I stand up and walk toward the living room, while his gaze still follows me from the kitchen. I don’t look back at him because I don’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. I feel so ashamed that I can’t be like other girls. Adam has no shortage of girls in his life. I don’t understand what makes him come after me. Why does he keep on saying that he sees a light in me, when I feel it is the other way around? I turn back to him and say, “Maybe if you give it some more time. We’ve only known each other a week.”
“Sometimes it takes a lifetime to understand someone, but there are other times when all you need is a moment of trust. I am waiting for that moment, Rania.” He looks deeply into my eyes. We stay here facing each other forever, until our silence is broken by a beep from Adam’s phone.
He picks it up from the counter and checks the screen. “Sorry, I have an emergency. Can I use your room? I have to do a videoconference with a client.”
“Sure.” I smile at him, and he walks into my bedroom and closes the door behind him. Poor him; he works on Sundays too.
I look around my kitchen and smile at the mess Adam has created. Why don’t men clean, when they cook? He reminds me of my father when he used to cook for me and Mom on the weekend, and then it would take us two hours to clean up the kitchen. He’d use every pot, pan and utensil to make a single meal. Though Adam just made scrambled eggs and toast, he’s used nearly all the pans. I start cleaning my kitchen, waiting for Adam to finish his call. He left his phone on the counter; he must have brought his laptop in the bag with his nightclothes. He still isn’t out by the time I finish, so I go on to clean the rest of the apartment.
It gets to be one in the afternoon, so I start making lunch. I decide to make chicken club sandwiches, with fresh orange juice. When that’s done, I sneak quietly into my bedroom to offer my afternoon prayers. Adam is sleeping peacefully on my bed like a child, his laptop lid still open. I look at him for a few minutes and head to the washroom to take a shower.
When I come out he’s still sleeping, totally unaware of anything around him. I know he went to sleep after I did and woke up before me, which means he probably got no more than five hours’ sleep. I lay my prayer mat on the floor by the side of the bed and start my prayers.
CELESTIAL
♂
I open my eyes sometime around mid-afternoon, judging by the sun through the window. When I turn, I see Rania deeply immersed in her prayers. She is covered from head to toe, with only her face, hands, and feet showing, and such is her concentration that I feel like she is talking directly to God. I keep watching her, the way she looks down and then bows deeply, her lips moving constantly. She looks divine and sacred, purity and innocence shining from her. The light I see emanating from her is so strong that I would be afraid to stand in front of her—I would burn up from the intensity. It will surely burn me someday, but the truth is I want to burn myself in this light. I recall my confessions of last night. Did I say too much? She’s my friend, so she would definitely have understood what I was feeling at that moment. She has restored chapters of my life, which were burned and destroyed so long ago. I can’t ever repay what she has done for me, but I promise myself that no matter what happens, I will always stand by her side. But how long will you be able to keep her in your life, Adam? You are only living in the present. What about the future? Is there a future? Her light may not be only for you. You may need to let her go someday. My brain is bombarding my heart with bitter truths. I don’t know how long this is going to last, but I don’t want to let go of it.
I see her moving her head back and forth and raising her hands, as if seeking something from God. I wonder what she’s asking of Him. If I were able to pray, I would pray for her, ask God to end her pain and set her soul free from her terrible past. Though I don’t know the details, those scars were enough to give me an idea of what she’s been through. She finishes her prayers and looks at me with a smile.
“You slept well?”
“You look beautiful in your prayer scarf. Very sacred and pure.” She looks down shyly. I glance up at the art on the wall above her prayer spot. It is something written in Arabic, in a bronze frame. She follows my gaze to it, then looks back to me.
“What is that? What does it say?” I ask her, curious.
“Word of God, from the Holy Quran, an important part of prayer. It’s called Fateha, meaning ‘the Opening.’”
“Can you read it to me?”
She looks up at me in surprise. “You really want to know?”
“I want to know what you were saying to God, when you were praying,” I say. She smiles and folds her prayer mat, then takes the frame from the wall and sits beside me. She moves her fingers over the Arabic inscription and translates for me.
“In The Name of Allah, Most Compassionate, Ever Merciful. All praises be to Allah alone, the Sustainer of all the worlds. Most Compassionate, Ever-Merciful. Master of the Day of Judgment. You alone do we worship and to You alone, we look for help. Show us the straight path. The path of those upon whom, You have bestowed Your favors. Not of those, who have been afflicted with wrath and nor of those, who have gone astray.”
“You say this in every prayer?” I look at the frame and back to her.
“Yes, and much more like this.” She stands up and hangs the frame back on the wall.
“It definitely looks like the word of God. A good approach to see the right path,” I say, placing my feet on the floor. “But do you think He always listens to you?” My question catches her attention. She takes off her scarf and sits beside me again, facing the wall.
“He listens to everyone, Adam. If you pray on this mat or anywhere else, He always listens. About the answering—we humans are very impatient. Sometimes, we want our wishes to be answered on the spot, but what God has decided for us is much better than our imagination. We feel sometimes that He is not listening and not answering our prayers, but maybe, He has kept something for us far better than what our heart desires.” She takes my hand in hers and looks at me. “So whenever you feel like making a wish, always wish that whatever He gives you, should be beneficial for you. In this way, all your good and genuine wishes would be answered.”
