"The tea you offered before; I think I'd like it now."
I nodded with a short chuckle and got up from the sofa, carefully folding the hem of my blanket over Shifa's feet. The unpleasant coldness of the room greeted me with a heavy punch on my stomach and my grip around my shawl tightened.
"Why don't you wear sweaters instead of shawls? They're more comfortable and much warmer."
"I like these better. Anything else with tea?"
Shifa shook her head and passed me a smile that could have pushed me right on my knees if I wasn't too focused on her eyes, red and swollen. I had kept my hold on her strong and to my surprise, she hadn't protested. The tears had stopped soon but the slow, unsteady sound of her uncontrolled sobs had driven me to caress her hair, hoping the touch soothed her the same way it always did with me. And when she detached my arms from her shoulders after a good few minutes and raised her face to meet mine, I knew I had done my job right. One or two hiccups still escaped through her parted lips, but I saw no hesitation or any hint of embarrassment in her eyes which resulted in me giving her a stretched smile full of relief and something more which I dared not put into words. Then, I had dwelled on telling her about my own feelings, which continued to grow even though she specifically said they wouldn't if I spent more time with her, but the idea was forced down by the reason. That wasn't the time for me to throw my burden on her shoulders, that was the time when she needed me to keep my mouth shut and open my mind wide to explore the different aspects of love and how it varied with each person. And apparently, not all Muslim girls grew up with the same upbringings as mine and possessed diverse views of everything related to family and love, so unfamiliar to me and yet existing. The face of my aunt's daughter flashed through my eyes, faded from my memory and a little jumbled but certainly her with hair longer than mine and eyes filled with kindness even for the beggars on the street who cursed when she gave less coin than they wanted.
The idea I had in my mind was still standing and I knew that I would never put one being before my family but it was a rigid mould and wrong for me to just assume that all girls held the same belief. Shifa certainly did not. Nor did Anam, a girl I had played house and prayed Friday namaz with.
How could I have esteemed her characterless for simply falling in love? Sure, the object of her affection was not someone I would approve of. What right did I have when all I wanted was to look a little longer whenever Shifa smiled? When my mind and heart were constantly at a war?
After Shifa's sudden breakdown, I had expected the situation to become awkward and tense but thanks Allah, she didn't try to run away and hide in her room, and I didn't either, which surprised me a bit. Instead, we both sat there quietly and listened to the occasionally loud honking of cars until she asked for tea.
I passed the mug to her and decided to take my leave. The fact that she held the mug from below as if trying not to touch my hands didn't go unnoticed by me and I was sure she saw the raise of my brow but chose not to speak of it.
"Where is your tea?"
Shrugging my shoulder, I said, "It's almost time for namaz, I only made some for you."
Shifa took a small sip and nodded, the words resting on her lips, and I lingered for a second, giving her a chance to say whatever she wanted to and when she didn't open her mouth, I thought of turning back to do my wazu, she spoke. Her voice was too low that I wouldn't have heard her if the room wasn't already so calm.
"You're not how I've thought," she paused, and I knew there was more by the way she inhaled, readying herself to say the next words, "I judged you too soon without bothering to know you."
Once again silence permeated the atmosphere and I watched as she brought the mug to her lips and took a slow sip, her eyes cast down, wholly absorbed in savouring the taste of tea. She wasn't anticipating any reply and I could understand why but somehow, it felt important to let her know that she wasn't the only one to make early judgments. I inhaled and prepared my brain to go along with my heart for the first time in a long history of its betrayal.
"It's fine. I misjudged you, too."
I wanted to say more but the nod of her head, and the wrinkles forming around her eyes as she looked at me stopped me from going further. I could have ruined the whole matter by admitting my sinful desires for her and after a step forward in the direction of, hopefully, a sturdy friendship, I didn't want to plunge myself in the very back with just a few words. Shifa snorted and shook her mug, the steam covering her face with translucence grey, and I only saw her forehead clearly.
"Too bad you're not drinking. I wanted to make a toast."
"With tea?"
"Yes. With tea."
I just shook my head and sauntered toward the bathroom and when I came outside and stepped toward my room, Shifa's voice came again. Like she was waiting for me to come out.
"Why don't you offer your prayer here? I don't want to sleep now."
Without giving her any reply, I went inside the room and returned to the living room with my janamaz in hands. Shifa's eyes were too fixated on my every step, and I restrained myself with everything I had to not look at her, but it appeared to me that she had sworn to make the task of ignoring her difficult for me as I could feel her smile. Drowning my need to mirror her expression, I spread the prayer mat on the floor and took my position. All the while I bowed my head in dua, my mind only repeated the image of Shifa's eyes on me. What was she even finding so entertaining about it? Then, at last, I sat to do the last bit and when I looked up, her gaze was still resting on me. Aware of my ears slowly turning warm, I couldn't help but ask.
"What?"
She only wobbled her head and said, "It's been too long since I had watched someone offering namaz."
"That's not a good enough reason for staring at someone without an ounce of shame."
She threw her head back and opened her mouth to let out loud laughter and squinted at me after, shrugging one shoulder and taking another sip of her tea before saying, so casually, and not caring a little for my sanity, "Not my fault if that someone is painfully adorable."