Chapter 8, Two Stories.
Mrs. Raliya sighed as she leaned back in her chair, fanning herself lightly. The room felt suffocating, but the real weight pressing on her chest wasn't the heat-it was the threats looming over them. Across the room, her son Umar lay sprawled on her bed, his shoes still on, despite her repeated scoldings.
"Take your legs off my bed, Umar," she snapped, her patience running thin.
But Umar barely acknowledged her, stretching his legs even further. He was just as restless as she was.
The threats had been coming for days now. Haider was getting impatient.
"So, he called again?" Mrs. Raliya asked, her voice laced with worry.
Umar exhaled sharply. "Yes. And this time, he swore to kill us if I don't bring Zeenat back."
Mrs. Raliya swallowed hard. This had gone too far. They had taken Haider's money, promising to help him get Zeenat-but now she was married to Rayyan. There was no way to return her, no way to fix this mess.
Before she could respond, a loud bang shook the door.
Both of them froze.
Another bang. Harder. More forceful.
Then, the door swung open.
Haider stood there, his presence like a storm rolling in. His cold, calculating eyes scanned the room before settling on Umar. In his right hand, he held a pistol. And the way he breathed on it, as if preparing to use it, sent a shiver down Mrs. Raliya's spine.
Umar scrambled off the bed, instinctively moving behind his mother.
"W-What are you doing here, Haider?" Mrs. Raliya tried to keep her voice steady.
"Where is she?" Haider's voice was calm, but the threat in it was unmistakable.
"I told you, she's married!" Umar stammered, trying to put as much distance between himself and the gun. "I can't just take her-"
Haider took a slow step forward, cutting him off. "You think I care? She's mine. Either you bring her to me, or-" he raised the gun slightly, aiming it at Umar's forehead.
Umar's body stiffened. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
"Are you insane?!" Mrs. Raliya snapped, stepping in front of her son. "You want to get him killed over a woman?"
Haider let out a low, bitter chuckle. "You didn't think I was insane when you were taking my money." His eyes darkened. "Millions, Mrs. Raliya. You and your son had no problem using me then."
A thick silence fell over the room.
Mrs. Raliya's hands trembled. They had spent the money carelessly. Only Zayd can help them out but, Now, with Zayd furious at them for treating his wife bad and no way to return Zeenat, they were trapped.
Umar swallowed hard. "Fine. We'll find a way. Just-just put the gun down."
Haider smirked, lowering the pistol just slightly. "Good. Make it happen."
And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving the mother and son shaken.
Umar wiped his sweaty forehead. "Mom, we need to get out of this mess."
Mrs. Raliya knew he was right. Haider was dangerous, and sooner or later, someone was going to pay the price for this deal.
She just hoped it wouldn't be them.
Mrs. Raliya exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in on her. If Zayd and Anaya had been here... No. That would have been a disaster.
She turned sharply to Umar, who still stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the door Haider had just walked through. His face was pale, his fingers twitching at his sides.
"This is bad," Umar muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His voice was hoarse, strained. "Really bad."
Mrs. Raliya grabbed the edge of her wardrobe, yanking it open with urgency. "We need to leave."
Umar snapped his gaze to her. "Leave? Just like that?" His voice rose slightly, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "Won't we help him?"
She hesitated, her fingers clenching around the handle of her suitcase. A flicker of something-guilt? Fear?-crossed her features before she hardened her expression.
"Yes," she said, her voice quieter but firm. "But from afar."
Umar swallowed, staring at her. He understood what she meant. Staying meant risk-too much risk.
But walking away? That didn't sit right either.
____
After Isha prayer, Zayd returned from the mosque and stepped into their room, only to find Anaya seated on the bed, massaging her legs.
"Oh Lord, I am really tired today," she muttered, her frustration clear in her voice. She hadn't even noticed his presence yet or maybe she is just pretending.
Zayd leaned against the doorframe, watching her.
Today had been difficult for her. Anaya had never worked like this in her entire life.
The moment she was done cooking in the morning, Mrs. Raliya had asked her to cook again in the afternoon. Thankfully, Zayd had stepped in to help-he couldn't tell his stepmother to stop demanding things from Anaya, but he could at least ease her burden. Which annoyes her even more.
Then came the shopping-an impossibly long list Mrs. Raliya had handed her, expecting her to buy everything with either her own money or Zayd's. He had gone with her, of course, and paid for it all, but it still frustrated her beyond words.
