[The cursives in the beginning are parts of the answer on the forum. You don't need to read them, I understand how lengthy they are.]

I open the mail.

Assalamualeikum and all and a few ahadiths until they reach to the point.

Talaaq is a right of a man (...) and although only his intention counts when a metaphor is used, e.g. (...)

The condition according to the majority of fuqaha' is that he should have the intention of divorce when writing, because he may intend by writing it that divorce should take place or he may intend something else, such as upsetting his wife. So divorce does not take place in writing unless there is the intention to that effect.

(...)

If a person does not speak the word of divorce or write it with his own hand, but he is presented with a paper on which the word of divorce to his wife is written and is asked to sign it and does so, then reference should be made to his intention at the time of signing.

If he had decided to divorce and was intending to do so, then it counts as a divorce. If he wrote it but did not intend to divorce, then it does not count as a divorce. That is because signing is not a clear statement of divorce, and that which is not a clear statement could not be ruled to count as a divorce except with the intention of divorce. There are some scholars who think that signing on its own does not count as a divorce in any case.

My heart beats with hope after every line.

So the written talaaq was not valid?

My heart winces, but he said the words too.

But if the word talaaq is spoken clearly three times, then it's an irrevocable act and (...) hence there's no expiation for it.

The sunnah with regard to divorce (talaaq) is that the man should divorce his wife during a period of purity (i.e., when she is not menstruating or bleeding following childbirth) in which he has not had intercourse with her. If he divorces her during the period of purity in which he has had intercourse with her, it counts as a divorce according to the majority of scholars.

But some scholars are of the view that this is an innovated divorce (talaaq bid'i) and does not count as such.

What scholars am I supposed to believe in?

The majority is against me.

I'm about to shut it saving all the ache in my heart when my eyes land on another but.

But a divorce under any type of compulsion isn't regarded as an authentic divorce.

(hadith for reference)

Our advice to you is to consult local scholars in your community directly; they are more aware of the reality of life there and are more able to identify the apt manner to apply the relevant religious rulings.

Allah Knows best.

My spoon drops down in the bowl of cereal and I read the answer again.

But a divorce under compulsion isn't regarded as an authentic divorce.

I look at the time and it's 9:42AM, so I rush out with my CV and other documents.

When I'm about to wreck a car because of my busy mind, I try not to think of it.

But my jaw stays apart from the surprise. Or shock. Or misunderstanding.

Uh.

I run inside the office and stand before the reception upstairs, "Hi, I'm here to meet Mr. Sanchez."

"You were asked to come at 9AM." Her clenched teeth make me wonder if she's Mr. Sanchez's wife. I look at the name tag and she's not.

Then why can't she mind her own business?

Sawera it's horrible to reach an hour late, that's a normal reaction-

No it's not. Everyone has a life and who is she anyway?

Agh she reminds me of Kylie and the phone conversation I had with her before getting married to Azaan and how I went to his receptionist...

My confidence hinders.

"He's a bit busy right now. You can wait there, you'll be called in a while."

I nod and sit down on the waiting sofas a few feet away.

Hours go by.

I think of the first month without him. It was already so hard but it got harder when he sent me suitcases with all my belongings and a letter inside one of them.

Hi Sawera,

Lyrical Video: Chalte Chalte Title Song | Shah Rukh Khan, Rani Mukherjee

Love, Azaan.

I had instantly opened the suitcase in hopes of him having accidentally sent a clothing of his, praying I could feel him again by his scent.

Shahrukh Khan was nowhere in my mind.

But right after reading the letter I listened to it.

And I felt like my whole life got seized in that one song. I listened to it on loop and thought about it all the time.

I returned the heart locket by parceling it to him. It was no longer meant to be with me. It reminded me of us, and the song.

It's lunchtime.

I get up to go have lunch since I missed breakfast too, but the receptionist tells me I can go and wait in his office.

And there go two more hours as my stomach gurgles with emptiness.

I try not to think of it. Of any of the past times. Of whatever my body looks like. Of however this feels.

I can't handle more mental illnesses. This low self-esteem that doesn't even let me think of myself as a human being is enough of a pain to someday kill me.

What if, instead of cheating on me, instead of all of that, Azaan actually helped me with my goal body?

I don't think he'd waste so many years having me think of divorce, while not being divorced. What if I married someone else? He'd be to blame.

I'm sure he can't be that stupid and I'm the stupid one and I need to stop thinking of him.

But somehow, I find myself scrolling through the album and watching our pictures together.

