Chapter 17

My mood improved significantly, and it was reflected in the brightness of my face and the smile I received from my mother in the morning. Her smile was radiant—perhaps it was always that way, and I just hadn't noticed it.

How I wished to throw myself into her arms and tell her how wonderful of a mother she is. Despite my close relationship with her, I've become shy around her as I've grown older. Don't get me wrong—I do show her affection and care, but throwing myself into her arms without a reason is something I haven't done in a long time. I settled for a smile and a morning greeting, took the teapot from her hand, prepared breakfast, and went to wake up Omar and Hussam for a family breakfast, something we hadn't done in ages. During school days, everyone is busy, and on weekends, everyone wakes up at their own pace. So, I decided to declare my joy and make this day feel like a holiday because only on holidays do we have a family breakfast together.

Hussam got up because his work requires it, but Omar gave me a hard time, so I forced him to wake up in the most classic way—by pouring a cup of water over him. But since I'm kind-hearted, the water was warm, not cold. I left Omar to dry himself and went back to finish preparing breakfast. I asked my mother to sit down and let me take care of everything.

Omar joined my mother, leaning on her shoulder and pretending that waking up early was going to kill him, while my mother held him close, comforting him. I looked at him with a mix of envy and disdain. Do you think Omar would stay silent? Of course not—he's Omar. He replied to my look by saying to my mother, "Mom, your daughter is having a celebration today, and we're forced to celebrate with her. She must have spent last night with her beloved, and now she's so happy that she thinks it's a holiday." He added dramatically, "When will my holiday come?" He raised his hands in a mock prayer and said, "Oh God, bring my soulmate closer to me."

I was so thankful when my mother didn't comment on Omar's nonsense and simply silenced him by saying, "Amen." She took the teapot and uttered the phrase we've heard from her since we were children, "Say 'In the name of God, the Most Merciful, the Most Compassionate' before you eat, so God blesses your food and keeps any harm away."

Hussam joined us, completing the family circle. As soon as he sat down, he asked, "What's the occasion for this family breakfast?" Omar casually replied, "Today is a holiday." Then he added mockingly, "I just hope that someday I won't be forced to celebrate every day."

Hussam laughed heartily and said, "Who would hate a holiday?" Omar replied, "Of course, no one hates the Muslim holidays, but what do other people's private holidays have to do with me?" Hussam took a sip of tea from my mother's cup and said, "And whose private holiday is it today?" Omar, as usual, was quick to reply, "It's hers," pointing at me.

Despite my embarrassment, I responded calmly, "Hussam, let him be—if he stays quiet, something bad might happen to him today." And indeed, Omar didn't stop, while Hussam tried his best to stifle his laughter so as not to upset me. My good mood wouldn't allow me to get angry, and my mother was happy with our gathering, smiling occasionally and joining in on our conversations and some of Omar's jokes. It truly felt like one of the holidays.

I realized then that our sour moods are like dark clouds that block the sunlight from shining through.

The holiday ended peacefully—of course, you'll ask about Faisal. He called me every night around midnight because he was very busy with wedding preparations and arranging things so he could take a long vacation. Honestly, I thanked God that I'm just a girl who only has to worry about herself and her own preparations. But for a man, the responsibilities are huge—arranging the house, furnishing it, dealing with builders, and so on. May God help anyone who is about to get married.

Before leaving for the city where I study, my mother had a private conversation with me. She told me about her plans for my wedding. She said they would rent an apartment or a small house in Faisal's city to prepare me for the wedding, so it would be easier for Faisal and me to manage all the traveling, moving, and wedding arrangements. There would be a small gathering with family and friends before we travel, in place of the henna party. I objected to the idea of traveling and renting an apartment, but my mother had a different perspective. She explained that they would have to travel to attend my wedding, and it wouldn't be appropriate for them to stay at Faisal's family's house or a hotel, so renting an apartment or house would give us independence and make Faisal's family proud of this union. She added, "We want them to know that we value our daughter and will do whatever it takes to make her wedding day special."

