[Mujhe khud samajh nahin aa rahi main aaj kal kyaa khaa rahi hoon joh itni jaldi updates aa rahi hain.
Lekin Enjoy!]

When I wake up, I see Azaan coming in my bedroom, presenting breakfast in bed.

His wet hair hints that he just got out of the shower and he didn't make the breakfast. I don't want servants in the house right now. I want to be alone. I don't even want Azaan.

I loathe the thought of all the calories in that omelette and look up at the clock. I see that it's 10AM already and my eyes shoot up. I take my phone to see the date and it's not a Sunday.

"It's 10AM. You're late for office." I tell him as I put my feet on the ground.

"Where are you going? This breakfast is for both of us." He tells me. "We're spending the day together."

I slam the bathroom door as I remember last night. There go the tears.

Not wanting a fight, when I come out, I clearly tell him, "I do not want you to pity on me. Leave me alone. I'm in no mood to talk to you."

I see in his eyes how his heart gets heavy again. "Sawera, I'm sorry for everything."

I don't know why my brain keeps comparing Azaan and Abeer.

Nothing justifies cheating and I'm not expecting any justification from Azaan. Azaan is much worse than Abeer. I can forgive what Abeer did to me, but I can't forgive how bad Azaan fucked my mental health.

His apologies and work-related justifications tire me out.

I dismiss him and walk out in the living room, where a servant's presence stops us from fighting.

"At least have breakfast before going to that gym of yours, Sawera." He says and Sasha looks up from where she's cleaning the countertop.

I open the fridge and take the empty lunch box I've always kept in there for Sundays and other days like these.

- A Z A A N -

Bhai is still not over the miscarriage. Dadi ammi is fighting between life and death on the ventilator. Abbu is tensed about it. I'm the only one handling the whole business and now this.

Sawera's immaturity might have seemed adorable in the beginning, but I knew it would some day start annoying me.

And that day came sooner than I had predicted. Much sooner.

But I can't blame her. I knew the responsibility I was taking. I knew the problems she could bring. The circumstances were just not in my hand.

Two days after our marriage, when I thought I could get a break to spend time with her, she herself messed it all up. That call was important. That meeting could have signed us a deal worth trillions. I could have got a break after that, but the postponing of it delayed other business and I couldn't take even a day off.

It seems like someone cursed our business. And maybe someone did. Maybe that eighty-two year old lady whose apartment was, for her, the token of remembrance of her late and much lamented husband. The apartment that we bought from her children despite her cries.

Fuck it all.

The project's going very well; the company is expanding more and more, day by day; and the net profit margins are a number that makes me say Alhamdulillah every second.

But everyone's going through some kind of mental trauma. And I don't want to join the club.

I don't know why but I can't stop remembering that lady. Maybe she did curse us, instead of her children. What mother curses her children. She must have, of course, prayed for our lives to get worse.

I call the servant from the kitchen and tell her to get lost.

Sawera comes back in a while and I have to force her to talk it all out, but she doesn't.

"Eh, I- can't. I need time." She takes an awkward, long pause. "I can't convince myself all of a sudden to explain the things I haven't even thought of putting in words."

That's it. That's all she communicates before locking herself in her room the whole day.

I'm frustrated of it all, but I try to understand that whatever happened last night must have been traumatic. I can't even think of it.

I wish I had given her enough time. She has been acting distant since a long time, and what she said last night hurt me and struck realisation into me.

I can't blame myself even after it. I understand her worries, but she's not even ready to hear me out. She doesn't think that miscarriage was a big deal and she doesn't like my family enough to care about dadi ammi. How do I tell her why all the responsibilities are on me right now?

