You might expect a beautiful ending to my story. 

But here's the thing, things are rarely beautiful in my family. They say that half marriages end up in divorce, and while I wished and dreamed I wouldn't be one of them, here I am on this fine fine morning, getting ready to go work at exactly the same workplace my ex-husband, who mind you, has just divorced and kicked me out of the house this weekend, works at.

I did thoroughly debate not going. Believe me. But... I don't have a choice. Being back at my parents' house—ugh—I need my own money. This is not a mere desire. This is a need.

I unlock the door of my blue Nissan, leaving most of my dysfunctional blended family members sleeping inside the house. At least I have my own car.

I'm not usually this pessimistic, but I just lost my husband, house and moved apprehensively back with my parents and their respective spouses who share the same house all in a span of 24 hours. I'm trying here.

The drive is about fifteen minutes long. I put on some Quran to calm my nerves, but needless to say that when I park the car in front of the building plaza, my hands are still shaking from what I'm about to do. I rest my head on the steering wheel. Ya allah, I know you don't make a soul bear more than it can take. But this is pushing it. I...

Who wants to see the product of their unrequited love so soon? If only I had seen this divorce coming, maybe I wouldn't feel so hurt, and... defeated. I thought we were okay. I cooked his favorite foods, we went on dates, and had holiday plans right after my first semester of med school. How... did this come to be? And why did I have to know from my father as well?

I do some Istirghfar. I reach about one hundred before I decided that's it, I'm going inside. I open my car door swiftly to not give myself the chance to back away and walk toward the entrance. Coincidentally, I find Janan, my ex-bestfriend also quickly making her way toward the entrance. I frown. It's odd to see her so early at the office, and so... chirpy to see me, which makes me take a second to reply to her Salam with my own. I've never been okay with the fact that she's always wanted my man, and made it quite clear at that, which is why I keep the interaction short. I take the stairs to the second floor after her, and I enter my classroom.

It's very humid inside, which makes me go directly for the window at the other end. The sky is gloomy today, which is typical of Canadian summers. However, there's a slight breeze. I'm taking a few moments to enjoy it and calm my racing breath when I jump around at the sound of a voice behind me.

"Assalamu Alaykum, good morning Suha."

My nickname. In Arabic, it means the forgotten one. I've always hated it, but Rafiq always joked about how he'd be the one who never would.

What a sour reminder.

"wa 'alaykum assalam." I don't say more, waiting for him to continue. While we would sometimes enjoy quiet mornings like this before the students came, now that he went around and ruined everything, that's not really possible.

He seems to realize it too.

"Can you come to my office around noon? I need to talk to you."

He tilts his head, and faint light shines on the eyebags underlining his eyes. One thing about Rafiq is that he never has eyebags. He is the most healthy person I know. Sleeps early, eats plenty of greens and barely any sugar in his tea. We always joked about it. he acted like a grandpa already, but... things seem to have changed.

Well, good thing I'm not the only one who had to deal with them this morning. But my heart pinches. I'm not.... as happy as I want to feel about that

I'm nodding when Janan's head appears above his shoulder.

"Here you are!" she says too loudly, grabbing his arm, "boss, I need your advice with a student."

He slowly moves his head away from me, doing nothing about the arm. I know he wants to be respectful towards his late mother's wish towards their family friend—we've had this conversation multiple times before. But, and I'll say this again, this is not the way to be nice to who your mother always wanted you to marry.

For some reason, today, it makes me very jittery, probably from the stress of the divorce and move the last few days. They're still talking when I'm making my way towards them.

"Sure. Give me a moment."

"it's pretty urgent," she insists.

"you should go," I interrupt, grabbing the door frame. "I have to get ready for class."

This makes Janan stop. I wonder if she can see the tears pricking my eyes. This is all just... too much to deal with this soon. The man I loved and the woman who loves him bickering in front of me like a married couple.

Or one about to be?

That's when her eyes travel the distance between me and him, and she seems to decipher something. I wish I could say that Rafiq noticed and wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing our problem, but... what if she already knows? After all, she was the one all his family members wanted him to marry. She was the one he was supposed to end up with.

I walk to my desk, feeling the door close achingly slowly. The rest of the morning is a blur. At some points, I see the students glance towards the door during my explanations, as if someone is hovering there. But before I can check, their eyes are back on me.

Whenever there is a dull moment in class, my eyes water. Or maybe they're always wet, ready to let the water out whenever I am.

But of course, I don't want to cry at my workplace, and certainly not so close to him, too.

I don't go to his office at lunch, busy finalizing the worksheets for my evening set of student; I didn't have any time this weekend. And you can guess why. Our evening class goes well, too. there is one dad who comes to complain quite loudly about the homework not being hard enough for his child that I wonder how Rafiq, and all the other tutors didn't hear. I reassure him that I'll provide something harder next. But overall, seeing the happy smiles of the students helps lift my mood a bit.

I'm again at the window, during my two-hour break when someone knocks on my classroom door and opens it.

"Assalamu Alaykum Ihsan." Oh, seems like the nickname is gone. Good. It hurt.