Then my mother said something that both shocked and scared me. "My dear, Faisal is a wonderful man, and it's not easy for his family to accept that he chose a girl who isn't from their region. They accepted you out of respect for him, so we have to make them proud of his choice by showing them that we respect ourselves and them."

After that, she gave me advice to prepare me for my new life. She said, "You must understand that marriage isn't just about a man and a woman. It's about building relationships little by little. Faisal won't be separated from his family, so you must learn to separate your relationship with your husband from your relationship with his family and not let the two affect each other."

Seeing the confusion in my eyes, she continued, "Believe me, dear, it won't be difficult at all. Just act according to your faith, upbringing, and morals without overthinking or misinterpreting things. If you do, you'll find that your life will run smoothly."

"And whatever you do, don't involve yourself in Faisal's issues with his family. Let him handle them on his own because any change in his behavior will be blamed on you. So, don't get between him and his family."

When my mother finished talking, I couldn't hold back my emotions and threw myself into her arms. She held me close with all the love and care that would never end.

Then Omar saw an opportunity to joke and pulled me away from my mother's embrace, saying, "Please, this is private property. Stay ten meters away." I didn't move an inch, pulling away from his grip and returning to my mother's arms with the stubbornness of a child. Omar repeated his move, and we playfully fought over our mother's hugs until Hussam came in and said, "Aren't you going to change your clothes? We'll be late, and I don't want to arrive at night." I got up from my mother's arms, pointed at Omar's head, and said, "She's public property to everyone in this house."

My mother was laughing from the depths of her heart at our antics. Feeling a rare surge of courage—perhaps because I sensed that my days with this family gathering were numbered—I wanted to seize every moment of joy. I went to Hussam, who was standing nearby, and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward our mother while he laughed at my actions, surrendering to my pull. I sat him down next to her, and as soon as he was seated, my mother hugged him with one arm, holding me with the other. I quickly left them to their jokes and ran to grab my phone. It was a sight to behold, so I took a picture of them together. The photo radiated joy and warmth.

No sooner had I taken the picture than Hussam called out, "Hurry up, Mona, we’ll be late!" I left my phone behind, ran upstairs to change, and then headed off with Hussam to the city where I study.

On the way, my phone rang with a special ringtone, letting me know it was Faisal calling. I answered shyly, as this was the first time I’d spoken to Faisal in Hussam's presence. After greeting me, Faisal said, "Where are you?" I answered, "I'm in the car with Hussam." He replied mischievously, "And did you know that I miss you? Did you know that I'm madly in love with your eyes? Do you know what your frightened look did to me when Hussam had his accident? It captured my heart." He paused and sighed.

As for me, I was silent—not because this was the first time Faisal had flirted with me, but because it was the first time I realized that my husband was sneaky. He seized every opportunity to tease me, especially in front of Hussam.

Then Faisal asked, "Why are you so quiet, love?" I replied, "Do you want to talk to Hussam?" He said, "No." So I handed the phone to Hussam and put the call on speaker, allowing Hussam to talk comfortably while I heard Faisal's teasing voice, saying, "Oh, you shy one," to which I replied, "More like a dodger."

As soon as Hussam took the phone, he burst into laughter, and I immediately thought Faisal had told him everything, trying to embarrass me. But I changed my mind when I realized they were discussing work and some mutual friends, and the conversation had nothing to do with me. The call ended without Faisal asking to speak to me again, and I silently thanked him for that.

Imagine yourself in my place—your husband flirting with you in front of your brother! What would you do? It was an incredibly embarrassing situation.

When I finally arrived home and started organizing some things, I found it hard to concentrate. So, I called the person who had distracted me, seeking revenge.

He answered on the first ring, saying, "How are your nerves, my dear?" I replied, pleading, "Faisal, you're playing with me in front of Hussam. Please don't do that again. My shyness around Hussam has doubled since our engagement." He responded dreamily, "And how does your shyness around me compare? Is it inversely proportional to your shyness around Hussam?"

I answered with a statement that carried multiple meanings, "This is a question you excel at answering." He replied, "Shall I answer with what I excel at?" I said, "As you wish. Have I ever stopped you from saying what you like? You exploited my shyness and silence to the fullest."