We should have had time to discover each other, but this is how it went. I'm sure there was some good in this. Allah is doing all of this, and I'm sure it will all get clear and perfect in the end. InshaAllah.

~~~

At night, right when I get out of the washroom, there's a knock on the door.

My heart doesn't take a second to go to the ninth cloud when I open the door and see Sawera.

I call her inside, she sits down and adjusts her eyes to the light.

Before I can ask her anything, or where she wants to start telling the problem from, she starts speaking. And I let her. I don't hurry. I don't cut her in between, despite how long she takes in making one sentence after the "Eh," she has started with.

She looks straight in my eyes after drawing them everywhere, as if telling herself in her mind to stop looking around.

"I wanted to," She looks down at her hand and I stop myself from interrupting. She puts a hand over my eyes, "Can we, um, make love?"

"What?" It pops out suddenly.

I push her hand down.

"I mean, yeah, of course. I just thought you," I pause. "Nevermind." I get up.

"No, I- it's okay if you don't want to, thou-"

"No. No, no. It's nothing like that. I just thought you'd want to talk about yesterday." I clarify before she thinks I love Kylie and don't enjoy being with her.

"Oh, um... Maybe, later." She says and I pull her up. "Wait," She puts her hands on my chest. "Can you, eh, switch the lights off... please?"

~~~

When I touch the outline of her naked upper half, I'm shaken to the core.

- S A W E R A -

He notices how fat I am, or better said, have become. "Sawera, your body!" He exclaims out loud and turns to switch the lights on when I pull his biceps down with a gasp. "I don't want the lights on, please." I cry and after a bit of insistence, he calms me down, assuring me that he won't turn them on.

We just cuddle, in the end, and I sleep snuffling in his arms.

In the morning, I wake up to Azaan shouting so loud that my heart trembles.

"DID YOU KNOW IT OR NOT!"

I hear mumbles from the other person.

"And why did you not tell me anything?" "FUCK OFF." "I SAID LEAVE!"

I rush out and see Sasha walking out. I run to her, mumbling a bunch of "No," altogether. I rewind all the stuff I just heard Azaan shouting and realise that he got to know. "Sasha, please, stop. I'm sorry." I hold her forearm. "Azaan, I'm sorry, I was the one who told her not to tell you." My voice trembles as well.

"Leave." He tells her, holding me back.

"Sasha! Wait. Stop. Please don't leave." I ask her while she sobs and walks out despite me shouting her name. I look at Azaan who's now walking to the kitchen.

I open the door and run to her. "Sasha, please. I know it's all my mistake. Please come back. Please." I tell her but she just looks me in the eyes with tears and walks inside the elevator. "Okay, take my number." I tell her but she silently pushes the ground floor button. "Type my number in your fucking phone, Sasha!"

The elevator doors come together and I stand there. Just watching them.

She did not care about anything I said. Not a single word. As if whatever I said had no importance.

It reminds me of that day when Kylie insulted me over the phone. I was nothing but an intern, with no importance.

That day, it was because papa had kicked me out of his company and landing in Azaan's made me an outsider at my workplace. An outsider doesn't have any importance.

Today, Sasha knew that Azaan doesn't love me at all and my cries mean nothing. Azaan ordered her to leave, and she left. Because that's all that matters. I'm not the one paying her her salary. I have no importance.

Azaan takes my forearm and guides me inside the apartment.

"I want her back. I WANT HER BACK, AZAAN! NOW!" I scream and my heart vibrates with tension.

"How dare you go to gym everyday without having breakfast?" He asks, tapping his knuckles on the countertop.

I push my palms on the sides of my head as I walk to the couch, all dizzy.

I grab a vase and throw it. "Call her back!"

He comes and cups my cheeks in his hands and looks me in the eyes. I look in them as he speaks God knows what and when he goes away after tapping on my cheek and kissing the other, I sigh and lay my head on the headrest.

I open Dr. Samina's personal WhatsApp.

Sawera: I need an appointment.

She's online in a matter of seconds.

Dr. Samina: 3PM?

I wake up on Azaan's bed in his arms and quickly check the time, then groan a 'fuck it'. 1PM.

I turn to look up at him and he pulls me closer. Silence follows after I lie on my stomach and close my eyes again.

"Why did you not go to office?" I ask, and like everytime, he doesn't think my answer is important enough to be answered. "Don't stay home for me. I feel better when alone."