"Yes." I say, not looking back.

"Your never came."

"I was busy." I reply, turning back.

He is standing in front of the door, almost like he's afraid to get too close to me. he should, but he also didn't hesitate to get cozy with Janan. This makes me turn back to face the window, but I don't miss his raised eyebrow. Of course, he knows me better than that. I just... didn't want to go. And I also don't really care for what he has to say.

"Please leave me alone. As soon as I find another place, I'll be gone so I won't be in your breath anymore."

"I need to speak to you." He says, walking closer.

I let out a dry laugh. "I don't care, Rafiq. It's too late to talk."

There is a very long silence. For a moment, I wonder if he's even there anymore. Then, very quietly, almost pleadingly. "What if I told you it could switch this around? Would you give that up?"

My breath catches. Damn him, I try not to sniff too hard. I want to scream that he gave everything up and didn't even have the guts to tell me directly, but he's right. I wouldn't want to give that up. I've seen both my parents struggle as single parents after the divorce, and trying to blend their family with their step members. Do I want that? I've never wanted that.

He touches my shoulder, and I wish I could say I jumped. But Rafiq always touched my shoulder affectionately. However, I remember the Quran and the sunnah. This is haram. I move to the side.

And think. Although I've made my decision, I take longer to answer. Does he want me to say yes? Do I even really want to say yes.

After a few seconds, I nod my head towards the door. "You lead the way, boss."

Rafiq flinches ever-so-slightly but doesn't say anything. He is merely my boss now. And he chose that.

Back at this office, I close the door behind us. I'm surprised to see coffee cups on his desk. Damn, he prepared for this.

"So, what do you want?" I don't waste time.

"please sit down."

I consider putting up a fight, but decide against it. the sooner you rip off the Band-Aid, the better.

I grab the cup of coffee. "Now what?"

He raises his eyes from his lap. "how've you been?"

It's the first time I get a look at him in good lighting. His features carry weariness, like he can barely hold himself together. I've never seen him like that.

"as you can see, great. How about you?"

This time, he doesn't answer. He never appreciated my sarcasm in times of conflict.

"Do you blame me?" he whispers, looking into my eyes.

I don't take a second to think. "a thousand percent, Rafiq. But you wanted this."

"You're the one who signed the papers. First. How do you think I felt seeing that?"

Out of spite, I wanted to say.

"you're the one who brought them home first! how do you think I felt seeing that?"

He sighed, "look, I didn't bring you here to open old wounds. Ihsan, you know me better than that. I'd never hurt you willingly. But what you say now could potentially seal our futures away from each other forever. I need to know if this is worth it. so once again, why did you sign the papers, then give them to your dad to pass them to me if you didn't want to get divorced?" He raises his eyes to the ceiling. "I thought I understood you Ihsan, but I don't know here. help me."

I lean back into my chair. While I am thinking about how to answer—truth, or lie to protect my feelings?— I notice wetness under his eyes, could he be... tearing up? Over me?

Could this is a huge misunderstanding?

"I didn't." I whisper after a sigh, "I stole them from your office, after figuring out my own husband was considering divorce! And forgot them at my parents' house. After that, don't know what happened." I cast him a heavy look.

"that's not what your mom said."

I shook my head. "My mom rarely says what she means. Or what I want her to." What did she say? Could she have told him that I agreed to a divorce?

Then I notice the time, and that I've been here way too long already. Fifteen minutes. My heart is beating out of my chest, and I can't relax in my seat. I stood up. "Look, I honestly can't do this. I'll find a new job, and then we can never see each other again."

I'm halfway to the door when he speaks. "Wait!"

The tears I'd been fighting all morning silently roll down my cheeks, and I can't explain why or how. This is exactly why I didn't want to face him. before I can react, he quietly rests his head on my shoulder, half-bent over due to his towering height. "I really miss you. I thought about what happened. And after this conversation, it seems even more of ridiculous. A ridiculous mistake." He whispered.

What has my mother done?

He continues. "I don't know how we got here, but I think there's a way to fix it."

I don't move. "Because of the pandemic, everything is slow. There are three months before the divorce papers officially make it to court."

I look at him.

"Do you want to try?" he asks, hopeful. "Three months to prove to each other that we are as compatible as when we got married, because let's be honest, towards the end, we really weren't."

I frown, about to speak, but he cuts me off. "Come on, Ihsan, everyone was worried about you. 'Why is she quiet?' 'what did you do to her?' Let's try again. Deal?"

Another chance to be together. I don't want to seem too eager. But I want this chance. This is what I'd been praying for.

He extends his hand because he knows I'll say yes. And although I hate being so predictable, I love that there is someone that understands me. in this whole world. my favourite shoulder to cry on.

Technically, we are still married which makes shaking his hand not haram. Instead, because I'm not basic, I flick his forehead with a smile.

"Deal, you big buffoon."

I close the door behind me smiling, not believing how quickly my mood shifted. I already know what's the first thing I'll do.

I drive to his favourite place to eat.

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well, what do you think?

leave any questions you have about the story belowww :) dedicated to @_zariyah_063 because she really wanted me to post this earlier