Faisal laughed heartily, and I listened with great longing. Then he said, after catching his breath, "Do you still feel shy around Hussam to this day?" I replied, "Yes, I do." Faisal answered understandingly, "That's normal, but don't overthink it, so it doesn't affect your natural relationship with your brother. It's hard to go back to how things were." I answered confidently, "I don't think it will go that far. I don't find this shyness unusual—just normal." I nodded my head as I spoke—how silly of me to think he could see me. Then I added, "But please don't embarrass me and don't do that again." He responded playfully, "What, what? Repeat what you said—I do what I please, joke, get angry, even hit."

When he mentioned hitting, my eyes widened, and I objected strongly, "Hit! Why? Do I have no family to protect me?" He replied, "I am your family, and I can do whatever I want."

I asked him with a pleading tone, "Faisal, are you serious?" He answered, "What do you think?" I said, "I'm sure you're joking." He responded, "Yes, I'm joking. My experience with the first woman I ever hit taught me that a man loses his manhood if he ever lays a hand on a woman, no matter how strong or seemingly tough she may be. God gave men physical strength greater than women, and if a man uses that strength against her, he wrongs himself, his mind, and his masculinity before he wrongs her."

I cautiously asked, "Faisal, did you hit a woman?" He replied, "Yes, one of my sisters. Don't ask which one because if I tell you, you'll focus on my behavior with her and judge me accordingly. Even though my behavior with her is just like with my other sisters now, knowing this will make you see things that aren't there."

I respected his wish, but my curiosity got the better of me, so I asked, "Faisal, why did you hit her?" There was a long silence before Faisal finally said, "It was a period of recklessness and immaturity." I asked, "How old were you at the time?" He replied, "And does age matter? Some people act maturely at twelve, while others remain adolescents at thirty." I said, "Age is usually the measure of such things." He replied, "Change your perspective on this because life will shock you with people who are physically old but mentally young."

I interrupted, "Faisal, don't change the subject. You scared me—why did you hit her?" He answered calmly, "Let me finish, and you'll understand." He continued, "When my father passed away, I was in my first year of college. Before he died, life was like a dance around me. My friends were of all kinds—religious, non-religious, and in-between—but what we all had in common was good morals. We drifted apart when I entered college and met people from all walks of life, many of whom were into partying and girls. This world was entirely foreign to me, and with the reckless curiosity of a young man, I wanted to explore it. My recklessness only increased after my father's death, to the point where I got deeply involved in this corrupt world."

I listened, astonished that this was the same Faisal I knew. I asked fearfully, "Faisal, did you disobey God? Did you do something forbidden?" He replied, "I never drank alcohol—not because of religious reasons, but because I can't stand its foul smell. I never got involved with women either, not out of piety, but because I would feel no different from an animal if I did so." He paused before continuing, "But that doesn't mean I stayed away from sin. I sat with people who drank, flirted with girls, and worst of all, I upset my mother."

Thank goodness our conversation was over the phone, for my face was burning with embarrassment and anger. But I kept my composure, as if he were talking about someone I didn't know. I cut him off, wanting to get back to the main topic, "Faisal, you still haven't told me why you hit your sister." He replied, "Let me finish, and you'll understand why." He continued, "After my father passed away, I felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility, one that I was far too young to handle. I rebelled against my mother, started going out more, neglected my father's company, and entrusted it to someone my father trusted, all while I focused on living a life of pleasure and distraction. I spent money and gave gifts just to hear sweet words from a girl, words that would intoxicate me and make me forget my responsibilities. All this, yet I still found myself consumed by doubt, creeping into my heart like a spider's web ensnaring its prey. I began to suspect everything happening in our house. I questioned why my mother visited her relatives and allowed my imagination to take me to places that disrespected the very person who was the crown of my head—my mother. I doubted my sisters' phone calls with their friends, until one day, the bomb exploded."

I listened intently, eager to learn what had happened. I felt as if I were reading a suspenseful novel, unable to believe this was the same Faisal I knew.