Was this how she was going to live? The thought exhausted her.
"It's just for a week, Insha Allah," she reminded herself. "If Mrs. Raliya isn't back by then, that's the end of it."
Still, just one day of this excessive workload had felt like an eternity.
At least tonight, she could finally rest. Mrs. Raliya was gone-traveled, and hopefully for good.
"Anaya," Zayd called her name gently.
"Zayd, if you knew I was going to suffer like this in your house, why on earth did you agree to marry me and bring me into this hell?" Anaya asked, not even bothering to look at him as she continued massaging her legs.
Her words caught him off guard.
"Which hell? What happened to you?" Zayd asked, genuinely confused or was it just to annoyed.
Anaya snapped her head up, glaring at him. Did he seriously just ask that? She prayed he was joking, but the blank expression on his face told her otherwise.
"Anaya, what exactly have you done today?" he asked, folding his arms. "Even cooking-I helped you. Shopping-I did all of it, carried all the bags, while you just followed me around and complained. Complain, complain, and complain again."
Anaya slowly removed her hands from her legs, staring at him in disbelief.
"So that's what you have to say?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm.
"Yes, Mrs. Anaya. Maybe if you shut that little mouth of yours for a while, you wouldn't be this tired," Zayd shot back, smirking.
Anaya's eyes widened. "You are a very ungrateful being, Zayd!" she shouted, grabbing a pillow and swinging it at him with all her might.
The pillow hit his shoulder, but Zayd didn't flinch. He just stood there, watching her with amusement.
"Anaya, I have a lot of work to do," he said, shaking his head.
She narrowed her eyes at him, not understanding where he was going with this.
"You really need to work on your manners but don't worry I would help you with that," he added.
That was the last straw. Anaya rose up, pick another pillow.
Before she could throw it, he moved-fast. In a blink, he was standing next to her, grabbing her wrist before the pillow could hit him.
"Enough," he said, his voice firm but calm.
Anaya tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was strong.
"Put this pillow back where it belongs, freshen up, and then join me for dinner at the dining table," Zayd instructed. "That way, you can sleep early, get some rest, and stop complaining about body aches."
Anaya yanked her hand free, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not doing any of that. And why are you even ordering me around like this?"
Zayd just looked at her, his expression unreadable.
She scoffed. "Did you think you're my parents or something?"
A small smirk appeared on his lips. "No, Anaya. I'm more than that."
She stared at him, trying to decipher his meaning.
"Ugh, whatever," she muttered, grabbing her towel and heading to the bathroom.
____
The soft golden light of the morning sun slipped through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The house was peaceful-too peaceful. The only sound was the steady rhythm of Anaya's breathing, and her, curled under the thick blanket, completely undisturbed.
Zayd entered the room quietly after returning from the mosque. He had taken his time with zikr and reciting the Quran, enjoying the serenity of the early morning. But as his eyes flicked toward the clock, his brows furrowed.
9:00 AM.
His gaze landed on his wife. She was still deep in sleep, her blanket pulled up to her chin, one foot slightly peeking out.
With a sigh, he walked over to her side of the bed. "Anaya..." he called gently.
A muffled groan came from beneath the blanket.
"Mmm... no. Leave me alone," she muttered, and burying her face into the pillow.
Zayd crossed his arms. "It's already nine. Have you even prayed? And don't you have things to do today?"
At this, Anaya stirred slightly, lifting her head just enough to glare at him, her eyes still half-closed.
"I already prayed," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. "Now, please... let me sleep. Today is Sunday. I just want to rest, rest, and rest some more."
Of course.
Zayd shook his head, watching her for a moment before deciding to let her be-for now.
Without another word, he left the room, heading to the kitchen. He wasn't about to let his lazy wife starve, so he started prepared breakfast.
By 10:00 AM, he returned to the bedroom. Anaya was still exactly where he had left her.
This time, he didn't bother with soft words.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the edge of the blanket-and yanked it off.
Anaya shot up immediately, gasping as the cold morning air hit her.
"Zayd!" she shrieked, wrapping her arms around herself. Her sleepy face quickly turned into an angry pout. "You call me mannerless, yet you take off a girl's bedsheet without her permission?!"
Zayd didn't flinch. "I need you to freshen up, Anaya."
Anaya narrowed her eyes at him but didn't argue with him this time.
Grumbling under her breath, she picked up her clothes and stomped toward the bathroom.
