Lila had no interest in attending college, so he left her to do as she wished with her hours of spare time, relieved he wouldn’t have to see her during the school day. Balancing long hours of school and farm work was tiring, but it kept him away from her and her usually hurtful words. Listening to her go on about all the reasons everything he was doing was wrong was far more exhausting than his coursework and farm duties put together.

In the past month, he spent more time away from her than with her, finding any and every excuse to delay returning home. He took most of his meals at his mother’s with the excuse that Lila didn’t like to cook without elaborating on the ugly truth—that his wife not only expected him to cook for her and then complained when he did about what he gave her but had also turned him into a toy for her own amusement. He was miserable, but he saw no way out. Against advice from his parents and siblings, he’d chosen to marry her and now he was stuck with her.

Hâroon hated weekends. Those were days he had to spend in the house with her. Even if he tried to avoid with long hours of work on the farm, his father would not so subtly hint that he needed to spend time with his wife, too. Since he didn’t want to admit was going on behind closed doors and admit that his brother had been right and he’d been wrong, he had to keep up the facade of a happily married young man, despite his misery. He tried to discourage Lila from bothering him by burying himself in his books, but it only worked sometimes.

On a Saturday morning after breakfast, as he sat at the kitchen table poring over a textbook on business administration, hoping it would keep Lila away, he was quickly disillusioned of the fact as she sat beside him and poked him. Without reaction or response, he shifted away and continued reading, hoping she’d leave once she didn’t receive the kind of reaction she was hoping for.

“I’m bored,” she whined. “There’s nothing to do here. Why did you have move me to the middle of nowhere?”

Elm Creek was nothing close to the middle of nowhere, and there was plenty she could find to do on the farm without bothering him, but she preferred to be an inconvenient nuisance. If she wasn’t being a bully, she was complaining.

“There’s plenty to do if you take a look around,” he said without glancing up from the textbook he was reading. “Go take a walk. Enjoy some fresh air. Go visit my mother. There’s plenty of women on the farm you can visit and hang out with.”

“No thanks,” she said. “Not my idea of fun.”

Nothing he ever suggested was her idea of fun, so he ignored her and continued reading. When she was silent, he hoped it meant she had left, but she soon spoke up again.

“Take me to the mall.”

“I don’t have time,” he said simply. He would have gladly made time if he’d thought it would have any positive effect on her regard for him or their relationship, but he already knew it wouldn’t.

In their first month of marriage, Hâroon had taken her to the town square, mall, restaurants, and anything else he could think of that didn’t compromise his values or beliefs. She hadn’t appreciated his efforts and had always found something to complain about or mock him for, so he’d given up the endeavor. He didn’t need more experiences of being embarrassed or humiliated in public.

“Make some time,” she said.

He was done making time for her. He had no desire to spend time with her that he didn’t have to, and he most definitely didn’t need to take her to the mall. The last time he’d taken her, she kept gawking at the men they passed and making demeaning remarks about his less than attractive features in comparison to them. He wasn’t even sure why she’d married him. She certainly didn’t act like she wanted to be with him. Nothing pleased her—not his looks, not the home he’d provided for her, and not the things he did for her.

“Call your father or something,” he said dismissively. “Maybe he can spare the time.”

“And how am I going to explain that my husband refuses to take me anywhere?” she snapped.

“With the truth,” he said, resisting the urge to snap back. The once calm temperament he’d thought he possessed seemed to have disappeared since his marriage. He could only take so much ungratefulness and abuse before wanting to strike back. “I have a lot of coursework and I don’t have the time to take you places.”

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” she said. “I can’t wait until you finish school so we can get out of this hicksville and live someplace else.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” he asked, staring at her with wide eyes. He’d definitely never promised her that. “What gave you the idea we’d be leaving here? I never said that.”

