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~

"And (yet), among the people are those who take other than Allah as equals (to Him). They love them as they (should) love Allah. But those who believe are stronger in love for Allah." (Qur'án 2:165)

~

Haroun enters the orphanage, greeting the receptionist. He makes his way through the familiar halls to the room he will find the children in. When they see him, they excitedly jump up and rush forward. The manager laughs as the children all grasp at Haroun.

"Hey, guysss. Missed me?"

They all nod profusely, reaching up to wrap their arms around him, grasp his shirt, give him a hug. A boy at the back pauses, staring at Haroun almost indignantly. He says, "You didn't bring your miss today."

Haroun laughs. "I'm sorry, miss is just a little bit busy."

Another boy turns to the first one and throws him a sly smile. "Zahid thinks your miss is pretty, don't you, Zahid?"

Zahid's eyes dart worriedly between Haroun and the second boy. "I didn't say that!"

"Settle down, children, settle down," the manager says.

Haroun laughs at the worry in the young boy's eyes. "It's okay," he whispers. "I don't mind. She is pretty."

The children laugh and Zahid lets out a relieved sigh.

Haroun spends some time with them before standing to leave. The children pout, and he promises he'll come back soon. Then he departs to head to work.

Zahid thinks your miss is pretty.

And who can blame the child? Haroun thinks as he settles in his car. Zoya has such an exquisite, radiant beauty that it's hard to look away from her. Especially when she smiles, or is caught up in her work and furrows her brows, or when she sleeps with a peaceful expression on her face.

Haroun bites his lower lip, trying to contain his smile on the road so onlookers don't think he's crazy or something for smiling at his steering wheel.

When he gets to work, he decides that he'll surprise Zoya with something this evening. She has consistently expressed a desire to have one of those backyard movie nights, and that's exactly what Haroun will give her.

She has seemed pretty stressed the past couple of days — especially after seeing her ex-husband at the coffee shop — but every time Haroun asks her what's wrong she shakes her head and smiles.

But Haroun senses she needs something to take her mind off of things.

The thought of a backyard move night excites him, and throughout the day at work, he calls Mumtaz to arrange some things as well as remind Zoya to take her meds. The older woman laughs delightedly and says Zoya has a surprise for him as well, to which Haroun lets out a bewildered laugh.

One of his coworkers glances at him quizzically. "Haroun," he muses. "You've been awfully cheerful lately."

Haroun laughs. "Do you want me to cry, Daniel?"

"No, no." He places a palm at Haroun's desk and scrutinizes him carefully. "You're just making me consider getting married."

To this Haroun's mouth forms an O before he laughs again. "Glad I could be the one, O Cynic of Marriage."

Daniel rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

Later, Haroun receives a call from Mumtaz that Zoya needs a medication refill. Then he receives a call from the hospital. The receptionist says Zoya hasn't requested a medication refill and that there's some paperwork that needs to be filled for healthcare purposes. Haroun promises her he'll visit right after work and ends the call.

And then Zoya calls him, asking when he'll be home. He assures her he'll arrive soon.

When he reaches the hospital, he receives a text from Mumtaz that whatever he requested has been organized. He thanks her profusely and makes his way up the elevator and down the hall of the hospital. It's eerily quiet, the only sound the occasional beeps and whirs and his footsteps slapping against the linoleum.

Upon reaching the receptionist, Haroun tells her what his need is. She glances at his ID before asking him Zoya's name and date of birth. He asks if he can get a prescription from Zoya's doctor for more meds.

"You said Zoya Zameer?"

Haroun nods.

The receptionist types on her computer, then says. "She doesn't need any medication refills."

Haroun's brows furrow. "What? But someone gave me a call and said she needs refills for her headaches."

The receptionist's brows furrow as she squints at the screen. But then she leans back and shakes her head. "Nope. She's not in need of any headache medication. Actually, she's not in need of any medication."

Now Haroun is really confused. His eyebrows knit and he gazes around quizzically, deep in thought. Not in need of any medication? "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nods briskly. "Zoya Zameer, right?"