“Sometimes, I envy that you have such a strong faith. How can someone possibly be—”
“That’s what I am saying, Adam. Seek for the right path from Him and not the wishes. Your wishes will eventually be answered, once you are on the path.” She looks into my eyes with sincerity. “When Grace was with your father, she might have wished for a happy life with him, but what God gave her was much more blessed. Now when you see Grace and Brian, don’t you think they were meant for each other? God acknowledged Grace’s goodness and He awarded her more than her heart desired. So when your wishes or prayers are not answered, don’t think that they are not accepted. They are, but they will be heeded sooner or later, in a better form. More than you imagine.”
We look at each other for a while. I agree with her, when it comes to Grace and Brian. I don’t know what she wished for, but what she got meant her prayer was answered.
“Do you pray for yourself, Rania?” I keep looking at her, but she averts her eyes and stares blankly at the wall. “I mean just for yourself, asking Him to get rid of your nightmares?”
She stays quiet for a moment, then smiles. “I don’t remember how I asked Him to end my nightmares, but when I see you, I feel that He has already answered my prayer.” She walks out of the room without saying anything further, leaving me speechless. Am I an answer to her prayers?
How can she deliver those deep words so easily? Does she realize what she just said to me? If I am actually an answer to her silent prayer, then she has burdened me with a lot of responsibility. I will have to make sure that the reward she has got remains a blessing to her, and not a curse. If she is talking about how my presence keeps away her nightmares, then she may be right, but what about other prayers, regarding h
er past and her scars? Am I an answer for that too? There are so many unanswered questions piled up in my mind, but somehow, the boundary she’s set won’t let me ask them. I know if I try to cross it, I will burn myself. Should I take the risk, or should I wait for her to erase her boundaries and come out of her capsule?
I go look for her and find her busy in the kitchen, setting plates on the countertop.
“Lunch time, Mr. Gibson.” She smiles at me innocently. I walk over and sit on the bar stool.
“You were making lunch, while I was sleeping?”
“Yeah, and cleaning my home also.”
“It already looked clean to me.”
“I like perfection, Mr. Gibson.” She smirks at me. “I’m almost out of groceries, so I used whatever was available in my fridge.” She serves me a plate with a sandwich and green salad. I take a sip of fresh orange juice, which tastes extremely good. I take a bite from the sandwich and look at her. She is waiting, probably for my feedback.
“Apart from the beauty and grace you carry in your body and heart, Miss Ahmed, you also possess culinary skills. You have impressed me,” I say, with my mouth full. She giggles at me, and starts eating. “You always amuse me, Miss Ahmed. What other skills do you have? Is there any other surprise?”
She looks up from her glass and smiles. “Surprises.” She emphasizes the word. “Jokes aside, I don’t think I have any skills, so don’t over-praise me.”
“Oh yeah? You want me to count them?” I look around the room and then back to her. “Let’s see. You are good in your field, I mean your graphic design thing, of course. And then you dance like an enchantress.” I count her skills on my fingers and she smiles at me from her heart. “And you charm everyone around you.”
“Really?” she interrupts with surprise.
“Oh, so you want me to count the victims. Let’s see…” I hear her giggling at me. “Apart from the badly awestruck Adam Gibson, there were seventeen men at the party last week, who were deprived of the privilege of dancing with you. Then we have Mike, of course, and my family—Brian, Grace and Eva. There were also the Senator and his wife we met at the opera, and the other men who were literally drooling at you there, and the souvenir store girl, who was smitten, and then my special man Ali and…” She laughs heartily at my way of counting. “And I don’t know how many more to come.”
She shakes her head with her innocent laugh. “Ali? Where did he come from?”
“Oh yes, Miss Ahmed. You have charmed that poor guy too. He says hi to you before he even notices me, when he sees us together. As if I don’t exist when you’re around.”
“He’s only being nice to me.”
“Oh, sure, whatever. So where were we…” I grin at her. “Your skills… as I see, you cook well, which makes me take a decision that I should come here every night for dinner. And there are many more, which are actually too personal to tell you right now, but best of all, you are an amazing storyteller.” She looks down at her juice shyly, avoiding my smoldering gaze. “When you were reading the book to me, I actually felt myself back in time being King Sheharyar, and that you were my Sheharzaad, telling me all the magical stories.”
“Then it is not my skill, Adam. It is the author’s skill, which created an imaginary world for you.”
“I agree a bit, but I don’t think it would be the same if I read it myself. It wasn’t me who created the imaginary world. I stepped into your world, the way you created the magic around us. It actually made me believe that I was part of those stories.”
I take a deep breath. “In fact, you are a secret thief.” I wink at her and she looks at me, perplexed. “You have stolen my capability of reading stories on my own. It could never be the same.”
I think some more. “So, other than that, you know how to run and make a man chase and stalk you, even if that isn’t his nature.”