“Well, what are you studying for, if not to get yourself a good high-paying job so we can get out of here?” she asked. “You can’t possibly want to stay here for the rest of your life.”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, wondering how she had not understood that when he’d asked her if she minded living on the farm. He could not understand how she’d come to the conclusion they would leave after he completed his studies—the exact opposite of his actual plans. “I never gave you any promises or indications that we’d leave here. I’m studying agriculture and business. Obviously that means I’ll be taking over the farm after my father retires.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Then you’re more stupid than I thought. You have this great opportunity to get out there and you want to be a farmer?!”

“This farm has been in my family for generations,” Hâroon said stiffly. “I asked you if you minded living here before we married. If you’re so unhappy here, why did you marry me?”

“God knows,” she returned. “I obviously wasn’t thinking straight.”

As she stormed out, Hâroon glanced back down at his textbook. He felt emotionally exhausted just from that one conversation. They hadn’t even been married a year, and his marriage was already in shreds—nothing he did for her seemed to make a difference and he was tired of trying.

He sighed and tried to revert his mind back to his studies rather than thinking of his difficult wife.

🌾

It was dark and the evening was cool as Hâroon walked home from the masjid in the company of Ya’qoob and Yahyâ. Outdoors, and away from his wife, he felt at peace, but it wouldn’t last long. It was dinner time, so he had to head home to eat—even if he ended up cooking. He would much rather join his brother and father at the main house, but leaving his wife to eat alone would definitely raise questions.

“How are you and Lila doing?” Yahyâ asked as they reached the open gates at the entrance of their property and walked through.

“Alhamdulillâh,” Hâroon said, trying to keep his tone easy and casual. He wasn’t sure he succeeded when he noticed Ya’qoob’s stare, but he pretended not to notice by staring ahead.

“We haven’t seen Lila in a while,” Yahyâ continued. “She never comes by.”

That was true. With his parents so close by, Hâroon ended up at the house at least once a day and often had breakfast there. He’d invited Lila to go with him, more out of obligation than any desire for her company, but she always turned him down and he never pushed her. It did seem thoughtless on her part to avoid visiting her in-laws though when they were right next door. She hadn’t gone over since their walîmah, and they’d been married for nearing four months.

Hâroon wasn’t sure what to say to justify Lila’s noted lack of visits. “She doesn’t leave the house much,” he finally said.

He wasn’t even sure if that was even true. He was away from his house so much to avoid her that he had little idea of her comings and goings. She was always at home when he returned for his meals though.

“Yes, she does,” Ya’qoob said. “She’s always going out with her friends while you’re busy.”

Of course it had to be Ya’qoob who saw her. Since his brother had no fondness for farm work and tended to do as little as possible, often dragging his feet, he was in the house a lot more than Hâroon. It would have been easy to catch Lila leaving. But it was embarrassing that his brother knew more about his wife’s whereabouts and activities than he did.

Thankfully, probably to stop what had turned into an embarrassing conversation from becoming worse, Yahyâ changed the subject. “Why don’t you and Lila come over for dinner tomorrow evening?”

Hâroon could not guarantee that his wife would attend, but he nodded his agreement, while wondering what excuse he’d have to give for her absence when he went. He doubted she’d want to go.

“Good,” Yahyâ said. “I’ll let your mother know.”

When they reached the farmhouse, Yahyâ headed disappeared inside, and Hâroon turned to walk around it to where the house he shared with Lila was, but Ya’qoob’s voice stopped him.

“Roon, are things okay?”

Hâroon stiffened. His brother obviously was not fooled by Hâroon’s acting. It was hard to pull the wool over Ya’qoob’s eyes. Though from the outside, he seemed like nothing but a mischievous boy who loved to joke around and play pranks, he was probably the most observant individual Hâroon knew. Plus, Ya’qoob knew him better than anyone—maybe even better than their parents.

“I’m fine,” he said, and as the lie slipped from his lips, he was overcome with guilt. He never lied. He was so truthful he’d been branded as a tattle tale as a child. But he’d lied—to his brother and best friend.