"Yes."

She shakes her head again. "None."

"Okay," Haroun murmurs. "Must have been a mistake. Anyway, where can I fill out the paperwork for my wife's healthcare plan? And select which plan to pay her expenses on?"

Now the receptionist looks even more baffled. "Zoya already has a solid healthcare plan. And there are no expenses to be paid at the moment."

"No expenses?" Now Haroun is extremely confused. "Not even for the treatment of her concussion?"

The woman blows out a sigh, clearly frustrated. "Sir, your wife doesn't need any medication refills and there are no expenses to be paid at the moment. In fact" — she squints at the computer screen — "I'm not quite sure what concussion you're talking about. She seems perfectly healthy. There have been no incidents requiring her need for treatment."

Haroun's breath catches in his throat. What? "Okay, ma'am, I'm sorry. I think we're both a little confused here. Are you looking at Zoya Zameer's file?"

She nods. "Yes, sir. Z-O-Y-A Z-A-M-E-E-R, correct?"

"Correct," Haroun whispers, feeling as if the wind is whooshing out of him. "There seems to be some misunderstanding. Is it possible for me to speak to her doctor?"

The woman sighs. "What is the doctor's name?"

"Dr. Ruth Creek."

She types for a couple seconds before saying, "Dr. Ruth has been posted elsewhere. Weeks ago, actually."

Haroun rubs his forehead, worried. "I don't understand. Have Zoya's medical records just not been updated? Why did I receive a call if she's not in need of meds?"

"I don't know. There may have been a misunderstanding with someone else's paperwork. Sorry for any inconvenience, sir," she replies dismissively.

Haroun steps back and heads to a chair by the wall, feeling lightheaded. He pulls out his phone and logs into the hospital's app to access Zoya's medical records. He realizes he has never done so before because Zoya always assures him she will handle it.

Come to think of it, she was reluctant when granting him permission to access her medical records. He had joked that he would steal her life through them, and she had only smiled tensely, gripping the pen harder than necessary.

When the app logs in, he scrolls through to "patient charts" and to the graphs detailing her health over the years.

There is a consistent, stable line upwards.

Haroun rubs his chin, eyebrows knitted. He clicks through records of immunizations and then down to "medications: active."

None for headaches. Or nausea. Or faintness.

Haroun stares at it for longer than necessary. He scrolls farther down, seeing that the last active medication required for Zoya was put a stop to about six months ago. Before they were married. And it was for minor headaches.

Haroun's hands begins to shake, so he locks his phone screen and reaches up to press his palms to his eyelids.

Clearly, this is a mistake. Perhaps the doctors haven't updated Zoya's medical records and her latest prescribed medications. It can happen, right? After all, doctors are humans, too.

Yeah, he tries reassuring himself. Probably some mistake.

A strange mistake.

Haroun stands and departs the hospital, confusedly walking to his car. He almost trips over a speed bump in his distraction but uprights himself quickly.

How is it possible for Zoya's records to be so outdated? She's still — Alhamdulillah — alive and well. And as far as he's known, doctors have never screwed up something as major as this.

As for Dr. Ruth — how weird for her to be posted elsewhere? She didn't even say anything to Haroun the last time they spoke.

Ah, he thinks. Let me call her.

When he dials her number, it goes straight to voicemail. He tries again, and the same thing happens.

Haroun's heartbeat grows more rapid by the second.

Relax. She's probably busy. This is all just a huge misunderstanding.

Driving home, he receives many profuse honks and angry fingers. He blinks to keep himself focused.

When he enters through the manor gate and parks outside, Zoya texts him, "where are you???" with some silly emojis. Haroun reads it and closes his eyes in confusion. His head feels as if it may explode.

She texts him again when he finally exits the car to head inside. He rings the doorbell and Aman lets him in.

Zoya stands in front of him, dressed in a royal blue gown and crystal earrings that make her so beautiful she is almost unbearable to look at.

Haroun's heart feels strange.