That one time when we sat in the car and tried to kiss with our eyes closed and recorded the whole thing.

We missed each other's face four times till he kissed my jaw accidentally and cupped my cheeks to help himself reach my lips.

I told him that wasn't valid and we tried again and he cheated and kept his eyes open to watch how dumb I looked with my lips parted searching for his lips.

He loved me. I know he did. He has that thing in his eyes.

We used to have a hell lot of fun in the very beginning of our marriage. Why could it all not stay that way? We both were so happy. We looked so happy.

Allah pulled me out of his life because I didn't deserve him.

"Hello Ms. Sawera, looks like someone got late." Mr. Sanchez voice brings me back to reality and I push my phone down in my bag.

You.

"You know I'm a stickler for punctuality,"

Argh, why would I ever leave the job? His voice is so annoying I hate having to face him. Now he's going to insert his own clauses and conditions because he knows how badly I need this job.

"I guess you aren't in much need of this job,"

My chest inflates with anger. He heard me last night, he knows what's going on. Sawera it's all because of your stupidity.

Human beings make mistakes and learn from them, I make a mistake and repeat it.

"No, sir, I am. I'm really sorry, I have no excuse to present, I switched my phone off last night-"

"-Is that how an employee should be? If everyone was as irresponsible as you, Adam and Eve would have been the first and last generation."

The worse thing about him is that all he says is true.

"Um, you've seen me for two years and a half. I've never been late to work-" I try to defend myself, while all aware in my heart that he is totally right about me.

"Never been late to work, but you have been irresponsible. With files, with clients, with pitches,"

"Can we move on?"

"Ouh, someone seems a bit put out today."

"No, it's just that I'm not here for a free session of humiliation. I'm here to get the job."

Did I say that?

Sawera?

What did you just say?

"Miss, miss, miss, doesn't seem like you're willing to get it. With that attitude, I'd rather have you leave."

He gets one hand out of his clasped together hands and gestures towards the door.

"No, I'm sorry. What I mean is that I'm okay with whatever the new clauses are going to be, I just need to get a work and make some money."

I don't even need money, I need to keep myself busy.

"There are people dying to get into The Fab Interiors Firm inc. and you Ms. Sawera don't seem to acknowledge the worth of it. As the head of the interior decorators and furniture arrangers department, I don't find you suitable enough-"

I get up, "-You know how good I am at my job. No one would have appointed me had I not been good at it, let alone a person like you who feels the need to have it all as perfect as possible and still finds mistakes even after the clients are satisfied. If right now I need this job, and I'm willing to work with your clauses your conditions then you should just plain ass appoint me because I can't request for anything more or do anything else to get the job apart of taking some degrading words from you. And if that's what satisfies you then-"

"-Ms. Sawera." He smiles "you know, I've always seen it in you. You were never the quiet type. I always knew there was this hidden side of yours that none of us were getting to see."

Fuck, I really said that.

He gives a wide grin and gets up rubbing his hands together, "Let's see,"

I stand still and watch him walking to me.

"First of all, very immodest and disgraceful of you to think of yourself more than you are. Secondly, you're not here for your own merits, thank me for considering your far relative's exhortation and keeping you here despite the many troubles you have caused. Thirdly, if you're so sure about your work, why don't you try somewhere else? Afraid you won't get sympathized and getting a job will be impossible in a field where only people with a qualified degree can work? You don't deserve this job. You've been pitied and kept. And if you want to stay, you'd better prove you're worthy of staying."

Why does he use such harsh words? Am I not enough harsh at myself?

I regret saying what I said to him. I got too overconfident for a moment.

He gets a file and tosses it on me not caring how bad it hits me. I don't wince, it's humiliating.

I grab the file but before I open it, he warns with a glare, "Convince the CEO to take our pitch."

He knows pitches are not my department. I tried once and it didn't work. I can virtually design my ideas and convince small clients to consider my designs. I don't know whose designs these are.

"The appointment is in 45 minutes, you'd better leave. We'll see what to do with your job after."

