Chapter Thirty-One

Miles between us physically. Oceans between our hearts. And yet, I can think of no one but you. Is my agony due to my hurt? Or due to my worry for the storms you face while I am here — or is it that I cannot bear the distance between us? Where do I place myself in this world if you are not by my side — Mahrosh wrote.

Her Mamu's house was vibrant and loud; with one too many cousins sharing rooms that were too small for them, as the preparations for the wedding brought a certain buzz that was unmatched. Dresses had to be finalized, the bidd *to be made, and the wedding songs to be practiced and memorized for the mehndi.

Somehow, everyone fit into the chaos of a shadi wala ghar*; older cousins with practice, younger, excited girls and even children who ran about in their own games. Everyone but Mahrosh.

She was quiet. Distant. Any chance she got, she would escape to a quiet spot on the roof of the house where no one would find her and she would write. Sometimes, she would try to read but Mahrosh found that it was harder to consume when she was overflowing herself; with thoughts, with emotions, and with worries.

Her absence was mostly unnoticed. Wedding houses- in their buzz and business- seldom do focus on individuals except those who possess vital skills. Mahrosh could (and would) not play the dholak, she had a good voice but it was too low to really become prominent in groups, and her henna-putting skills were as good as her embroidery skills. (In the words of Dadi; hopeless)

And she was grateful for it. She was grateful to be left alone when her heart weighed heavy. When a thousand worries lay over her chest. When homesickness hit her like a tsunami and her eyes filled with tears. When she lay awake at night, wondering if Walid was asleep as she turned and tossed and failed to find comfort in his absence.

When she felt so terribly alone in all of her grief- her tears wetting her pillow till she felt the night draw into its final part -her hands fisted around her bedsheet and her lips moved; inaudible.

To the One who knows of every leaf that falls, of every ant that crosses a patch in the darkest of night, who is aware of every irregular beat of your heart and every tear that glimmers on your lashes, of every burden that suddenly becomes too heavy for you to bear, and every guilt that weighs over your chest —

"Ya Allah. I need You."

So what if your voice shakes? If you wish to speak and yet no word can pass the lump in your throat — but your heart speaks. Ya insaan, that is enough. That is sufficient for the One who knows the things tucked inside your heart; He is closer to you than your jugular vein.

And He who never leaves you. Not when you are ashamed of your sins, cowering in your guilt, but He is waiting to forgive. When the entire world shuts the door at your face; the door of Al-Fattah is always open. When the world around you turns dark and black, Al-Noor never leaves. And if you take one step towards Him, He takes ten.

Mahrosh' grip loosened. The claws of her worries, pain and loneliness gently unclenched from around her heart. A calm descended upon it instead and it spread across her chest till the lump in her throat dissolved and she could breathe again.

And her cry of, 'Ya Allah, I need You,' gently rearranged itself into:

Ya Allah. You are all I need.

As Dadi flipped through the newspaper, her gaze flickered towards Mahrosh who sat on the floor, tying sets of five chooriyan together and piling them into a basket.

Dadi had expected Mahrosh to take news of the extended stay worse than she did. And yet, Mahrosh appeared livelier now than she had when they had first arrived.

"What a mess the extended wedding dates have caused, haven't they?" She sighed and lowered the newspaper. "I miss my charpai back home."

Mahrosh smiled. "But we can't really have the wedding without the bride, can we?"

Dadi grumbled something under her breath. "It's fine for me, Mahrosh but I told your Ammi not to push you to come along. You avoid sleepovers at home even for a day without Walid, let alone in another city."

Something flickered across Mahrosh' eyes. She was silent for a few seconds, her gaze lowered to her hands as she tightened the knot. "I think it's good that I came, Dadi. I didn't want to either at first and it isn't exactly easy-" she smiled sheepishly. "But I learned a valuable lesson from it."

Dadi's eyebrow arched. "And what may that be?"

"That Allah is the source and all else are mere means. I think we are mistaken when we say we can't live without something or someone — Allah is the One who granted you that in the first place, so as long as you have Him, it'll all be okay."

Dadi watched as a flush appeared on Mahrosh's face.

"That does not mean that it doesn't hurt. It does, but that is where sabr comes in. The light rocks and hurdles in our decree sometimes appear as mountains to us, Dadi. But who is the One who wrote that decree? Allah. Al-Wadood. He is the Rabb who loves us so much, who gave us so many blessings that we can't even begin to list them down — and there is good in everything He sends down upon us as long as we are mindful of Him."

Dadi's eyes glazed and her weathered hands stroked Mahrosh's head. "When did you get so mature?"