He exhales, still deep in his thoughts. "It's a Saturday and I wasn't feeling like getting out of bed."

I open my eyes, my heart welcoming worry. "You okay?"

He stills and turns from facing the ceiling to face me, a hint of smile on his lips. "Yea."

I close my eyes again, preparing myself for the tiring jogging. I inhale all the energy and get up. He holds my wrist, pulling me back and sits up on the bed. I look behind.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

With the tiny energy I have, I mumble a "Hm?"

His hand goes from my wrist to my forehead as he hurries to get out of bed. "Sawera, you have fever."

I touch my forehead and fall back on my bed, not wanting to go jogging. But my inner voice tells me to go. I'm getting fatter and fatter.

"Wait a minute, I'll just be back." He goes out, and I take the opportunity to go take a shower.

I hear him outside while I take off my clothes, scolding me for leaving when he told me not to.

I take a shower and get out. He waits for me with a bowl of soup.

"Azaan," I groan, "I'm-"

"Sawera, you're not alright." He sits me on the bed and gives me the bowl of soup. "You did not eat anything yesterday-"

But still, you're getting fatter like a balloon.

"-I did. After jogging I grabbed four-five burgers. I was full for the day." I lie.

He looks at me in disbelief for a while, putting me in discomfort, then holds his anger in and in an authoritative tone of voice, orders, "I want that finished," he points towards the bowl with his brows while picking up the glass of water, "and you're not going anywhere."

"Damn you, Azaan! I am going wherever the fuck I feel like going, you do not stop me because I never stopped you from going to the office."

I hate when he commands like I need his permission to go out. I don't. And I know I have always done it before, but it was because I didn't want fights.

He stares at me, putting the glass of water down. He goes to the closet and pulls out the keys to the door of our bedroom. I whimper as he locks us in and hides the key in the walk-in closet.

"Azaan, please, I don't want to fight."

"I don't either. I'm telling you calmly, don't force me to shout. We're spending time together." He sternly speaks as if it were a punishment.

It is. I don't want to spend time with him, I know I'll eventually utter it all out.

This is so stressful.

"Look, we will spend the whole day together, I just want to go out for a while, I'll be back soon. Please Azaan." I try to look innocent.

He doesn't fall for my puppy eyes, so I continue,

"In the meantime, you can finish your work."

He gives it a thought and I get a bit of hope, but he answers in negative. "Can you have that bowl of soup, please?"

"No. Tell me that you'll let me go out, first." I stubbornly grumble.

He sits on the bed and takes the bowl from my hands, he fills the soup spoon with a lot of soup, and I find myself searching my phone. I google how many calories a bowl of chicken soup has.

"What brand is that?" I ask.

He furrows his brows.

"The chicken soup." An average bowl of chicken soup has around 38 calories.

He pushes it to my lips, ignoring that, and convinces me to have a spoonful.

"Azaan, you're annoying me. I don't want to fight but you will make me."

He gently pushes another spoonful.

It is a delicious one but I whine for no more. He babies me for a few more spoons and I take it from his hand to have it myself. What is one bowl of soup going to do me anyway?

When I'm done, I put the bowl down and ask him to open the door.

"You can skip running for once, Sawera." He opens the door and gives the empty bowl to a servant, he says something to her and turns back to me with a smile after locking it. "What do you want to do, today?"

I want to throw everything in the room down, break it into pieces and live in that mess. That will be calming.

"I want to get out. It's suffocating in here." I demand. I go to the closet and wear my sneakers. Without looking at him, I stand in front of him and stare at his hands, "Give me the keys and live your darn life, Azaan. Nothing is going to make anything better." He doesn't force his hand closed, I open his fist and easily take the keys out.

I know he's not one to argue with. He is a bit more short-tempered, but he hates arguing as much as I do.

"Can we have breakfast together, please?" He asks. Maybe he does know that a bit of it is his mistake.

I get out and see a new servant making breakfast. "I want Sasha back." I turn to him.

"Okay. We'll call her back."

"Today." I nod a 'right?'

"Today." He nods a 'yeah.'