I walk out before he insults me anymore.

~~~

Before I park in front of the address texted to me, I see myself wrecking my car by hitting it to another.

Kaash.

I watch the sign of a parking inside the building and I'm about to drive myself in when I feel a sense of familiarity.

It doesn't take me much to get it. It all hits all of a sudden.

I check the file once again.

Renovation of a whole building. Owned by a real estate. They want to renovate it before putting the flats on disposal.

No, shut up.

I drive inside.

It might be his building it can't be his department-

You worked for this thing the whole time you worked there Sawera, who are you fooling.

This is Azaan's department.

I'm about to call Mr. Sanchez when I realise what he's doing.

Mr. Sanchez knows we are divorced.

That asshole knows I don't live with my parents.

He doesn't treat me wrong for no reason.

He knows he sent me to my fucking ex.

He knows if he doesn't appoint me, my far relative, aka Sehar aapi will get to know and he doesn't want to ruin his professional relationship with her.

He needs a reason to kick me out of his company.

Shitfucker.

I park the car and walk in, taking the challenge.

It all gives me nostalgia and butterflies in the worst way.

I try not to focus on anything and walk straight up. I get to the receptionist and tell her I'm here from The Fab Interiors Firm to meet Azaan. I straight up go for his name. Not the profession, not the last name.

It mortifies me to think of going inside that office and seeing a thin slick slim like a stick girl next to him.

I can't do this. I have a mental breakdown before the receptionist tells me I can go in.

Does he know where I work? Does he know it could be me?

I watch a girl leave his office and she's okay. I'm sure my bmi is lower than hers.

Fuck Sawera don't. Not those thoughts. No, no.

Oh my God, I can't do this.

I stand on his door, holding the handle. I can see all the memories in front of my eyes.

Even the one where he mortified me for making out with him just because Kylie saw us.

That one specific memory pricks my heart like a needle. No matter how bad of a human being, no one deserves to be cheated on.

And I, I made it so clear to Azaan. I gave him so many options. He was just keen on taking what would result the most painful path for me.

I slurp my tears.

There's no time for that.

It's time for business.

I hug my file close to the chest and push the door.

"Hey," I smile,

He looks up from the stack of papers he's highlighting and looks down opening his mouth for a casual hey, when he takes a second look and smiles with a furrowed brow.

"Sawe-"

"Ms. Sawera Ahmad Khan," I walk in, "interior decorator from The Fab Interiors Firm, pleased to meet you." I extend a hand,

You can't fake confidence with such low self-esteem.

He knows I'm shit at studies and hence not a qualified interior decorator and I can't ignore that fact.

He shakes hands with me while studying my face, all confused.

"So, um," fuck it, not nervousness right now, "I'm here to present the requested quotation over the Pennsylvania-" is it Harrisburg or Pittsburgh?

I open the file, all blocked.

"Philadelphia metropolitan area, Delaware Valley," he helps me out.

I promise myself if this gets even a bit embarrassing I'm going to leave midway and jump off the other corner of the building.

The promise is very assuring and helps me do it better because fuck it. If it goes good, okay, if not then I'm blaming Allah for making me so weak and giving me a hard life and just jumping.

"Yea. So our comp-"

"-Would you like anything? Tea, coffee? Or a grande wet cappuccino with more steamed milk and a thin layer of foamed milk?" He smiles a mischievous smile.

I still order exactly like that.

It's an abrupt thought, but I can't believe four years are this long. It feels like- maybe not like yesterday but it feels like it happened a month ago when he carried me in his arms from the entrance till this desk and...

I try not to focus on what he just said, "No, thank you. Um, so we prepared this-"

"How about we make a deal? I take you to our favorite cafe and we discuss this and... all the other things there?"

What does all the other things mean? Why is he suddenly... he had my number, we met once before, why is he now so... so friendly?

So open and mischievous and not at all about work.

"I'd like to finish this as soon as possible, Mr. Khan, and g-"

"-Not you going from moaning my name to calling me by my last name. Seems surreal."

My mind freezes.

It all feels numb. I try to calm down and tell myself that I only need to get through this one day but his comment was so unnecessarily painful.

Is he fucking?

I breathe in, "I thought you didn't mix your personal life with your professional one, but since we are already getting personal, you might as well -for the sake of our old relations, give me this pitch."

"The pitch is yours, Sawera. But only if you accept the deal of me taking you out."

Azaan?

"When was the last time you prayed?" I ask.

He laughs, "What?" His laughter is so handsome.

"No, because you're being so impolite and immodest, this is so wrong-"

I'm reminded of the video I was watching. The one where we are kissing.

I remember how once I tried to delete it.

I remember how then I thought of all the videos and photographs he has.

