“Going to the markaz, kuch chahiye? (want anything?)” I asked, as I picked up my car keys. “There’s a list on the fridge,” Narmeen murmured. Swirling the keys in my finger, I walked over to pick it up, stared at it for a good 2 minutes, realizing that it had been there for the past four days. Magar (but) she never really mentioned it.
“Flour
Sugar
Vitamin Supplements
Pickles”
And I thought to myself, “Didn’t I buy pickles like a month ago? Her god-damn cravings don’t seem to end, do they?” And with a deep breath, “Just three months from now.”
Wesay tou (although) markaz was barely an 8 minutes drive, but I remained out for hours… driving all around the city. I just wanted to stay out, you know? Stay alone. Sara was in Lahore for some conference and uff, did I miss her or what? I took out my phone at the red signal and started typing
“Hey Sara, when are you getting back? Wish you were here babe.”
Send.
Delete.
That night, I got home around 3 AM. As soon as I opened the door, I saw her lying on the couch, asleep. Somehow, her presence still managed to suffocate me. But I still got a blanket from the room to cover her. I sat down to watch her closely, not really sure why. Her face was covered with the ointment for burns; it had a stringent smell that wasn’t exactly pleasant.
Khair (anyway), a couple of days later, Narmeen was setting the table for breakfast, like always. She made anda paratha, like always. I loved having that anda paratha. It reminded me of the older and simpler times. Times when we used to cook together. Times when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Times when nothing mattered but us. But, when I come to think of it, these weren’t the reasons why I loved anda paratha. I loved it because… it was anda paratha yaar!
But today, today I didn’t want to eat it. Why not? Because I couldn’t wait to go to my office. And why was that? Because Sara was back. 13 days. That’s how long it had been since I last saw her and we… you know…
Fast forwarding to 2-ish months later. Tou (so) I was cuddling with Sara, having an intimate moment, and I told her, “Sara, I love you, you know that right? I really want to spend my life with you. But you know my position. I can’t divorce her. There’s a baby coming soon…” She kissed my lips so I would stop giving her reasons, and just silently rested her head on my chest.
After a couple of minutes of the most beautiful silence I had experienced during the past year, my phone started to ring. It was from my so-called home.
“Fucking hell, not right now,” I thought to myself.
After missing three calls, I finally picked up, “Han, kiya hua? (Yeah, what happened?)”
“Ali, I think I should go to the hospital, the contractions are getting unbearable.”
I shut my eyes while breathing deeply. Oh, how much had I wished this day wouldn’t come.
When we got there, the doctor asked me if I wanted to be in the delivery room. I refused. Fucking hell, I couldn’t even stand her voice, could you imagine what her screams would do to me? The waiting room felt like a whole other dimension, though, a dimension where time did not pass.
I sat on the sofa with my eyes fixated at the magazines on the table, thinking about absolutely nothing but concentrating on the colors of the magazine cover and the beautiful faces on it. Beauty. Isn’t it really just skin-deep?
“Mr. Ali?” the doctor said as he nudged my shoulder. I think I might have zoned out for a while.
“Jee, that’s me,” I said as I got up.
“I’m sorry to tell you, but your wife gave birth to a stillborn, I’m very sorry.”
I was numb.
One hundred percent, completely, numb.
But relieved.
When Narmeen got discharged from the hospital, I kept thinking of finally coming clean with her. Telling her about everything I had been hiding for the past nine months. About how her presence suffocated me and how I fell in love with Sara. But I couldn’t tell her. I didn’t want to be the asshole who cheated on his wife rather than being there for her.
I’m not going to lie to you; I tried being there for her, sach main (truly), liken (but) it was hard. I think it has something to do with the male psyche, matlab (I mean) it can’t be just me. Haina (right)?
Don’t get me wrong; I feel terrible about everything she had to go through. I blame myself for gazillion things.
Do I wish her car hadn’t broken down? Yes.
Do I wish she hadn’t taken that taxi? Yes.
Do I wish I had picked her up rather than going for my meeting? YES.
But I can’t help myself; I do not love her anymore. Why? I like to believe it’s not because of how the acid ruined her face, but between you and me… I think that’s probably it.
