POV :{Zaynab}
By midday, the house felt heavier than usual.
Not physically. But emotionally. Like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to drop.
I stayed in the library most of the morning, pretending to read an anthology while Mariam half-napped beside me with her arm over her eyes. Sunlight poured through the high windows, golden and silent. The AC hummed like a whisper. The quiet felt peaceful …until it didn't.
Until Asiya walked in wearing her boldest smile.
"Guess who's joining me for tea?" she said, grinning.
I didn't answer.
She sank into the chair opposite mine, fixing her scarf. "I asked him. Just like I said I would."
I blinked. "Faruq?"
"Who else?" she said, all fluttering lashes and feigned nonchalance. "I told him I had questions about his foundation. He said he'd meet me in the lounge after Duhr."
She was beaming. Nervous in that excited way only Asiya could be.
I offered a weak smile, folding the edge of the book I hadn't really been reading.
"That's… brave of you."
She tilted her head. "Zaynab. Don't tell me you're surprised."
I wasn't.
Not really.
But it didn't stop the unease spreading in my chest. Like something sharp pressing from the inside out.
Asiya didn't notice. Or chose not to.
"I just want to see where I stand," she continued. "If he's not interested, well... But I need to know."
I nodded. "I understand."
But did I?
Or was I just saying what sounded correct?
What should a good friend say?
She stood and adjusted her hijab in the antique mirror beside the bookshelf.
"Wish me luck?"
I met her gaze. "Luck."
And then she was gone.
---
The next hour stretched.
I didn't follow. Didn't ask. Didn't peek.
Instead, I sat in the same chair, rereading the same paragraph, tracing the same edge of the same page over and over until Mariam stirred awake.
"You're still here?" she murmured groggily.
I glanced at her, then back at my book. "Yeah. Still here."
She looked at me for a beat too long.
Then, softly, "She went to meet him?"
I nodded.
Mariam said nothing else. Just lay back down and turned her face to the cushions.
When Asiya returned, she looked... unreadable.
Not upset. Not excited.
Just quiet.
She entered the room, slid off her shoes, and sat beside me on the carpet.
I closed the book gently. "How did it go?"
She hesitated. "It was... decent."
"Just decent?"
She shrugged. "We talked. About the charity project. He asked smart questions. I gave confident answers. But..."
"But?"
"He's polite," she said slowly. "But not open. Not warm. I couldn't tell if he was just being formal or completely disinterested."
I said nothing.
"He thanked me for the idea. But he never asked anything personal. Not even my plans after graduation. Not a single thing."
Her voice was too calm. Too flat.
She didn't need to say more.
I already knew.
He wasn't interested.
But that didn't make it easier to hear.
Or bear.
For her. Or for me.
Why do I feel somewhat like guilty?
I didn't do anything.
Or did I?
She cleared her throat, trying to sound light again. "Anyway. I tried and I will keep trying. At least now I know to intensify ."
I wanted to say something comforting. Something soft. But the words didn't come.
Because under it all, I wasn't sure what I was mourning her disappointment...
Or my own reaction to it.
---
By late afternoon, I was in the courtyard alone. Sitting on the edge of the marble fountain, my head bowed over my journal. Just scribbling. Random thoughts. A prayer. A du'a for stillness. A request for clarity.
Then my phone buzzed.
Professor Hassan.
Call Incoming.
I froze.
Let it ring.
Then tapped "Decline."
A moment later, the message came.
"Zaynab. Please don't shut me out. I know you're thinking. I just want you to be okay. Let me know when you're ready to talk."
I stared at the screen.
My breath left my lungs slowly.
I am not used to all these tensions.
Everyone wanted something.
Some wanted clarity. Some wanted closeness.
It is compressing me.
I just wanted space.
But no one ever asked for that.
As I slid the phone back into my pocket, I heard footsteps behind me.
Soft. Unrushed.
I didn't turn.
A familiar voice broke the quiet.
"You don't answer his calls."
Faruq.
Standing at a careful distance. Not close enough to intrude. Not far enough to ignore.
I looked up slowly. "You noticed that too?"
He didn't smile. "It's hard not to."
I stood. Straightened my Jilbab.
"You observe a lot," I said, not accusing…just... honest.
"I notice what I need to," he replied.
And before I could find a way to respond, he turned and walked away.
Leaving me there, again.
Alone with too much.
The Guest Room and Unspoken Names
POV:{ Zaynab}
The air was cooler inside the guest room, quiet like a sigh after a long-held breath. I sat at the edge of the bed, my back straight, palms resting flat on my lap. The pink prayer mat was still spread neatly at the foot of the bed where I'd laid it earlier, untouched since Maghrib. My mind, however, hadn't stopped moving.
I could still hear the low hum of voices from the living room downstairs … Mariam's laughter, Asiya's dramatic squeals, and Faruq's calm replies that floated up now and then like a string pulled too tightly before snapping back into silence.
But that wasn't what had me staring blankly at the wall.
It was the call with Professor Hassan.
His voice had been soft, kind, but full of unspoken expectations. He'd asked if I'd settled in well. I said yes. He asked if I needed anything. I said no. And then he'd paused for a heartbeat too long before asking if I remembered what he said during our last conversation.
I had. Every word.
I knew what he meant when he'd said, "We must be careful not to leave what is certain for what is uncertain."
But my certainty had cracks. Not wide enough for me to fall through, but deep enough to make me pause. And that pause... was dangerous.
I turned my head, catching my reflection in the mirror across the room. A simple abaya, loose curls peeking from the scarf I'd loosened. I looked like someone who had everything under control. Someone calm. Grounded.
But if anyone looked closely enough, they'd see the tension in my shoulders. The way I bit the inside of my cheek. The thoughts I kept swallowing.
I hadn't meant to hear the way Faruq said my name earlier, soft under his breath, as if tasting it quietly, afraid it would echo. But I had. And I hated that I noticed. I hated more than I remembered.
A soft knock startled me.
"Asiya says come and join us for night tea," Mariam's voice filtered in through the door, light, careful.
I stood quickly, adjusting my scarf. "I'm coming," I called out, even though my heart wasn't.
When I stepped into the hallway, Mariam was waiting, arms folded, eyes a little too unreadable. We walked together, side by side, but there was a weight between us now. Something neither of us named.
"You okay?" she asked, not looking at me.
I nodded. "Yeah. Just tired."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Asiya's excited you're staying. She's been preparing questions to ask you all day."
I chuckled, lightly. "That's sweet of her."
"She's always had a big heart," Mariam added. Then after a beat, she said, "Especially when it comes to... Faruq."
I blinked.
It was the first time anyone had said his name to me directly, like that.
"She likes him a lot," Mariam continued, glancing sideways. "Always has."
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't know what to say. But because I was afraid of what I might admit if I opened my mouth.
When we entered the living room, Faruq was leaning against the dining archway, a mug in hand, head tilted slightly as he listened to something Asiya was excitedly recounting. But the moment his eyes found mine, he stilled.
Just for a second.
Not long enough for anyone else to notice.
But I did.
I always did.
And I hated that too.
I dropped my gaze quickly, pretending to admire the fruit tray on the table.
"Zee, come sit next to me!" Asiya called, patting the cushion beside her like she'd been saving the spot all evening.
I moved to join her, smiling. But my heart was already halfway across the room…where he stood, silent, watching.