Hazel POV-
The car moved along the London road, streetlights blurring past the window when-
Allahu Akbar.
The Maghrib azaan echoed through the evening air, soft yet powerful, threading its way between buildings and hearts.
Hazel's breath slowed.
Haris pulled over quietly, understanding without words. She stepped out and sat on the bench beside the road, palms resting in her lap.
Her mind drifted-
To Haris standing outside her college.
To his sudden "Let's bunk."
To shopping together, eating together, laughing like they had stolen time from the world.
And then-
The pink sharara.
Her cheeks warmed at the memory.
The way Haris had lowered his gaze.
The way his voice had softened, not with control-but with respect.
Her thoughts shifted again.
Her jewellery was still incomplete.
The jhumkas she hadn't chosen yet.
The bangles missing from her wrists.
Her glasses-always with her-tucked safely in her bag.
It was late now.
Hazel smiled faintly.
She touched her bare wrist.
The space where bangles should have been felt light.
Would he notice?
A small smile curved her lips.
He always noticed the things that mattered.
She closed her eyes.
Ya Allah...
Thank You for giving me peace disguised as a man.
Haris POV-
They reached Aziz residence just as night settled fully.
Hazel looked tired.
Not weak-just spent.
Haris noticed everything.
The unfinished jewellery.
The familiar glasses perched gently on her nose.
The bangles she loved but hadn't worn yet.
Tomorrow, he thought.
I'll surprise her.
Inside, preparations buzzed quietly. The mehndi function was tomorrow, and the house hummed with anticipation.
They prayed Maghrib together.
Side by side.
Foreheads touching the ground.
Two souls aligned in silence.
After salah, Haris felt it-the dull ache building behind his eyes.
A headache. His hair felt dry, heavy.
Hazel noticed immediately.
"You're tired," she said softly.
He watched her then-
The tiredness in her own eyes.
The way her glasses slipped slightly when she leaned forward.
The quiet insecurity she tried to hide.
How do I tell her? he wondered.
How do I make her see herself through my eyes?
She wasn't loud.
She wasn't dramatic.
She was gentle, clumsy, deeply faithful-everything he wasn't.
Allah didn't give me half, he realized.
He gave me completion.
Before he could speak, Hazel returned with an oil bottle in her hand.
"Come," she said gently, tugging his wrist.
"Let me massage your head, Hari."
He sat without argument.
Her fingers moved carefully through his hair, slow and soothing.
The headache eased.
So did the weight in his chest.
Haris closed his eyes.
In that moment, he knew-
If Allah had written comfort in human form,
it would look exactly like Hazel.
But comfort did not silence conscience.
When Hazel finally fell asleep beside him, one hand resting near his arm, Haris remained awake.
Her breathing was steady.
His wasn't.
He stepped onto the balcony quietly.
The night air was cool.
London glittered below, unaware of the war inside his chest.
After their wedding night.
When the room was still new.
When she sat on the edge of the bed, henna dark against her palms.
"I once loved someone."
He shut his eyes.
Why had he said that?
Not truth.
Not wisdom.
Fear.
He returned inside.
Performed wudhu slowly.
Spread the prayer mat in the dim light.
The house was asleep.
But Allah was not.
"Allahu Akbar."
His voice trembled.
In sujood, he did not rise quickly.
"Ya Allah..." he whispered.
"You entrusted me with her heart."
A tear slipped quietly onto the mat.
"She trusts me without doubt."
His chest tightened.
"And I lied."
The word felt heavier in prayer than it ever had before.
"I was afraid of losing her... so I created distance first."
His shoulders shook.
"Give me courage to tell her."
Silence.
Then softer-
"I am afraid her eyes will change."
That her trust will crack.
That her heart will never feel the same.
"Protect her heart... even from me."
A long pause.
When he finally lifted his head, nothing around him had changed.
But something inside him had.
He returned to bed quietly.
Hazel stirred in her sleep and instinctively moved closer.
Her hand rested over his heart.
As if guarding it.
Haris stared into the darkness.
The real test was no longer fear.
It was honesty.
Write a comment ...