Mahrosh's gaze met hers and she leaned closer to Dadi, resting her head on her knees. "I am hardly mature, Dadi — just because you understand something doesn't mean it's easier to act upon it."

Dadi leaned down and kissed Mahrosh's cheek. "May Allah make you from those who act upon it, my jaan. Realizing and intending to do something is half the act itself —"

"Mahrosh!" Shazia came running into the room, panting. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Jaldi,* get dressed."

Mahrosh straightened up. "What for?"

"Y'know Aisha Aunty? Bhai's friend's mother? She can't stay till the mehndi and Ammi says we should have a dholki before she leaves since she came all the way from Multan. Jaldi karo — the other girls have already gotten dressed!"

Mahrosh glanced helplessly at Dadi as Shazia pulled at her hand. This was the fifth pre-event already, with the main events still in schedule. 'Save me,' she mouthed, willing to do anything to get out of this one.

"Sabr, remember?" Dadi winked, laughing as Mahrosh was dragged away — having a chance to act upon the lesson she had learned.

Chatter filled the rooms as a dozen girls dressed into their gharas, shararas and lehngas. The sounds of bangles made a music that was sweet to the ears, and they put flowers into each other's hair, making braids and styles that marveled Mahrosh no matter how many times she had seen it.

Her white kameez contrasted perfectly with her purple gharara and Shazia insisted upon styling her hair. Despite her resistance, Mahrosh couldn't help her smile when she was pulled in front of the mirror. "See how beautiful you look? Walid Bhai would have fallen in love all over again if he saw you —"

Her smile dropped at the mention of Walid but the girls around her were too rushed to notice. Heart weighing heavy in her chest, Mahrosh excused herself. The living room was prepared for the dholak and the events; with a yellow chaddar covering the floor, and flowers everywhere. Mahrosh volunteered to run all errands so she could avoid the group that surrounded the dholak, their melodious voices and claps drowning out all other noises. She passed the mithai, checked on lunch, and babysitted one-year-old Hussain — all till the errands seemed to have run out and she found herself unnoticed enough to leave the room for a breath of fresh air.

Her bare feet slided across the cold marble and the sound of singing faded. Mahrosh wandered aimlessly, fighting the flashbacks of a similar day when her hands had been the one filled with henna. How long ago that day seemed now, and how mature Mahrosh found herself.

A gentle breeze brushed against her hair; and the sight of vast fields surrounding the house filled her heart. Nature often comes as a welcomed companion and a comfort to a troubling heart.

Mahrosh ventured towards the stairs, where she saw the first test to her claims on maturity. The beautiful wooden railing, polished to perfection, awakening her inner child, proved to be a difficult test to pass. She glanced around briefly to ensure that she was alone. Mami had strictly forbidden all of the boys from entering this building, and all of the girls were busy with the dholki. A mischievous glint passed her eyes.  With a quick, light jump she balanced herself on the railing and slid down, an uncontrollable laugh escaping her lips as the dupatta fell off her head and her hair flew behind her.

Just as she was about to reach the bottom and have a smooth landing, a figure near the doorway caught her eye. Mahrosh feverishly released her grip on the railing, turning red. Her feet fumbled for the steps, and a light gasp escaped her lips as she stumbled forward —

Familiar arms caught her before she could hit the ground.

Mahrosh recognized the touch before she saw his face. Her hair fell into a disarray around her face, but their eyes met and her breath got caught in her throat.

For a second she was certain she was dreaming. Or hallucinating.

His eyes bore into hers and their heartbeats combined; both synchronized and irregular as they stared breathlessly at each other. His arms were secure around her and a millennial passed between them in the seconds he refused to let go.

Mahrosh snapped back when he set her down. He was no fragment of her imagination, but there ; in front of her in body and soul. And of course her eyes noticed what no eyes could; the lines on his forehead, the bags under his eyes — but he was alright. Alhamdulillah. He was alright and... he had come to take her home. 

Mahrosh fought the lump in her throat. The strengthened walls she had built to pick herself again threatened to collapse. She blinked furiously and clenched her fists, determined not to cry, but her damned eyes betrayed her when Walid moved the hair from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek. 

The walls collapsed. They were bound to; for the two souls were woven with the gentleness of love.

"I- I tried to fix things," Mahrosh choked, "I realized my fault and I wanted to talk to you to fix things so I even made biryani. And I burned my hand, Walid. But you couldn't come because of Rahul —"

Walid's eyes glazed and she felt the tremor in his hands as he brushed her tears away.

