Chapter 14

Time has a way of moving forward, no matter how heavy the burdens we carry. My days passed by, filled with moments of joy and frustration—happiness when things were smooth between Faisal and me, irritation at some of his actions, and relief at the quietness of my relationship with Ahlem. Although our friendship hadn’t returned to what it once was, we were still on speaking terms, exchanging simple greetings and small talk. I held onto the hope that things would slowly improve.

As for Faisal, his visits to our house had become more frequent, as he was helping Hassam and his friends set up their new architectural firm. At the same time, he used these opportunities to spend time with me. Sometimes, I noticed a hint of irritation in Hassam’s eyes, and I found myself in awkward situations with no easy solution.

Then came the day Faisal asked me to go for a drive with him at night. I asked Hassam for permission, which he firmly refused. When I told Faisal, he was furious and said that as his wife, it was his right to spend time with me. To his surprise, I responded by saying, "I am your wife when I am in your house. Here, I am still my family’s daughter, and they are responsible for me."

Don’t ask me how those words came out of my mouth; ask me instead what Faisal’s reaction was. He simply grabbed his car keys, muttered, “It’s as if I don’t care about you or your well-being,” and left.

I didn’t respond because I was angry and feared that the situation would escalate further. For some reason, I felt like Faisal was trying to turn me into another Aunt Hana, and I decided it was time to make some changes in my relationship with him. The frequent visits were beginning to cause tension, not just between us but also with others.

Two days passed, and Faisal continued his visits to help with the project, but he didn’t make any effort to see me. At first, this upset me, but then I found the situation more relaxing, less stressful. However, I didn’t like the coldness between us, so I decided to take the initiative and make peace.

I called him that night, and his response was cold as he answered my greeting with a simple, "Wa alaikum assalam."

Trying to sound cheerful and lighthearted, I said, "Has separation made you this grumpy?"

He replied, "It’s the feeling of being rejected by the one you love that makes you grumpy."

Surprised, I asked, "My God, did your beloved push you away, or did you leave in anger?"

He let out a deep sigh before saying, "Mona, tell me what’s wrong, without beating around the bush. I’m your husband, not some guy in a casual relationship. I brought my family from far away to marry you, not to play games. Why do you make me feel like I’m irresponsible or a predator waiting to pounce on you?"

I was stunned by the intensity of his words. His honesty left me speechless, as he voiced the very fears and anxieties that had plagued me. After a long silence, I finally managed to say, "Faisal, you’re mistaken. There’s nothing like that going on."

He responded quickly, "Then why do you and your brother get so tense every time I ask to see you? Do you think I’m oblivious to what’s happening?"

I tried to reassure him, "It’s nothing like that. I respect you too much to think of you that way."

But he pressed on, "Then what is it, Mona? Why do you act as if I’m a stranger trying to take advantage of you?"

I hesitated, then explained, "It’s just that you want to see me every day, and that’s not how things work in our family. Yes, it’s acceptable for a husband to visit his wife, but not every day. If it becomes too frequent, people will start to talk, and that’s not acceptable in our culture. Faisal, please try to understand our customs, just as I’m trying to understand yours so I won’t be shocked later."

There was a long silence before I asked, "Faisal, are you listening?"

He finally replied, "Yes, I’m listening."

I asked, "And what do you think?"

He answered with a heavy tone, "So, my love for you is a problem? My longing for you is an issue? Fine, you can have what you want, but I’ll also have what I want."

Feeling anxious, I asked, "What do you want, Faisal?"

His response left me shocked, "I want to move up the wedding date. Instead of the end of the year, let’s do it during the spring break."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. Moving up the wedding was a disaster for me, with the pressures of school, my final project, and everything else going on. I tried to reason with him, "Faisal, please don’t joke about this. You know it’s impossible."

He cut me off, "It’s not impossible."

I pleaded, "Faisal, don’t put me in a difficult position. You’re giving me two choices: either I stay stressed, and our relationship remains strained, or I risk my academic future. Is that what you want?"

There was a strange silence on the other end, so I repeated, "Faisal, is that what you want?"

Finally, his voice came back, heavy with frustration, "Mona, hang up the phone, please. I’m in a bad mood, and if I keep talking, I’ll ruin everything."

I tried to comfort him, asking, "Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you? Is it me?"

He replied angrily, "Yes, you’re part of it. Work is another reason, and my unstable situation between countries is a third. Mona, please, just hang up."

I said goodbye and ended the call, then broke down in tears. This was the first time Faisal had asked me to hang up the phone with such coldness. It was also the first time we’d left an issue unresolved like this. We’d had many arguments before, especially about my clothes—he wanted me to dress more conservatively, like other women in his family. I agreed to some changes, even though I’d never worn a black abaya like many women do. We’d also argued when he visited me at the hospital where I was training and saw me talking to a male colleague, giving instructions to a nurse, or speaking with a patient’s relative. His temper would flare, and he’d say things about modesty and a woman’s place.

These situations always upset me. I would stay silent when he was angry and then try to talk things out once he calmed down. We always found a solution, and he’d say, “Bear with my anger,” and I’d reply, “I will, but please try to understand the nature of my work. You proposed to me knowing what I do.”

I even agreed not to work after marriage, dedicating myself to our home, just to avoid future conflicts.

You might criticize me for giving up a career that took six years of hard work, but that’s what would have happened anyway. In our community, it’s expected that I would be the family doctor, and my family would insist on it. I didn’t feel oppressed by Faisal’s request to be his personal doctor and the doctor for our future children.

Faisal’s coldness lasted for over a month. He traveled without telling me, didn’t call to say goodbye, and I only found out by chance when I overheard Hassam talking to a friend on the phone. The pain of his silence was unbearable, and the nights I spent during that time were dark and cold, no matter how much light or warmth I tried to bring into the house. It felt like my world was shrouded in darkness, even when the sun was shining.

The midterm exams arrived, and as usual, I found myself in the kitchen, searching for something to eat whenever I wanted to avoid studying—anything to escape the thoughts consuming my mind. I was making a cup of coffee when someone walked into the kitchen. I thought it was Hassam and asked, “Do you want coffee?”

But the voice that answered shattered the darkness that had enveloped me: “Only if I’m worthy of a cup.”