NOORA
I wasn't sure why I was nervous, but I could feel my fingers trembling as I knocked on Manal's door. It wasn't like we were best friends or anything. In fact, we had only hung out a few times, and mostly we just talked over the phone when we had a chance. But I liked her. She was kind and a little soft-spoken, and it helped that her husband was Fawaz's best friend. That was why I was here. I had asked Manal to talk to Rayan for me about Fawaz, but instead, she had invited me over. Now, standing outside her house, I wasn't sure if that had been a good idea.
The door opened, and I was met with a wave of giggles and chatter. Manal was standing there, a wide smile on her face. She invited me in and led me to the living room filled with several women, all of them seated around the living room like they were having some kind of tea party.
"Noora! Come in, please," Manal said, ushering me inside.
I stepped in, my eyes sweeping over the room. The women all turned to look at me, their gazes curious. I recognized a couple of them, but the others were strangers.
"Hello," I said, my voice a little tight.
Manal gestured to the group. "These are my sisters-in-law, Kausar, Laila, Nadira, and Asma," she said, pointing to each woman as she named them. "This is Noora."
I forced a smile and greeted them politely, exchanging a few pleasantries. I could feel their eyes on me, and I wondered if they knew why I was here. Probably. News about Fawaz and me wasn't exactly a secret anymore.
After a few minutes of small talk, the women excused themselves, heading to the kitchen. Manal gestured for me to sit down on the couch, and I did, grateful for the momentary break in attention.
"Would you like something to drink? Or maybe some snacks?" Manal offered, her voice warm and welcoming.
"Water would be nice, thank you," I replied, trying to relax into the cushions.
As she disappeared into the kitchen, I let out a quiet breath, scanning the room. It was cozy, filled with warm colors and soft lighting. Very much like how I imagined Manal's personality would be reflected in her home. I could hear her talking with the women in the kitchen, the sound of their laughter trickling into the room.
After a few minutes, Manal returned with a tray of Water and snacks, setting it down in front of me. "I'll go get Rayan," she said softly. "Make yourself comfortable."
She left me alone again, and I took a small sip of the water, the coldness of it soothing my nerves. This was going to be strange. I had never really had a proper conversation with Rayan before, not beyond the casual greetings exchanged when Fawaz and I attended events together. But I needed this. I needed to understand Fawaz better, and Rayan was probably the closest person to him.
When Manal returned with Rayan, he looked... surprised to see me, which wasn't unexpected. He had probably heard enough from Fawaz to know that our marriage was far from smooth. I could feel a small flicker of fear at the thought of how he might judge me. What if he was harsh? What if he refused to help?
But when he gave me a polite smile and sat down next to Manal, some of that fear eased.
Manal glanced between us before she stood. "I'll leave you two to talk. I'll be upstairs if you need anything."
With that, she disappeared, leaving Rayan and me sitting across from each other in the suddenly too-quiet room. He cleared his throat, looking slightly awkward before finally speaking.
"So," he began, his voice neutral, "how are you?"
"I'm okay," I replied, though it felt like a half-truth. "How are you?"
"Good," he said, his expression softening a bit. "But let's cut the awkwardness, shall we? You're here to talk about Fawaz."
I nodded, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly. "Yes... I am. I hope you don't mind."
He shook his head. "Not at all. But first, I think it's best we acknowledge the elephant in the room. I know what's been going on between you two. Fawaz and I... well, we're close, and he doesn't really keep things from me."
I swallowed, already feeling the weight of the conversation. "I... I want to apologize," I said, my voice a bit shaky. "I know I haven't been... easy to live with. And I know Fawaz has probably told you things that don't paint me in the best light, but I'm trying. I really am."
Rayan's expression didn't change much, but he nodded. "You're right. He hasn't said great things, but I also know it's not that simple. Marriage never is."
I bit my lip and looked down at my hands. "I want to know more about him," I said quietly. "I'm trying to talk to him, to work things out, but... I don't know where to start. I don't even know him, not really."