When she looks in his eyes, she must detect something off because the smile fades from her radiant face.

"Haroun? Is everything okay?"

He gestures for them to proceed into the hall. There is a delicious aroma in the air, but Haroun can't seem to focus on it. His mind is reeling.

When they sit down, Zoya says "Haroun?" in a shaky voice.

"I, um . . . " He falters, presses his lips together. "I went to the hospital after work." He glances at her swiftly, and she seems to tense up.

"Because they gave me a call about some healthcare paperwork and payment. They said you weren't picking up. And they reminded me about medication refills, which you hadn't requested. And . . . " His voice is shaking — he's afraid of what he's about to say. Haroun looks down at his fist, which has started trembling. "The receptionist . . . the receptionist said you're not in need of meds and they didn't — didn't have any records of your injuries?" The statement comes out a question, and when Haroun looks up into Zoya's eyes he is ready for her to refute this absurdity.

Because there cannot possibly be any truth to this.

Silence.

"Zoya?" His voice is small. "This is a mistake, right? Maybe they forgot to update your records?" He looks very closely at her eyes.

Zoya stands from her spot and moves closer to him, reaching forward to grab his hand. But Haroun pulls out of her grasp, confused as to why she won't answer him. Why she won't laugh and tell him this is all so stupid? "It's a mistake, right?"

"Haroun — "

"I tried to see your doctor to ask her about it but they said she's been posted somewhere else?" He laughs nervously. "Coincidence, right?" Zoya reaches forward again, and Haroun pulls back once more at her silence. "Coincidence, right?"

Why is she looking at me like that? Haroun's heartbeat seems to speed up at an abnormal pace. Zoya's silence is making him nervous, and he stares urgently into her eyes, willing her to give him the answer he needs to hear.

Because if it's anything else, Haroun doesn't know what he will do. He doesn't know.

"Haroun, I — " Zoya breaks off, avoiding his eyes. He watches her carefully. Why won't she tell me this is all a stupid mistake and we can laugh about it? Haroun's gaze prods her consistently, but she doesn't raise her eyes to his.

He pulls away suddenly, fearing his heart may combust and collapse because of the speed at which it is beating. His eyes widen, and breaths begin to come in short bursts of air.

Why is she silent?

"Zoya?" he says slowly, voice shaking. "Tell me it's a lie?"

"I — "

"Tell me there's been a mistake?" His eyes pierce hers, begging for an answer.

Zoya stays silent. Haroun's urgent gaze roves over her face, trying to detect the meaning behind her silence and the sudden grief that has encompassed her features.

But he has known this face for a good amount of time now. He has seen it smile, has seen it frown. And cry, and worry, and laugh.

So he understands the crestfallen expression on her face. He understands all too well.

And he wishes he didn't.

Haroun's heart takes off like helicopter blades. Beating, beating, beating against his chest. Ripping, tearing through the flesh.

"No." Haroun shakes his head back and forth. "No, no." He stands up and places a hand at his chin, pacing back and forth. An anxious laughs escapes him. This can't be true. "No, no."

Zoya stands and reaches towards him, but he backs away from her quickly. This cannot be true. His hands go up in his hair, fisting it. Maybe if he squeezes hard enough, he'll fly awake and turn to see Zoya sleeping peacefully beside him. And he will thank Allah for making something so horrible exist only in an unfathomable nightmare.

But he senses Zoya's presence beside him. And he hears her sniffing, signaling the tears falling from her beautiful eyes.

Haroun thinks he may collapse. "Oh, no." A strangled sort of cry escapes him. He loses feeling in his legs and falls to the floor. Continuously shaking his head back and forth. "No, no, no." This cannot be true. This is all a lie. A scary, stupid lie. There is no way that this is true.

But things begin to reprocess in his mind, and it starts to make sense. How antsy she became with her medication. How quickly she recovered from her concussion. How reluctant she was to talk about her illness or injuries. How aloof her doctor had been every time they went to the hospital.

No, no, no, no. Oh, God, no.