My statement makes her giggle. She goes into the kitchen to get something from the fridge. As she looks inside it, she says, “I am a good runner. It is truly hard to catch me.”
“Oh yeah? I can catch you anytime, anywhere, Miss Ahmed. You have no idea how my intelligence service works.”
She takes out the chilled water and pours some into a glass. “The catch doesn’t require intelligence, Mr. Gibson. It requires stamina.” With that, she grins at me mischievously, and I instantly read what is going on in her naughty mind. So she wants to play games? She wants me to chase her? I stand up from my seat, and she immediately puts the water down and runs toward the living room. I go after her and she screams with excitement.
“You don’t know this, Miss Ahmed, but I work out for two hours every day. It has given me enough stamina.” I keep chasing her. She runs behind one couch and I follow her. “You have provoked the wrong man this time.” She runs crazily, like a child, still laughing, and I follow her like an idiot. She rushes into her bedroom and hops on the bed, rolling to the other side. I shut the door behind me and take a short cut to the other side, grabbing her arm and pushing her down on the bed. She screams again, still laughing, as I pin both her hands to the mattress, her wrists locked in my hands. But when she looks up into my eyes, she recognizes the intensity in them.
We both try to catch our breath, but I’m still pinning her wrists to the bed. I can feel her heart pounding under me. We look at each other, lost, saying no words. Our eyes say everything. Is it the right time to kiss her? As soon as I bring my mouth close to hers, she closes her eyes to avoid my heat. I am an inch away from her lips when she starts to breathe harder and opens her eyes, looking frightened. She glances toward the door, as if somebody is standing there, but I don’t see anyone. I do feel the heaviness in the air that I’ve felt before.
“Let me go.” She closes her eyes again. “Adam, please.” I roll away, releasing my grip, wondering what happened to the laughing Rania who was here a few minutes ago. She sits up immediately, but her eyes are locked on the wall beside the door.
I don’t know what happens to her every time I try to kiss her, but I can see there’s something terribly wrong. I assume some asshole from her past has hurt her so much that her body is conditioned to reject intimate encounters. But it also seems like she feels someone’s presence in our private moments. She’s never frightened when we talk, or dance, or eat together. She is still panting, staring at the wall, and when I touch her on the shoulder, she shrinks back in fear and gives tiny scream.
“It’s just me, Rania.” She looks back to me. I see the same torture in her eyes that consumes her nightmares.
She walks out of the bedroom and I follow her. She fetches water for herself, but she is fighting hard for her breath, leaning against the counter. Her body language warns me not to try to get close to her, or even talk to her. I sit quietly on the couch, but my eyes still watch her every move. She busies herself with picking up our lunch plates and cleaning up the kitchen. She takes out the mop and starts mopping the floor. Why is she cleaning an already clean floor? Is she one of those people who clean wildly to ward off panic attacks? My phone chimes, breaking the silence.
“Yes, Ali. Yes… what? Are you serious? Who? That’s… yes, I’m still here… okay, I’m coming down… you have security? I don’t believe it…” I hang up the phone and Rania looks at me, bewildered. I go down to meet Ali in the lobby. He is waiting for me with the newspaper in his hand.
“Who do you think leaked the news?” Ali asks me. I look at the paper, which has a picture of Rania and me taken outside Moore’s estate. There is another picture of us standing outside this building. The article says that many people saw me go upstairs with her last night, which to them confirms our relationship. How is she going to face her father now? I don’t care what they write about me, but I don’t want her reputation ruined.
I come back to her apartment and sit down on the couch without saying anything. She sits opposite me on the ottoman, but doesn’t ask any questions. She’
s probably waiting for me to say something.
“Here,” I hand her the newspaper. “Someone has leaked the news of our visit to my parents last night. It is also on the Internet.” She just looks at me with shock. “And apparently, the media know that I stayed here with you last night. Some of the photographers are still downstairs, waiting to snap us together for their entertainment magazines.”
Rania covers her mouth with her hands. I don’t know what to say.
“Damn it!” I stand up, raking my fingers in my hair. “I should have backed up the security there, and outside this building.”
She stands up to face me. “Adam? Are you afraid of being caught with me? If my company is spoiling your reputation, then…”
“It’s not about my reputation, dammit. It’s about you. I promised to protect your privacy. This news could easily reach your father, and then he would ask you to stay away from me, which I can’t afford.” I see her shocked face—her expression says she didn’t see that coming. “I don’t know for what bloody reason you’re hiding your past from me, but I am damn sure that those vultures are going to dig out everything about you and I will have to read it in the papers.” I move fiercely about the room. She sits down to regain her balance, as my response has definitely taken her off guard. “I can’t protect you when I don’t know what I’m protecting. I’ve tried to ask you so many times, but you kept pushing me away.” I sit down on the couch and hold her hands. “They’re not here for me, Rania. They’re here for you. So please, if there’s anything you haven’t told me, tell me now.” She just looks at me blankly and I realize she has no plans to spill the beans. Her phone chimes and she drops my hands to answer it.
A Silent Prayer Page 28