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 Forty Three
"Go home!" His mother commanded for the umpteenth time that week. "You've been here for ten days already, just go now."
"Ama, I can't believe you're kicking me out." Momin teasingly announced over the loud vacuum.
"Call it what you want!" She yelled from the lounging chair near the window. "You have a wife waiting-" She halted as Momin switched off the vacuum cleaner. "-for you back home, you need to take care of her rights as well."
Momin sighed as he walked over to her and sat down at her feet. Her sprained ankle had recovered far better than the doctor had expected since Momin hadn't allowed her to do any housework at all. Complete bed rest and a healthy diet thanks to the neighborhood ladies bringing in homemade dishes had done wonders in quickening the healing.
"I have been calling her regularly." He assured, referring to Hareem. "And helping her with Calculus over Skype, and besides she told me to look after you."
"Alhumdulillah for having her as a daughter then, she keeps you in check." His mother said in relief, reclining deeper into the chair. She pulled the book in her hand closer, signaling that the conversation was over.
"You make it sound like I'm an uncontrollable child." He teased, tightening his apron as he stood up.
"You are, you've always been."
"Who's been what?" Momin's father's voice boomed as he walked in through the front door. "Assalamu Allykum."
"Wa'alykum Salaam, how did your day go?" Momin inquired, approaching his father to take away his briefcase and coat, an act his mother had been lovingly doing for years.
"Cold. I don't want to leave the house anymore."
"Do you want me to crank up the heater?" He asked, storing the coat away and placing the briefcase on a shelf.
"No, that's fine."
"Assalamu Allykum," Momin's mother slowly made her way to Momin's father. "Go take a hot shower, while I'll make you tea."
"I'll make it!" Momin loudly announced, turning on his heel to go to the kitchen.
Despite him offering to, his mother followed him into the kitchen, getting the cup ready while he turned on the kettle. Her movements were cautious and slow as she walked over to the other side of the island, her bare feet padding the marble floor. He got aside so she could reach into the cupboard near the microwave to grab biscuits from a glass jar.
"Can I have one?" Momin whispered, placing a tray out for the tea cup and biscuit jar.
"Yes, meri jaan. If you don't have them, who else will?" His mother lovingly allowed, patting him on the back as she brushed past. "You know they used to be your brother's favorites as well."
