CHAPTER 7 *Unedited

'Take Me Back'

Any other normal happily wedded couple would most likely visit an exotic country for their honeymoon.

But 5 years ago I wasn’t happily married and five years ago no honeymoon was planned or attended to, instead I was dragged to an airport and flown to Toronto, Canada. I was forced into such a pure relationship and isolated. 

In the period of 5 years I accepted and fulfilled a mother’s duty. I attended to every duty, which should have been rightfully assigned to Malika. Woke up during the late hours of the night to sooth Zaisha’s cold, helped her to walk, to form words. 

He never touched me, looked at me and no extra words unless the necessary left his mouth towards me. He avoided me at every cost. 

I was lonely and if I could switch back to the day my Nikah was read to Zayn Shah, I would have whole heartily agreed. If I had the option to step and look 5 years down the line I would have saved myself from the hell I was suffering through now.

My life’s biggest mistake was marrying Zayn Shah, a mistake I would forever regret.

My line of thought was broken apart as the large golden clock hanging from the creamy detailed walls dinged in the eerie and empty living space. My ears registered the sound and a sigh left me mouth as my eyes trained on to the large double doors. A shiver ran through me as I continued to stare at the door with glint of hope.

My stomach rumbled as my eyes swept down to the now cold food spread upon on the dining table, set in portions on two plates. My eyes continued to sway between the glorious food and the door.

Every night was the same. I would wait and wait for Zayn to return from his office duties so we could at least like two civil people share a dinner. But it never happened. In the five years I had lived under the same roof as Zayn, we had never shared a meal together. Not as strangers, not as friends and most definitely not as husband and wife. 

The warmth from the fresh food would seep away as the seconds would continue to tick away and the sunset would wash into a dark night.

It was 12pm.

I gave up.

I pushed back my leather-dining chair from the table and rose. My eyes glistened with wetness as I lifted the plate filled with cold rice and chicken curry. My hands shook as the door slammed open bouncing against the brick walls. My heart raced as I took him in.

He looked troubled, but handsome as ever. His once lush dark hair was now short cut and supported the buzz style. His sharp jawlines supported a dark stubble and his icy blue eyes seemed lifeless and drained.

His eyes locked on to mine as he slowly shoved his foot towards the door closing it and stalked towards me.

“I made dinner,” I stuttered out as I stared down at the food on the plate, which now looked unappealing and displeasing. 

“I’ve eaten,” He grumbled as his hands worked on loosening his silk black tie wrapped around his slim collar.

“Ok,” I whispered, as my hands automatically moved to concealing the pots of food with their respected lids. 

I heard him walk away and move towards the long staircase.

He never cared to ask how I’m doing, how my day went or even if I’d eaten or not. He search out the maid to ask about Zaisha, that’s the length my husband would go to avoid any interaction between us.

“It’s Zaisha’s sports day tomorrow, she wants you there,” I blurted out as I turned away from the table and my eyes leveled with the staircase.  He stilled his movements and looked at me.

“I’m busy.”

“It’s just for a few hours,” I convinced. 

“I have an important meeting.” He bit out, his jaw tense.

“More important than Zaisha?” My eyes widened as the words flew out my mouth. His glare sharpened as his fist, which carried the tie, balled up and his knuckles whitened showing the force he applied. 

“Are you going?” He scowled at me, as his deep voice echoed in the large lounge, bouncing against the tall walls. 

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Then there’s no need for me.” He turned away and strode up the stairs walking to the end of the room, which could be seen, from the lounge. I winced as I heard his bedroom door slam.

Zaisha would be so upset with me. Tears gathered up in my eyes, and my arms trembled as I balanced the dishes on my weak arms and slowly stumbled towards the kitchen to refrigerate the food. My stomach grumbled in agony as I cleared away the table and walked up to the room I shared with Zaisha with an empty stomach.

….

“Zaisha… Zaisha,” I looked down at her snuggled form under the duvet. Her dark thick brown hair identical to mine and Malika’s coiled into tight curls. Her cheeks were rosy and chubby. I laughed as she turned away from me and snuggled into the other pillow, swatting my hands away.

“Come on, it’s sports day today,” I ticked her puffy stomach as she broke out into giggles. Her eyes inched open looking cloudy and sleep filled.

Her blue eyes were memorizing against her deep olive skin tone. 

“I’m racing today,” She stumbled out as she scrambled of the bed and landed with a soft thud on the thick-carpeted flooring. 

“Yes you are, and your going to win right,” I cooed at her, as I walked up to her wardrobe to retrieve her baby blue sports uniform.

“Come on, I’ll help you clean those teeth,” I laughed as she ran to the en suite bathroom. I laid out her clothes neatly on the bed and turned to watch her peek her curly head through the bathroom door.