I walk to the kitchen and with my peripheral vision, I see Azaan sitting on the couch and watching me.

The new girl is making two omelettes.

"Azaan, I don't want to eat." I speak over the countertop.

I go to the living room and tie my hair up in a loose and low ponytail. I go freshen up and write down the calories. I stand in front of the mirror and look at my body.

I hate it.

I need to lose these calories I gained by having that soup.

In the meanwhile, the servant finishes serving the omelettes on two different plates and takes her leave. I run out and glare at the door as I hear keys jiggling. I glance at the key holder and all the keys are gone. I turn to Azaan, my eyes wide.

Wow. A servant has the keys but I don't.

I start getting restless, "Azaan, where are the freaking keys! Stop irritating me."

He walks to the dining table and looks at the two plates. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you can't skip it."

I try to hold my anger in. My anger at him for thinking that he can control my life.

"Listen. Move out with Kylie. Leave me alone. Stop torturing me for coming in your life. I didn't want to disturb your life. You don't want your image to get affected? That's okay, you don't need to divorce me, you can bring her here and I'll go live in my parents house, and don't worry, I'll make up an excuse, they won't ask you any ques-"

"-Shut up, Sawera. Shut. Up. What the f- What are you saying? Do you hear yourself?"

I rub my temples, "I know what I'm saying. I don't want to live with you anymore." I stumble and end up in the couch. I try not to cry, but the tears just roll out. "I don't like anything. I don't- Life's getting boring, Azaan. I don't feel like- Uh, I need a break from life. There's no excitement anymore."

Although he's not from the ruckus making people, his intense, worried gaze makes me feel self-conscious. I know he's waiting for me to speak more, to tell him what is wrong, but I myself don't know that.

"I just hate everything. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't see the meaning of life and it all seems dull."

I rack my brain trying to figure out what I've been feeling these days. These days that felt like centuries.

I look up, "And I love you, and I want you to be happy. Maybe that will make it all better."

"I am happy." He states, "I was happy two days ago. And-"

"And you still don't know what's wrong with me." I complete it for him. "What is wrong with me is that I needed your time, and I needed my parents time," I can barely speak without sounding awkward, my cries ungracefully come out in different varieties. "And I never got it and I know I should have been used to it, but I'm also stupid, and it took me twenty-two years to figure out that nobody cares. And it's hard for me to swallow this pill. And I don't like myself. And I want to be happy but I don't remember what made me happy. And life's getting worse every day."

I sob, a bit relieved that I finally sputtered it all out.

"Can you open the door, please?" I look up at him, hopefully.

He sits on the coffee table, in front of me, and holds my hands. "Get this out of your head."

I raise my eyes from my hands to his face. "What?"

"That you're going running, or jogging. You're not. You and I are going to sort this out, none of us is going anywhere today."

"Azaan," I sigh, "I don't want to talk."

"But we are going to. Because I do care. And I do love you a lot. And Kylie is nobody-"

"-This. I hate this. I hate you for thinking that you can manipulate me into thinking that there's nothing going in between you two. I am stupid but not that stupid."

"What makes you believe that we're having an affair?" He asks, his brows furrowed and his eyes calling me dumb.

"Azaan, stop lying to me!" I whine. "You can tell me the truth, it will hurt less."

"She. Is. Just a friend-"

"-I don't like her! I can see in her eyes that she-" I don't know how to explain it. "If not in love, then she is, at the least, sexually attracted to you. And you do not care, and I don't wish you did. I have realised that everyone is on their own in this world for a reason. You do not need to care. And you do not need to pretend that you care."

He gently lifts my chin up with his thumb and index. His eyes smouldered with a strong emotion. A few days back, I tried fathoming out why he always looked at me like that. Then I fantasised him being in love with me, that maybe this was the way he looked at those whom he loved. Then I thought about Kylie and I remembered the way he was laughing with her at that restaurant. Everyone laughs with the people they love.

I close my eyes as he smooches his lips with mine, and we share a small intimate moment.