Including the ones that I took from a DSLR of our intimate moments.

"Do you still have that DSLR?" I ask.

"What DSLR?"

If there's one thing I've learnt, it's the art of reading his eyes.

"Azaan, you know what I'm talking about."

"What do you want to do about it?"

"Please delete all the pictures. I've gone through a spiritual journey and I think of these things a lot. I don't want you to have those pictures."

"Why not?"

"Because- what do you mean? Why would you keep them?"

There's no private parts exposed but there's a lot of skin showing and we're under the sheets trying to have a laughy nice vibes all white good light photoshoot.

He shrugs to the front, as if it were obvious.

"I'm serious. Please delete them."

"What if I say I don't want to?"

"Azaan, please."

"What if I say I want to recreate them?" He swivels his chair to the back and clicks on one of the buttons behind him. I hear a clicking on the door of his office.

"What are you saying Azaan? What's wrong with you today?"

I get up when he takes the motorized blinds' remote and darkens the room almost completely while he saunters to me.

I listen to the feet clicking on the marble floor while he rolls the blinds a bit so we can see each other with the stripes of sunshine entering the room.

The edge of my bottom is already touching his glass desk when he steps even further, "No. No, no, no. What are you..." my voice fades away the closer he gets.

"I don't know."

I know him well enough. I see why his eyes hold that emotion. I know he wants to see if I'd let him go ahead just like I let Areeb, but I don't know if it's jealousy in his eyes or disgust.

All I can do to back away, is to sit on the desk. And that's exactly what subconsciously happens. I remember the first time he tried to block me against his desk. In his mansion. In our room.

"Azaan, this is..."

I know if his lips touch mine once, I won't be able to stop myself.

I'm about to call it all wrong when it clicks.

But a divorce under any type of compulsion isn't regarded as an authentic divorce.

It all slowly sinks in. It all makes sense.

"Sawera I fucking love you. Please don't do this."

The dots connect.

As if on cue, his phone next to my hand lights up with a notification. I watch a newsletter on my email account's notifications on it.

He kisses my cheekbone as his hand makes it's way between my inner thighs.

"I'm your husband, Sawera."

"Not after 5PM."

"You're my wife as long as I will."

I never removed my account from his phone.

He got the forum's reception mail when I added the question. He saw what I wrote. He read that I'm regretting it immensely.

"It's not happening. Do whatever on earth you want."

"You're kidding me, aren't you?"

If I weren't so furious I'd kiss him with how innocent he looks.

"I couldn't do it, Sawera." I watch his glossy eyes and the fear of my response in them.

"It's not as simple. Such things are no joke. There's a long life ahead, InShaAllah. And you're destined to be with me. My love for you wasn't written for a year."

I push him away and grope for the chair, feeling uneasy.

I drop down on the chair. I feel nauseous.

The instant I feel like vomiting, I'm reminded of all the disgraceful moments I've had with him.

Why would you still love me? Is the question I want to ask. Why would you wait for me for so many years? Why wouldn't you move on? You could get anyone.

I watch him.

"What if I married someone else?"

But that makes sense too. My eyes close in pain.

I thought Sehar aapi was with me because... because, because I don't know. I thought of her as a friend.

I didn't know the only reason she came to my house was to spy on me.

It was all planned. Since the first day.

They consulted their personal scholar slash advisor.

I was so stupid.

I believed in Sehar aapi when she said I was right. I thought she convinced Azaan.

I thought...

"Where's Azaan?"

"Please don't tell him that I'm here."

I...

"Azaan, she's at our parents. Sorry, I just read your messages, I'm out of town and my phone died-"

They keep on doing exactly what makes my self-esteem drop lower. They keep on treating me like a child.

They keep hiding it all from me.

With a stridor, he tries to initiate a conversation, or give a justification, "Sawera,"

"I don't want a single word."

My phone rings,

He watches the screen and I don't want to talk to anyone.

He picks the phone up and I can hear my boss till here.

I hold my head and try to analyse it all.

My boss' voice always preoccupies me, and even more after the words he said to me a while ago.

I ask for the phone from Azaan but his taut expression gives it all away. "You're fired."

"Excuse me?"

"Azaan Ali Khan here, you heard me. You're fired for using that tone with my wife." He cuts the call.

See? It's easy for him. His name matters.

Who does even know me?

Who cares what I feel like?

I'm only respected when my name is attached to his.

He kisses my forehead and I take my phone, my file, and leave.

I go back. Kind of because an idea strikes me, but also because I don't want guards around me and I know that's going to be his first thought if I leave so violently.

I know he'll think I'm up to some bad.

So I walk to him, hunt for his pockets and take the credit card out of the wallet.

I know he wants to kiss me and I too want to kiss him but he's an asshole.

[Good night!]