“No, you’re not.” Ya’qoob’s tone was filled with concern. “I know you’re not. I might be young, but I’m not dumb, Roon. Someone who just got married is supposed to spending as much time as possible with his new wife. If...” His brother’s voice cracked with emotion. “If I’d married Noorah, I would be with her as much as possible. You don’t go home and Lila is going wherever she wants without you even knowing.”

Hâroon clenched his fists. “Stay out of it, Qoob. It’s not your business. I’m not you, and Lila isn’t Noorah.”

He started to walk away, but he still heard Ya’qoob’s next words. “That doesn’t mean you don’t want the same thing from a wife as I do.”

Ya’qoob hit too close to home with those words. Even if Ya’qoob was far more openly expressive in his emotions than Hâroon, it didn’t mean that their desires from a marriage and wife were different. He wanted a loving, affectionate wife just as much as Ya’qoob.

Without looking back, he continued walking. Thankfully, Ya’qoob didn’t follow and by the time he reached the door of his house, he was alone. He unlocked the door and let himself inside.

As he passed by the den on his way to the kitchen, he noticed Lila reclining on the sofa, dressed in a bright red spaghetti strap made to provoke desire and attract attention. As her eyes caught his and a coy smile was directed at him, he tamped down the temptation the sight caused and turned away.

When Lila had first started dressing in such a fashion, he’d thought it to be an invitation and expression of interest. He’d even felt a burst of hope and encouragement that she wanted to make their marriage work somehow. He’d been very wrong.

With no prior experience with physical intimacy before his marriage, it had been a shock to have his own desire used against him as a game for Lila’s amusement. She teased and provoked and then laughingly walked away, leaving him sexually frustrated and humiliated. Once he came to the realization of what she was doing and that her only intention was to mock and hurt him, he’d stopped responding, regardless of how tempted he was. He wasn’t a toy and wasn’t going to allow her to continue treating him like one.

Ignoring the inviting smile that no longer fooled him, he headed toward the kitchen as if he hadn’t seen her. As he’d expected, and what had come to be the usual, there was no hint of Lila intending to prepare anything for dinner when he entered in search of food.

With a sigh of resignation, he went to the refrigerator to look over the contents and decide what he could put together to eat. He wasn’t in the mood to cook, so he was hoping to find something that could be thrown together easily and quickly. When his eyes fell on sliced bread, turkey slices, and cheese, he found the easy fix he was looking for.

After carefully looking over what he had available for sandwich making, he took out the bag of sliced wheat bread, the package of turkey ham slices, cheddar cheese, lettuce leaves, and a tomato; and then he set everything on the counter. He also retrieved the squeeze bottle of mustard from the pantry. After rinsing a plate, the cutting board, a knife, and a spoon, he set to work.

He was in the middle of dicing the tomato and shredding the lettuce when Lila entered the kitchen. He caught the scent of her heavy lilac perfume before he saw or heard her.

“Dad invited us for dinner tomorrow,” he said without looking at her.

“Is taking me to your parents for dinner the best you can do?” she mocked. “You can’t even plan a date right.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he brought up what Ya’qoob had told him earlier. “Are you leaving the house without telling me? You’re supposed to tell me if you’re leaving and whom with.”

“You’re not my master,” she hissed.

He sighed and said nothing more. The silence behind him made him hope she’d left, but moments later, he felt her presence behind him, and he instantly tensed. Even though aware of her, he ignored her and continued his task.

She slid up behind him, pressing against him and slipping arms around his waist. “Why are you ignoring me?”

He doubted she’d forgotten or forgiven him so quickly. It was an act that would lead to her type of revenge. He detached her arms from around him and pushed her away. “I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy,” she whined, but Hâroon wasn’t fooled that she actually wanted to spend time with him. She walked two fingers up his back suggestively. “How about having some fun?”

He ignored the invitation that was bound to end up with him being teased and humiliated as usual. “I’m not going to be your toy. Leave me alone.”