Rayan leaned back slightly, studying me. "Why not just ask him directly? He's your husband."
"I've been trying," I admitted. "But... I think it might help to hear it from someone who knows him well. Someone who's close to him."
He paused, considering my words, then nodded. "Alright. What do you want to know?"
"Everything," I said earnestly. "Anything that could help me understand him better."
Rayan smiled slightly, a bit of warmth creeping into his eyes. "Well, Fawaz is... complicated. He's always been private, even with people close to him. But he's loyal, and when he cares, he cares deeply. He's just not the type to show it easily. He keeps a lot to himself."
I nodded, scribbling down notes in the little journal I'd brought. It was a strange feeling, trying to dissect my own husband through someone else's eyes, but I knew this was necessary.
Rayan continued, telling me about Fawaz's upbringing, how he'd always been the kind of person who shouldered burdens alone, never asking for help. He talked about how Fawaz had a softer side but only let it show when he was sure it wouldn't be taken advantage of.
"He's not used to people pushing back against him, and I think with you, that's been part of the problem. He's never really had to face someone as... strong-willed as you," Rayan said with a chuckle.
I smiled faintly. "Yeah, I guess I haven't made things easy for him."
"No, but maybe that's not all bad," Rayan said, his tone thoughtful. "You both challenge each other. Maybe that's what you need, even if it's been rough."
By the time we finished talking, I felt like I had a better picture of who Fawaz was, even if it was just from the perspective of someone else. I thanked Rayan for his time, grateful for the insight, and when Manal returned, I asked her a question that had been weighing on me for a while.
"How did you manage after you got married?" I asked, my voice hesitant. "How did you adapt?"
Manal smiled softly, sitting down next to me. "It wasn't easy. I only knew Rayan for a few months before we got married. We barely spoke, really. But I trusted the advice of my mother and aunts. They told me that I had to try, to make compromises and get to know him. They were sure Rayan was a good man, and they were right."
She looked at me, her expression kind. "Your parents know you better than you think. They wouldn't have chosen someone they didn't believe would be a good match for you."
I bit my lip, feeling the weight of her words. "It's hard. People know about what's been going on between Fawaz and me."
Manal nodded. "I know. I think the best advice I can give you is to find out why your parents thought Fawaz was the right choice for you. Look for that reason."
When I left Manal's house, I felt a strange sense of calm, like I had a new direction. I wasn't sure if things would work out, but I was willing to try.
Back home, I busied myself preparing Fawaz's birthday present. After digging through his things, I had found his ID and realized I had never even asked when his birthday was. It had taken me some time to figure out what to give him. I hadn't cared before, but now I did.
I had decided on something simple but meaningful: a framed picture of him and his mother. I had asked his father for one, and he had sent me a photo of Fawaz as a child, sitting in his mother's lap. There was a note on the back of the picture, written by his mother, and I had printed that out as well, framing it alongside the photo. It wasn't much, but I hoped it would make him smile.
As I frosted the cake I had baked earlier, I frowned. It hadn't turned out well. The frosting didn't help either. I was terrible at this.
But I wanted to make him feel special. I wanted him to know that I was trying.
Even if I was terrible at baking.
FAWAZ
The TV flickered in front of me, the sound of football highlights playing on low volume as I lounged on the couch. It was just past midnight, and this was the first free time I'd had all day. Between work, meetings, and keeping up with everything around the house, my days always seemed to bleed together. I let out a tired sigh, my attention half on the game and half on the fact that tomorrow was finally the weekend. No early alarms. No deadlines. Just a little peace.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Noora walk into the room. I didn't say anything. We had gotten used to these quiet, detached moments over the past few years—each of us orbiting around the other, never quite making contact. But tonight, something was different. She was holding two wrapped boxes in her hands, her expression oddly...hopeful?