"Haroun — " Zoya's voice trembles. He feels her hands on his shoulder again but pushes her away. Her fingers feel like fire. They feel like fire.

"No," he murmurs over and over and over again.

"Please, Haroun," Zoya's voice has a scary urgency to it. "Please just let me explain."

It makes awful sense now.

Haroun thinks his vocal cords have stopped working. He cannot seem to formulate words on his tongue. This is all a lie. This is all a lie. It's not true. It can't make sense.

Zoya touches him again, and again he automatically flinches away from her.

Haroun has always tried to comfort Zoya with his touch if she has ever been stressed. Or even when she has not been stressed. When she cries, he wraps his arms around her. When she laughs, he bounces her curls around in his fingers. When she's angry, he rubs her temples. When she's disappointed, he places her palms at his cheek and makes a fish face until she laughs.

She is doing the same now. Trying to touch him to comfort him.

This can only mean one thing: that what he hasn't feared even in his worst nightmares, what he has never even fathomed, what his heart has protected itself against even thinking about, has happened.

It was all a lie.

"Please, Haroun — "

"No!" he exclaims, having found his voice. He shakes his head back and forth like a little child's. "No, don't say anything, please. Don't tell me any more lies. Don't."

Zoya wipes her cheeks. The mascara has smeared across her beautiful, beautiful face. Tears well in her eyes. "Please listen to me just once — "

"You lied to me!" he says loudly, pain emerging from somewhere deep inside him. Like a volcano — dormant for years — that has finally erupted. "Again and again and again. From the moment you asked me to marry you." His voice breaks and sobs overtake him. Everything has been a lie. Every single thing. "I loved you. I loved you."

Zoya's features twist in pain. "You wouldn't have wanted me otherwise!"

"That doesn't make it okay!" he yells. The pain, the pain. It's too much to bear. Haroun begins to sob so hard that he breaks out into a fit of coughs, leaning back against the wall. He takes deep, heaving breaths, raising his gaze to Zoya's. The helicopter in his chest is tearing through all of his flesh, causing an illusion of blood to pool down his body and around his feet. "You don't know anything. Just once," he whispers. "Just once if you had tried to ask me — "

"You wouldn't have wanted me!" Zoya yells again, crying.

"So you lied to me?" he stands then, and walks towards her. Her blue gown swirls around her in the wind of the ceiling fan. Mascara is smeared under her eyes, but this exquisite woman — his wife — is still the picture of absolute beauty.

This much beauty . . . this much beauty cannot tell such an ugly, crooked lie, can it?

Haroun cannot take it. He cannot take it.

"You lie," he says in a low voice. "And not just once. Over and over and over again. Every smile, every hug, har baat." His eyes travel down to her hands. Her soft, beautiful hands that he has held so many times. Her hands that have absentmindedly run through his hair many nights. He takes one of these hands and places it against his cheek. His eyes are wide, darting helplessly between hers. "Every time you did this, it was a lie." His eyebrows furrow, powerlessness overtakes him again. "All of it . . . a lie." He drops her hand, feeling as if the helicopter heart in his ribcage may burst out of his chest and take flight somewhere far, far away.

Somewhere it will never return from.

Because there is no way that this is happening to him again. There is no way he is being brutally exposed to such a lie all over again. Like when he found out about his father's second wife.

Only this time, it's much, much worse.

"No." Zoya's lips tremble. Haroun is not accustomed to seeing her cry this way. If she cries, her sobs shake throughout her whole body. But this? This is quiet crying. Tears are rapidly pooling in her eyes but no sound leaves her lips.

It makes the truth even more unbearable for Haroun.

Zoya reaches up and tries to cup his cheek but he pushes her hand away. "It wasn't a lie. I loved you. I love you."

"NO!" Haroun breaks out into sobs again. "You don't love me. If you loved me, you wouldn't have lied to me. And you wouldn't have lied to me over and over again." He backs away, pressing his palms to his eyelids. They feel like fire. Everything feels like fire. "Love isn't built on lies."