“Suit yourself,” she said. Then she added cuttingly as she swept out of the kitchen, “You’re severely lacking anyway.”

The remark was a stab to his pride, but it was not the first time she’d said something along those lines to him, so he ignored it and returned to dicing the tomato.

🌾

In the early morning before setting off for college, Hâroon set down two bowls of buttered grits on the table. As usual Lila had refused to make breakfast; instead, she sat at the kitchen table flipping through a fashion magazine that made him cringe to look at. Wordlessly, he sat down across from her, took a sip of his coffee,and then picked up his spoon to eat.

Lila glanced up and wrinkled her nose as she stared at the bowl. “What did you give me?”

“Grits,” he said shortly between bites.

“Last time I checked we’re not in the South,” she said sardonically.

“Last time I checked it wasn’t a rule to be from the South to enjoy it,” he retorted as he set down his spoon and sipped his coffee.

He was losing the ability to reply with patience and kindness more and more lately. Though Lila spent most of her day following leisure activities and never bothered to fulfill any of the duties he’d expected of her, she wasn’t thankful or appreciative when he did those same tasks in her place. The food was never right—either she wasn’t in the mood for that particular dish or he hadn’t made it the way she wanted it. And even though she couldn’t be bothered to clean up, she was excellent in discovering anything he’d missed, even something as inconsequential as a speck of dust. As a result, he’d started snapping back at her. It didn’t make things better, but at least he was standing up for himself.

“I don’t even like grits,” she grumbled.

He shrugged. “Then don’t eat. No one’s making you.”

With a huff, she picked up her spoon and took a bite. She made an exaggerated face of displeasure. “It isn’t even that great. Are you sure you made it right?”

Hâroon knew there was nothing wrong with them. They tasted exactly as they did when his mother made them. His wife was just being her usual difficult self, determined to look down on any thing he did. “I’m no gourmet cook and this isn’t a gourmet meal,” he said. “If you don’t like it, don’t eat it. You could always make the effort to make something yourself since nothing I make suits you. You’re the one who should be doing this, not me.”

“So you think a woman’s place is in the kitchen, do you?” Lila said heatedly. “Well, I’m not going to accept any of your sexist ideas and ideals.”

That of course had not been Hâroon’s meaning at all. He didn’t mind taking part in housework or fulfilling duties traditionally delegated to girls and women, but he had expected that his wife would pull her own weight. It seemed less than fair that he was studying, working on the farm, and then returning home to a house that had not been cleaned and a meal that hadn’t been cooked to cover those duties as well.

However, Hâroon didn’t express his actual thoughts. He didn’t have the energy for an argument that would just ruin his mood. He just shrugged and looked away, letting her think as she would. Nothing he ever said made a difference anyway.

Throughout the rest of breakfast, Lila grumbled and muttered about sexist men and men who still lived in the middle ages—just loud enough for Hâroon to hear and low enough for him to know she wasn’t actually talking to him. He ignored her.

As soon as the meal was over, she walked off and he was left to do the clean-up alone. He sighed as he cleared the table. Unless he wanted a pile of dishes and a dirty kitchen to return to, it was best to do it now because his wife certainly wouldn’t be doing it.

“Marry the righteous woman and may your hands be rubbed with dust,” he murmured to himself, quoting the well-known hadeeth on the right type of woman of to marry. “Why didn’t I do that? Stupid me and thinking with my hormones instead of my brain...”

Continuing to grumble to himself about his stupidity and how easily Lila had fooled him into believing she’d changed, he washed the dishes, wiped any spills off the counters, stove, and table. Then he retrieved his bag from the den and left through the kitchen door, the weight and stress of his marriage and being around Lila falling away as he stepped into the fresh air.

As he made his way to the pickup parked in front of his parents’ house to drive off to college, he pushed away all thoughts of Lila and their already failing marriage and focused his mind on the tasks he had ahead instead—much happier thoughts.