My slumber was interrupted by a series of knocks at the door.
Still groggy, I reached for my glasses and instinctively moved to open it before suddenly remembering-
I wasn't in my house anymore.
I froze.
Leaning against the door, I lowered my voice into a whisper.
"Yes?"
A husky voice answered almost immediately.
"It's time for Fajr prayer."
I glanced at the time.
Oh...
It really was.
I had almost missed it.
An awkward chuckle escaped my lips.
"Yes... thank you."
A quiet grunt came from the other side before his footsteps gradually faded away, leaving me slightly perplexed.
It was kind of him to remind me.
More importantly, he hadn't expected me to open the door for him.
After offering my Fajr prayer, I unknowingly drifted back to sleep.
The relentless ringing of my phone eventually pulled me from my slumber.
My phone rang countless times, yet my body refused to move.
Every muscle ached from yesterday. The endless walking, the constant conversations, and the overwhelming emotions had drained every ounce of energy from me.
Still, I had to get up.
Breakfast wouldn't make itself.
After freshening up, my gaze drifted toward my hijab.
Do I need to wear it?
It was an unexpectedly difficult dilemma.
Technically...
I didn't have to.
He was my husband now. Islam permitted him to see my hair.
Yet the thought alone made my stomach tighten.
Since I was twelve, no man outside my family had ever seen it.
The idea of standing before him without my hijab felt strangely vulnerable.
With an exhausted sigh, I picked it up and loosely wrapped it around my head.
For now...
I was willing to accommodate, little by little.
Some things were simply better taken one step at a time.
Heat crept up my neck as I slowly opened the door, revealing the kitchen directly across from my room. The kitchen and living room were connected, forming one open space.
With soft footsteps, I carefully made my way towards the kitchen. My head turned from side to side like an owl's, searching for him.
But-
He wasn't there.
Instead, several covered bowls rested neatly on the dining table.
Curiosity got the better of me as I cautiously lifted one of the lids.
A warm, fragrant soup greeted me beneath it.
I blinked.
He... made breakfast?
My gaze drifted towards his bedroom door.
Swallowing nervously, I walked over and knocked gently, mimicking the way he had knocked on my door earlier that morning.
"Hello...?"
Silence.
Had he already left?
TING.
My phone suddenly vibrated.
Ignoring the countless missed calls, I noticed a new message.
It was from him.
...Since when did I have his number?
The text read:
Haider: Assalamu alaikum. I've left for work. You can heat up the breakfast on the table before eating.
Oh...
He had already gone.
I stared off to the text, it was nice of him to let me know.
For some reason, a small wave of disappointment settled in my chest.
If my mother found out that I had let my husband prepare breakfast on the very first day of our marriage, she would have a heart attack.
The entire neighbourhood would probably gossip about me for weeks.
Knowing I was alone, I finally allowed myself to relax.
As I scrolled through my contacts, I noticed dozens of unread messages.
Naima: How was it? Are you okay?
Ariya: I'm alright. He's very distant.
Naima: That's a good thing, isn't it?
Ariya: Yeah.
My gaze wandered to the dirty bowls on the table.
I should wash them.
Now that I finally had a moment to myself, I took the opportunity to admire the apartment.
Three black sofas surrounded the spacious living room, facing a large television mounted against the pristine white wall. Decorative potted plants occupied the corners, while a soft white carpet stretched across the floor.
It was a simple apartment with four rooms and a spacious living area.
Beyond the window lay a small playground for children, surrounded by rows upon rows of parked cars.
We were on the fourth floor.
Honestly, I had expected to live with his parents.
Thankfully, that wasn't the case.
As far as I knew, the apartment belonged solely to him. He had lived here alone until yesterday.
As the second son, he carried fewer responsibilities than the eldest.
He had an older brother and a younger sister.
I had the pleasure of meeting her yesterday.
She was unbelievably cheerful.
It was difficult to believe they were siblings.
The man I had married barely spoke.
He was stoic.
Reserved.
Almost impossible to read.
There was still seven hours left until he returned. I can use the time to complete some of the assignments I had left over. The wedding arrangements led me to fall behind.
Ugh...so much to do.