"But I tried. And I wanted to try. And you didn't give me a chance —"

He put his arms around her and pulled her in. "I know," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Her tears wet his shirt but he did not let her pull away. Seconds dragged by before he spoke, his voice hoarse.

"I- I thought you would be safe here. I thought the break would do you well; a break from the anxiety, the nightmares and the fears that weighed upon you —" he lowered his voice and she felt his chin rest on her head. "And when I saw you now... laughing like that, a part of me wished to turn around and leave. Am I too selfish, Mahru? For wanting- needing you back home, and yet, if I could only free you from the tensions and worries I put upon you —"

Mahrosh pulled away, her eyes meeting his glazed orbs. "I would choose a lifetime of worries with you over all of the stair railings and laughter in the world."

She stared at him with such determination that his eyes crinkled by the sides and a chuckle escaped his constricted chest. The weights in their hearts eased, and Mahrosh smiled, reaching for his hand.

"I mean it," she whispered. "What is this dunya but a road full of thorns and tests, Walid? This dunya is so... fleeting. I do not wish for a life here where I am comfortable, and living only for my sake — where I do not have a husband with a dream to awaken the ummah, where I do not write, or stand by your side, simply so we could play our part. And it may be a small part, Walid, but at least we are trying. And what is a little worry or fear in this path? Wallahi, such trials are more precious to me than all of the joy in the world... to think that Allah chose me, despite all my imperfections, to face such trials by your side in striving in His path."

Some realizations, once worded, seep into the heart and sink into its very veins and arteries. Everyone struggles and strives in this world; it is the very nature of this temporary life — but to struggle in the path of Allah is an honor given to few.

Their hands weaved together.

Mahrosh found herself unable to speak for a few seconds, fighting back her tears..

"Let us struggle and strive here, Walid. There will be enough time for laughter in Jannah, In Shaa Allah. And when-" she choked, "And when we meet Rasulullah ﷺ there, we can tell him that we tried. That we tried to fight for his mission. That we understood the greatness of that mission and we did not give up. That is all I want, Walid."

Walid gripped Mahrosh' hand, unable to speak. And even if he had found his voice through the thickness in his throat, no language would have done justice to the love that swelled in his chest for his wife, and gratitude to the One who had blessed him with her. So he kissed her forehead and held her close, as the breeze against the leaves whispered behind them:

وقتِ فُرصت ہے کہاں، کام ابھی باقی ہے

نورِ توحيد کا اِتمام ابھی باقی ہے

This is no time for idle rest, Much yet remains undone;

The lamp of tawhid has yet its ascent to dawn

The reunion, albeit tearful, gently smoothed the creases in their hearts. Walid and Mahrosh's glazed eyes met each other and they both laughed.

But Walid's gaze lingered on her face. "How do you keep getting even more beautiful?"

Heat crept to her face, as Walid intertwined their fingers together.

"I was struck when I saw you sliding down the stairs looking so... breathtakingly beautiful, ماشاءاللہ. "

It seemed Mahrosh's confidence lasted only when she was not on the receiving end of the compliments. Turning beetroot, she shuffled behind him, trying to hide her face but Walid would not let her, gently holding her hands. "Let me look at you —" he laughed, but she heard the weight in his voice as it lowered, "You have no idea how dearly I've longed for it. You are the light of my life and I was so homesick without you. Let me look at you till my exhaustion vanishes and my heart is full, Mahru"

Mahrosh met his gaze, startled by the intensity in his eyes. She gently squeezed his hands, her voice lowering. "Should we run away? Let's go home. No one will stop us."

Walid smiled. "I think we won't have to do that."

Mahrosh blinked. "Why not?"

"Dadi said she'll talk to Aunty so we don't have to worry about that. Do you have a lot of packing to do? I'll help you pack quickly and then we'll go meet Aunty and sort things out."

Dadi, of course. Who else would have told Walid where to go when the men occupied a completely different building?

Mahrosh nodded, about to rush to her room when her gaze flickered towards the railing. The glint returned to her eyes as she looked at Walid impishly. "One more?

Walid laughed, beckoning her forward. "Go on. I'll catch you." 

bidd - in desi culture, the groom's side makes small packages filled with a few dry fruits, sweets e.t.c that is distrubted on the nikkah 

shadi wala ghar - wedding house 

jaldi - quick

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته 

finallyyy! i really enjoyed writing this chapter; though I do apologize for the wait. my routine is crazy hectic these days, but TSH and you guys have become such an integral part of me and I really really can't imagine what it would be like when this book would end. but life does go on, new chapters begin and endings need to be plotted and planned, though let's worry about that when it comes. for now, the journey is not yet over <3