Zayd only smirked, watching as the door slammed shut behind her.
As for Anaya, Thankfully today the house was peaceful. No nagging voices, no ridiculous demands, no unnecessary drama.
Mrs. Raliya and her son were gone. Anaya had no idea where they had run off to, and frankly, she didn't care. If there was one thing she prayed for, it was that they stayed gone forever.
And as for Zayd? He was lucky. If not for her father's strict warning, she would have made him regret waking her up so early.
After freshening up, she stepped out of the bathroom wearing a flowing orange gown. The soft fabric draped effortlessly over her frame.
Her gaze landed on Zayd, who sat on the couch, his fingers moving effortlessly over his laptop keyboard. His attention was completely absorbed, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration.
Crossing her arms, she walked toward him, stopping just a few feet away.
"May I know why you disturbed my sleep, Zayd?" she asked, irritation lacing her voice.
He barely spared her a glance before nodding toward a tray on the table.
"Cover your head and eat first. Then we'll talk."
Anaya narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted to argue-really, she did. But the rich aroma of spices hit her, and her stomach betrayed her.
Fine.
Without another word, she grabbed her scarf, covered her head, and sat down. Picking up the spoon, she took a small bite.
The moment the food touched her tongue, she can't help but appreciate.
Warm, rich, perfectly balanced flavors.
She blinked, stealing a quick glance at Zayd.
He's actually a good cook, she admitted to herself. Since she arrived, he had been the one cooking and she couldn't deny that everything he made was delicious.
But she wasn't about to say that out loud. No need to inflate his already growing ego.
As soon as Anaya finished her meal, Zayd spoke without even looking up.
"Take that plate away."
Anaya froze, blinking at him.
Oh no. Who did this guy think he was?
Her first instinct was to argue, but something about his tone made her pause. Huffing under her breath, she grabbed the plate and took it to the kitchen.
When she returned, she sat across from him, crossing her arms as she studied his him.
Zayd shut his laptop and looked at her directly.
"Anaya, I want you to start doing something more productive with your life. For the sake of Allah. Not for me. Not for your father. But for yourself."
Anaya narrowed her eyes.
"Is that why you woke me up?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
She let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in her chair.
"What's more productive than resting? Besides, I'm starting work tomorrow," she reminded him.
"I know," Zayd said, nodding. "But I want you to be more responsible. I need you to contribute to the household-no matter how little. Whether Mrs. Raliya is here or not."
Anaya scoffed. "Oh, so that's what this is about?"
"And more than that," Zayd continued. "I also want you to be steadfast in your worship. Your relationship with Allah should come first, above everything else."
His voice was calm but firm.
Anaya let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping onto the couch. What has Father gotten me into? she groaned inwardly.
Zayd shut his laptop and turned to her with a calm but firm expression. "Let's start with your deen."
She groaned louder. "Why now? Can't we do this later?"
Zayd didn't answer right away. Instead, he observed her for a moment before asking, "How well do you know your Islamiya studies?"
To his surprise, she recited Qur'an verses fluently and even quoted several Ahadith without hesitation. His brows lifted slightly.
"Impressive," he admitted. "But knowing isn't enough, Anaya. You have to live by it."
She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly regretting showing off. "Yeah, yeah. I know."
He stood up, stretching. "Come."
"Where?" she asked, suspicious.
"To do something productive."
She frowned but followed him reluctantly.
First, he showed her how to clean properly, walking her through small tasks. She grumbled, dragging her feet, but Zayd ignored her complaints.
"I am not a maid," she muttered, scrubbing a table half-heartedly.
"Then do it properly so you don't have to redo it," he replied without looking up.
Her glare could have burned a hole through him, but she finished the task anyway.
Next, he led her to the kitchen.
"Now, let's cook."
Anaya laughed. "You really enjoy torturing me, don't you?"
Zayd smirked. "Cooking is a basic skill, not torture."
She rolled her eyes. As he guided her through simple dishes, she made several mistakes-too much salt, almost burning something-but somehow, she found herself engaged.
By the time they were done, the aroma filled the kitchen. Anaya, despite her earlier complaints, was actually proud.
Zayd handed her a plate. "See? That wasn't so bad."
She huffed. "It was terrible." But she took a bite and immediately regretted her words-it was delicious.
Zayd chuckled, watching her reaction.
She scowled at him but kept eating. Maybe-just maybe-this wasn't as awful as she had thought.