Chapter 3: CHAPTER THREE

I had a middle seat in a three-seater, but Wahab asked the man to offer me his window seat, at first the man argued but then Wahab played the 'travelling for the first time' card; the man moved without a further question. I found my mother's eyes through the window railings and immediately fixed my hijab, which earned a small, proud smile from her. My father came back to the compartment with a dozen packs of potato chips and a few canned drinks. Following him behind was Wahab's father.

'Don't buy anything from the train vendors, if you want something to eat, just tell me now'

Before I could say that was enough, Wahab's father said, 'So great, Aftab, you could never trust them, vendors, with an alone girl and our Adia, Allah, she is a sweet cow'

I didn't appreciate his comment, but I smiled when he looked at me with a certain expression and took the little pack of mints from his hand. Thanked him and put the pack in my bag. Now, I could say I had something in my bag aside from the phone.

Wahab behind him, though, pulled on his ears and covered his mouth with his hand. I religiously ignored him. Once the trio was content with my seating arrangement, they left except Wahab. I thought he was going to say something, but he only squinted his nose and smiled then left.

The train ride to Delhi from Lucknow was only a few hours but I was bored in the first twenty minutes. I could never comprehend why some people liked to travel alone. In the past, I was always accompanied by a family member or a female cousin. I had nothing to do, I watched people walking along in the narrow space between the row of seats, then stared out the window and watched houses pass then the trees and then at some point, there were just green fields or brown rocks. In the end, I just decided to sleep by placing my head against the window. I stayed in the position with my eyes closed for almost a few minutes.

I couldn't sleep. The sound of people running around and talking was too much and I wasn't exhausted enough to fall asleep in midst of so much commotion. Now, that I was alone— I gathered all the emotions I had and felt almost giddy. Sure, I was nervous and scared, and I was terrified by the move-out— an adventure as Wahab put it. But moreover, I was excited and hyped to finally live the life Wahab had painted for me after I had applied for the test. I was ecstatic to be studying medicine. And I had only one person to give credit to— Wahab. if it was not for him, I would still be just daydreaming about becoming a doctor not trying to make it come true. Thinking about him brought a smile to my face, I was lucky enough that he noticed me. Among so many girls— he saw me and chose me as his companion in life.

The next stop was mine. The relief washed over my body. I stood up and stretched my legs, sitting still for almost six hours was not an easy task but somehow, I survived the boredom and the stiffness. My muscles were pulled and sore, but I channelled my focus on getting my two very heavy suitcases out from under my seat. Once I had both my bags and my duffle bag, on the edge of my feet, I sat back. Throughout the whole journey— there were so many things running in my mind, to begin with, then my phone rang which surprised me— for a moment I had completely forgotten the use of the device. It rang for quite some time, loudly— the tone of some instruments playing, and I wouldn't have guessed it was mine if the man beside me hadn't told me to keep it on silent; he was trying to sleep and the annoyance in his expression made me forget my manners and failed to say a single word to him-- sorry. Embarrassment wouldn't do justice to what I felt, hastily fished out my phone and answered it. In the process of doing it, a few packets of snacks fell out of the bag, the man, who was still trying to sleep sighed out of irritation and picked them up from the ground and dumped them on the seat, I mumbled a small thank you in return— he rolled his eyes before turning his back toward me and resting his head on his right shoulder. Wahab had saved the names on the phone beforehand so I won't have to go through the trouble of doing it. I appreciated his effort but there was a tiny part of me that didn't want him to do trivial things for me.

'Hello?'

'As salam— alyekum, aapi'

My little brother was quick to hang up after asking where was I and I heard his voice telling whoever was standing by him that I was almost there. I assumed it was my mother— she was the only one who had no idea how to call or even use a phone to make a call. She must have scolded Atif for not letting her talk to me and to which he would have replied with a very lame excuse. Once, my mother wanted to talk to one of her sisters and since abbu was in the mosque for his maghrib salat, her last option was to find Atif and force him to let her use his phone. Finding him was easy— he hardly moved from his place on the sofa in the living room— he called the sofa his personal heaven. Atif nodded when ummi asked to call his khala. He dialled the number, put it on his right ear, looked at ummi with a focused gaze and then shook his head— said her network was busy, went back to his game. Ummi waited for abbu to come home. After talking to aunt, she barged straight into the living room, picked the sandal and threw it at Atif's face, he got lucky and the sandal missed his face, but he jumped and squealed before running out of home. Ummi chased him till he was completely out of the front yard without his shoes. Turned out he had never called her, just pretended. Ummi was furious. She kept cursing his name and the phone and whoever invented the phone while she helped me in the kitchen. I listened to her rant but after a while when she refused to stop— I had to send her out. She shook her head and gasped at my boldness.