“Mom,” she screamed out as she came running back into the room. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared up at me. My mind ran back to the day she had uttered her first words and called me mom. Zayn hated it, he always taught Zaisha to call me her Aunty, but she always disagreed or burst into uncontrollable tears. 

“What’s wrong sweetie?” 

“Tinky,” She wailed out, referring to her favorite teddy, as her hands clutched tightly on to my leg. I sighed as I knelt down to her height and smothered her in kisses.

“He’s in the wash, remember you dropped orange juice all over him,” Her eyes widened with realization and she sniffed back the tears. 

“He had a bath?” 

“Yes, aren’t you clever?” I smiled at her as I hushed her towards the bathroom. I cleaned her up and dressed her in a uniform watching her bicker about her running skills.

We both descended the stairs as she skipped ahead pointlessly talking and humming the tune to some popular cartoon show she would watch every morning on Saturdays.

My heart stopped as I saw Zayn at the dining table, his eyes burning into the newspaper, as he glared down at the newspaper probably reading another controversial report on his exporting business.

“Daddy,” Zaisha screamed as she stumbled down the stairs at a faster pace, gushing about her speed.

“Careful,” I shouted behind her as I ran towards her catching her from falling down the stairs. She smirked at me and ran the short distance to her father, clutching on to his muscular arm.

“As-salamu alaykum,” she breathed out as she tried hopping on to his lap, only to be pushed away. I internally scowled at his cold behavior towards his own daughter. He never paid her much attention, he was so engrossed in his business it was sickening.

“Daddy, it’s sports day,” She screamed out as she latched on to his arm tugging his attention from the daily newspaper to her.

I quietly joined the table and applied butter to the heated toast, which sat at the table. I watched the fresh butter melt into the thick loaf and concentrated on keeping my gaze on the table. 

“Madam, would you like anything else?” Mary asked from the kitchen. She was the maid in her mid 50’s who would had attended to our needs from the past 5 years.

“No thank you,” I answered back, as I pushed the chair back and continued to listen to Zaisha bickering with her father. 

“Will you come?” She chanted.

“No I’m busy, have your breakfast,” He dismissed her, and looked down at the newspaper.

I watched Zaisha’s blue eyes cloud over and her lips formed into a trembling pout. 

“Zaisha,” I probed her.

“Everybody’s daddy is coming,” She wailed out, as the tears flowed down her blushed cheeks staining her blue uniform. She landed on the floor and her small hands flew to her eyes rubbing as the tears fell.

Zayn’s eyes focused on me and shot me a glare. He stood up from his chair and pushed away from the table with force, causing the white china to rattle.

“She’s growing older, you need to teach her to stop crying over every little thing. I don’t want a brat for a daughter,” He growled at me stopping Zaisha’s cry.

And I don’t want you for a husband, I thought. 

He stalked towards the door, before harshly turning towards me, his hand frozen on the brass knob.

“My business friends are coming over tonight for dinner, make sure you prepare the food. They requested a meal by my wife not Mary,” His eyes shone with disgust as he called me his wife.

Dinner.

I couldn’t make Indian food. In fact my cooking skills only consisted of boiling vegetables or creating a meal from a packet, that to with the guidance of carefully measured instructions. My mother never taught me or maybe she just never got the opportunity. My heart quenched as my mother’s soft eyes and smile flashed through my mind.

In the past 5 years she would call every two weeks. She kept calling and I kept ignoring, asking Mary to make up some excuses. I hadn’t seen my father and mother in the past 5 years.

My heart was solid and stuck to the oath I had taken on that one dreadful day. I couldn’t forgive them.

“But… I,” He never stopped to listen to the words that flew out of my mouth, instead he walked out of the door and slammed it close behind him.

Tears once again welled up into my eyes, as I softly pushed the chair and walked towards Zaisha who was silently watching us both. I plastered on a smile as I wrapped my arms around her and helped her into her seat. 

“I don’t like daddy,” She whispered, as she played with the detailed cloth on the dining table. 

“No, bad kids say that. Daddy really loves you,” I cooed at her, as I pushed her plate of toast towards her and moved to mixing the sugar in her milk.

“He never does daddy things,” She whimpered as she bit into her toast, her eyes shining with sadness and unshed tears.

“That’s because me and you do mummy things all the time,”

“He never hugs you and mummy and daddy and the baby all share the same room,” She questioned as her eyes looked up towards me.

“I saw it on TV and my friends mummy and daddy always share.”

My eyes shot down as the tears began to build up in my eyes again. How much longer will I have to lie? There’s only so much she’ll take.

Soon she’ll know that her father and so called mother only share a roof but no feelings.

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Thank you for all the attention this book is starting to get, it really means a lot. And a double thank you to everyone of you that leaves me a vote + comment, I love responding to your comments. 

And drama coming soon ha – I’ll update every Friday!

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