Tears stream down my eyes, with a 'maybe'. Maybe he does love me. And again, that image of him laughing with Kylie comes in my mind. I wonder how he kisses her. Is a more passionate kiss possible?

Then I think that maybe he has lust for her. Maybe, with me, he's gentle and with her, he takes it to a wilder level. I imagine it happening.

But maybe it's the opposite. The way his eyes darken sometimes, before kissing me, it feels like lust. Maybe he loves Kylie, he's only laughed twice with me, but when I saw him laughing the other day with her, I felt like it was a normal thing. He enjoyed being with her.

The more time into the kiss, the more desperately we move on the couch.

When I stop to breathe, he's on top of me. With him on top of me, I can barely think of anything else. "I do care, Sawera. Because I love you. And I'm sorry, I have realised that I never gave you enough time. And I'm not going to give any excuses, it was my mistake."

I look at the clock, worried. "I have an appointment, I have to leave right now." I say, putting a hand on his shoulder. "And yeah, it is your mistake. You shouldn't have married me if you couldn't make out time for me."

"I know. And I know how to compensate for all that time, just give me a chance. Don't be upset with me, please." He whispers the last part and I can't handle the scenario.

I hate how emotional I am.

I can't give him any chance. We've been married for almost eight months and I don't want to live for eight more months. I want to disappear, I want to stop existing.

I'd rather be the Akira to his love life than the bone in his kebab.

But I nod. I hate seeing him in pain. And he is in a painful guilt, his eyes speak a lot. I've only learnt the language now, now that I am in love with him.

He grins, making his way down to the crook of my neck. I part my lips as he leaves a kiss and I try to speak but he's quicker to put his words forward.

"You have an appointment?" He asks.

I nod and he watches me whil kissing my earlobe, waiting for me to elaborate. And I stutter, the tears slowly make their way back to my eyes. "Um, I have two." I just hope he doesn't ask anything.

But the silence itself is a question, so I elaborate more. "I need to go to the, em? I don't know. Nothing important."

"To the...?" He asks.

"Gyna." I say. "Gynaecologist."

Why. Why do I have to say it all?

"Why?"

"Uff, Azaan. Privacy. You don't need to know everything."

"I do need to know if you are having any troub-"

"-No. I don't. I just had some questions and I... I don't know, yaar."

He smiles at that. "And the second-"

"You don't need to know that." I tell him clearly but guess who melts at the small frown on his lips that is barely visible? "I feel low, lately. I... a psychologist." I end the stupid stuttering that annoys me more than it annoys anyone else.

His eyes dim down again, "You never told me."

"You didn't have time."

He gives me a furious look and stands up. I sit straight. "I would have time if you'd told me." He puts a hand on the lowest of his torso, not facing me.

I stare at the floor. "Uh, yea. My mistake. Can I go, now?"

He turns to me and his look makes me re-go through my words.

"That wasn't sarcastic. I know I should have told you. My bad."

He sits on the coffee table, "We're not going to your psychologist. We're going to the one I've booked."

"What?" A slight grimace is left, unwantedly. "You've booked a psychologist? Why?"

"A therapist. Because I-" He wearily exhales and wipes his face, trying to erase the unknown emotion. "Do you see what you're doing to yourself?"

I'm baffled. What? What I'm doing to myself? What am I doing to myself?

He pulls me up, seeing my face that shouts 'What the fuck is going on?'

He takes me to the huge mirror on one wall of the living room and I see how bad of effects the soup has left on me. No-food the whole day was making me feel so proud. I broke the consistency with which I was working on myself.

"Do you see your body?" He looks at me, standing right behind me and unzipping my jogging suit.

My heart beat goes low and I feel dizzy. How is Azaan asking me that?

"Yea," I'm ashamed of admitting it, but I gulp my saliva and gather some courage, "I know, I'm fat." I quickly add, "But I'm trying to change." And smile as if that were the bright side when I know that he can see how badly I'm failing.

He looks at my reflection in the mirror in disbelief and I hurry to zip my jacket.

I've never wished to disappear this quick.

[Vote, comment & share.]