'Ummi, you go and rest or call khala again. I'll take care of things in here.'

'Can you believe that boy? I begged your father to buy him that rotten thing and now he is fooling me! Me? His ummi jan? Your khala said he didn't call, Adia! Can you believe it? I swear to Allah once I get my hands on your  brother, I'll teach him some lessons.'

I had to listen to her repeat things again and again, I generally hated cooking with her, she would never shut up and sometimes she even brought her hadith in the kitchen and read me stories from it while I cut the onions. I preferred doing things alone, but she insisted to let her stay— in case I needed another hand. I didn't. I never needed another hand. Not with the house chores. And it was little insulting for her to think I couldn't manage the kitchen on my own. Also, I felt the direct attack whenever she said something about me needing a hand— I had been in the kitchen half my life and yet my mother thought I couldn't handle the pressure of a cooker. I came so close to reminding that I was the one who cooked the whole three meals of Eid when Wahab's family came unexpectedly with dozen of his cousins who couldn't make it to the Rishta ceremony. She spent all day with aunts and his mother.

The train was to wait in Delhi's station for half an hour, which was a huge relief. That meant I could easily bring my stuff out of the compartment and on the ground of the platform. Wahab had said, his cousin, Shifa, would be meeting me there but what he failed to do was— show me her picture. Or even give me her number. The thought was worrying me to the core, as I pulled both suitcases behind me. Many people were getting out of the train, it wasn't as hard to climb out as I thought it would be, the moment I stepped out there was a line of men, some of them were standing patiently while some screamed and harassed the passengers to hire them to carry their stuff. I saw a lanky man with a reddish beard trying to grab the bag from a woman's hands as the lady continued to shake her head rapidly. My eyes stopped on a man with grey moustache and an orange turban on his head, he seemed my father's age and I wondered if he was well enough to carry my bags, he looked thin, too thin— almost as if he was sick. I personally believed he shouldn't be there carrying heavy bags at this age; I couldn't imagine my father doing the same. But he was obviously in need to make some money for himself or his family, I made a plan to just let him carry my duffle bag and give the payment, with the perfectly brewed plan, I stepped forward and was about to give him my bags but then another hand touched my arm.

I was not ready to be just touched by anyone, my hand jerked, and the bag flew out of my hands, landed on my right foot but of course, that was not the most humiliating incident, the award in that category easily went to— the sound that escaped my lips. It was a sharp, high—pitched ah with a lot more h's in the end. And that was when I noticed just how strong my voice really was. The minute I did this thing, I knew I would never forget the scene. There stood a girl around my age on my side with an amused grin on her face. The tips of my ears warmed up. I cleared my throat and squatted to pick up my bag, I dusted it and faced the stranger, her eyes were on my bag, so I embarrassed myself even more by clenching the bag to my stomach, my gaze was set on her face and as I did the clenching, she suppressed her grin. Then, finally, thanked Allah, she met my eyes.

'Adia? Wahab's fiancé, right?'

I nodded a bit stiffly. Ever since my engagement with Wahab was publicized, I had people refer me as Wahab's fiancé or Wahab's bride. And the people who called me his bride were the most stupid in my eyes— I was not his bride, not yet.

But I couldn't stop people— they talked, and I accepted the fact that from now on that was all I would be— Wahab's. I had a problem with it, a big problem but learned not to voice it. If I wanted to lead a happy, completed domestic life with him I had to get the part that he always came first. Always. Besides, it was clearly written in Quran that a husband's place is right next to the Almighty and Wahab deserved the title. After I convinced myself to not be bothered by that— it was easier to ignore it. On Atif's birthday— a distant relative from my mother's side of the family only called me Mrs. Wahab, she was just being playful, but I wasn't prepared to be someone's Mrs. before that someone had put a band in my finger. The engagement was just a promise, not an assurance— I had seen so many boys breaking the engagement with a nonsense reason behind it. I told Wahab how I was teased by his name. He simply laughed and said I was going to be his. I didn't say anything regarding the issue again. Though there was so much I wanted to, but I had learned from an early age— sometimes you don't get a say. Especially when it came to the men and their property. They were very protective of it.

'Wow, you get scared easily. I'm Shifa, Wahab's cousin?'