She sat beside me, close enough that I could feel her warmth, but still leaving enough space between us that I noticed the gap. Without a word, she held the boxes out to me.
"Happy birthday, Fawaz."
For a second, I just stared at her, confused. My birthday? I blinked, then reached for my phone to check the date. Sure enough, it was October 11th. I'd completely forgotten. Birthdays had stopped meaning anything to me a long time ago.
I tried to remember the last one that had mattered. It was the first birthday I had without my mother. Baba had thrown this huge party, filled the house with people, gifts, food, all the distractions a kid could ask for. But I'd spent the whole day crying. Nothing could fill that void, and after that, birthdays just lost their shine.
But now, here was Noora, looking at me with those wide, hopeful eyes. She gestured to the boxes again. "Go ahead, open them," she said softly, almost like she was afraid I wouldn't.
I didn't say anything. I just took the first box from her hands, the larger of the two, and carefully peeled off the wrapping. What I saw made my breath catch in my throat.
It was a photo of me and my mother, a picture I hadn't even realized I was missing. It was from when I was a kid, sitting on her lap, both of us smiling like we didn't have a care in the world. I grazed my thumb over her face, my heart heavy with a familiar ache. The kind of ache that never really goes away, no matter how much time passes. I missed her. I missed her so much.
Before I could get lost in that sadness, Noora urged me to open the next box. I hesitated but finally did. Inside was something even more personal—something that made the walls I'd built around my heart crumble, even if just for a moment.
It was a small, framed piece of paper. In my mother's handwriting, it read: The apple of my eye. My Fawaz.
I couldn't hold back anymore. A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I quickly wiped it away, embarrassed, but then I felt Noora's hand on my shoulder. Warm, steady, understanding.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling me into an unexpected hug. "I didn't mean to make you sad. If I had known, I would've gotten you something else."
For a moment, I just sat there, stiff, unsure of how to react. This wasn't like us. We didn't do this—this closeness, this tenderness. But something about her touch, her voice, it softened me. I shook my head, my voice quiet but sincere.
"It's okay," I whispered back. "I'm not upset. I'm... grateful. Thank you, Noora."
She pulled away just enough to look at me, her face lighting up in a way I hadn't seen ever before. "Really?"
"Really." I nodded, meaning it.
She beamed at me, then stood up, grabbing my hand in a way that was more familiar than I expected. "Come with me," she said, pulling me up from the couch.
I followed her into the foyer, still a little dazed. She led me over to the mantle, where she took the frames from my hands and placed them next to our baby's sonogram and our wedding photo.
"Do you like it?" she asked, stepping back to admire her work.
I looked at the arrangement, at the small piece of our lives she had created. For the first time in a long time, I smiled—really smiled.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It's nice."
She smiled, satisfied, then turned to me with that same spark of excitement in her eyes. "Come on. I have one more surprise."
Before I could protest, she was dragging me through the house, into the kitchen. And there it was—a cake. A horribly decorated, lopsided cake. I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing.
She frowned, crossing her arms. "I worked really hard on that, you know."
"I can tell," I said between laughs. "It looks like a toddler made it."
She tried to stay serious but ended up laughing with me. "I know! I'm terrible at baking. But it's the thought that counts, right?"
I nodded, still grinning. She placed a candle on the cake, lighting it with an almost childlike enthusiasm. "Blow it out," she urged, and I did.
She clapped her hands together. "Next year, you'll be thirty! And then, in the blink of an eye, you'll be forty."
I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Are you going to be ageless forever, or what?"
She grinned mischievously. "I sold my soul for immortality. I'm never aging."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "That explains a lot."
We both laughed again, and for the first time in years, it felt easy. Natural.
"Happy birthday, Fawaz," she said softly. "And thank you for being born."
I looked at her, really looked at her, and there it was—the Noora I used to know before we got married. Noora, before everything got so complicated. The Noora I was sure I could make a life with. Not the one I'd been battling for the last three years.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt something I thought I had lost.