A tale of love, loss, and new beginnings.
Hareem wants to start over, Momin is stuck in the past. Can a newly wedded couple learn to love and accept one another while also dealing with an uncertain future and a haunting past?
Trigger warning: ptsd...
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Chapter Thirteen
He acted before he thought it through, and before he knew it, he had thrown open the car door and was dashing towards the young man in blue.
"Hey!" He yelled, zooming through the narrow space between the cars. The man didn't stir.
Momin pushed himself, suddenly grateful that he had a good stamina due to the more-than-often climb to his loft and back. His heart pumped furiously in his chest, and his face perspired, but his head was numb. He didn't know what he was doing, he didn't know what he'd get by dashing crazily like that, but he continued to do so anyway.
As he grew only inches away from the young man, he stretched out his hand and grabbed a fist full of the man's jacket. With a strength he didn't know he had, he hurled the man towards him, bringing the face in view.
Tan face with slightly bushy eyebrows and dark lips. This was what he could imagine an older Ashiq look like. But the freckles that usually littered his cheeks weren't there, and the deep scar that had ran over his nose ever since his near drowning experience when he was eight, wasn't there. This isn't Ashiq.
"What the hell?" The young man asked, jerking away.
"Sorry," Momin managed to muster in embarrassment. The man narrowed his eyes at him before walking away.
Momin stood rooted to the ground, dejected. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all jumbled up and making no sense whatsoever.
A loud honking broke through his thoughts, causing him to look back at his vacant car, and run back to it.
Sliding into the driver's seat again, he pulled the car into drive and joined the other dozens of cars in the traffic. He drove home on auto-pilot, his mind not remaining on a single issue for more than a couple of seconds.
Momin parked the car in its usual spot near the hedges marking the end of the apartment complex, took out the keys from the ignition and sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally the soles of his shoes hit the grey stony walkway and he started his climb to his loft wordlessly. The stairs refused to end, and when his home felt suddenly out of reach, he found himself stopping and sitting on the edge of a step halfway.
The image of a teen who had just hit puberty formed in his eyes. Brown orbs with a sparkle in them, light hair that fell across his forehead, too silky to be styled in spikes. A smile that both brothers had common.
A knot formed in his throat, making his throat grow tighter each second and his eyes grow moist.
He missed his brother.
Momin didn't sleep much that night. He tossed in bed until tahajhud rolled around, then he placed himself on the musalaa and didn't get up for an hour. He wasn't sure what he should pray for. That he wished he could get his brother back? That he should find out why Ashiq ran away? He didn't know what to say, his thoughts were all jumbled up. So he prayed to Allah that he could get his head cleared up, that he could figure out what his heart wanted.
