21. 𝒀𝒂 𝑹𝒂𝒃𝒃

With a gentle nudge, I closed the door using my hip, balancing two cups of steaming coffee—one for Hassan and one for me. Making my way to Hassan's side of the bed, I carefully set the cups down, glancing over at him cocooned beneath the gray blankets.

I reached out, my hand landing on the top of the blanket. Slowly, I pulled it down to avoid startling him. Hassan's closed eyes opened and met mine after I planted a soft peck on his cheek.

"Coffee?" I asked, gesturing towards the cups. Following my gaze, Hassan noticed them on the bedside table. Mine contained milk, while his was black, no sugar. He quietly declined.

His beautiful green eyes, usually sparkling with life and warmth, now seemed dimmed and clouded. The lively glint that mirrored his spirit had dulled.

After nearly a month of bliss, Hassan was grappling with another depressive episode. This morning, after an unusually prolonged sujood, his silence and unresponsiveness hinted at what was to come. He had let me know he wasn't feeling the best mentally before going back to bed, and though it eased my worry that I wasn't in the dark about things, the feeling of helplessness still lingered. I just had to continue praying and watching over him.

Watching him, the man I loved, deal with this emotional storm, left me with an ache in my chest. I yearned to remove the sadness that dulled his spirit, to restore the spark that usually danced in his eyes. I felt a bit lost as I stared at the now useless cups of coffee because I didn't want to drink mine if he wasn't gonna drink his.

"Can you-" Hassan started but cut himself off with a heavy sigh as he rubbed down his face.

"Yes" I urged, eager to assist him in any way.

"Can you hold me please" He asked in a small voice, his face turning pink. He angled his face downwards and was playing with his fingers.

My heart swelled. Without a word, I shifted closer, leaning against the headboard, arms open in invitation. A small smile played on his lips as he nestled against my chest, his arms wrapping tightly around me. I stroked his back with one hand, the other running through his hair.

I started reciting our favorite surah. Surah Ar-Rahman is a beautiful chapter in the Quran often called "The Most Merciful." It highlights the countless blessings from the Creator and encourages gratitude. The repeated question, "Which of the favors of your Lord would you deny?" makes you take a step back and reflect on the many gifts around us that we often take for granted.

'He released the two seas, meeting [one another]; Between them is a barrier so neither of them transgresses. So which of the favors of your Lord would you deny? From both of them emerge pearl and coral. So which of the favors of your Lord would you deny?'

The Surah describes the wonders of the natural world, urging people to appreciate the beauty and design in everything. It emphasizes Allah's mercy in creation, sustenance, and guidance. The rhythmic verses create a soothing melody, making it a source of peace for us.

Every few minutes Hassan would snuggle himself closer to me as if there was any space between us with the way we were pressed against each-other.

"Hassan," I began tentatively, "what do you want for lunch?" My voice carried a softness, a careful tiptoeing around the fragility of his emotions whilst continuing the soft caress of his head.

The reply came, almost a whisper, "I don't feel hungry, babe."

"But you have to eat before you take your afternoon medications" I insisted patiently.

Hassan usually eats like he's eating for two people so his current lack of appetite, weighed on my heart.

He was quiet for a while until he quietly asked "Can you make me some brownies ?"

A smile creeped up on my face as I responded, " Ofcourse. I just need to go to the store and get the ingredients for that and stock up on groceries. You'll be alright alone for a short while?"

Normally, I wouldn't hesitate, but Hassan, in this state, felt different. His increased need for closeness and emotional support made me wary of leaving him alone during such moments.

"Don't leave, please. Let's take a nap instead," he mumbled, pulling me closer. In his eyes, heavy with sadness, all he seemed to desire was the solace of sleep.

My resolve wavered, teetering on the edge of agreeing to the nap, until the pressing need for groceries pulled me back. "Baby, there's no food or ingredients here. I promise I'll be back soon." I reassured him, feeling the tug-of-war within myself—wanting to provide comfort but also needing to fulfill our practical needs.

His grip softened, and he rolled onto his back, offering me a sad smile as he covered himself in the heavy white blanket. "I'm sorry for being difficult," he said, his apologetic tone carrying the weight of vulnerability.

In that moment, I realized that, though he apologized, there was nothing difficult about him. He was dealing with something immense, something that couldn't be measured in degrees of difficulty. And all I could do was be there for him, offering love and understanding.

"Hassan," I spoke softly, "you're not being difficult. I want to be here for you. It's okay to feel this way, and you're not alone in it."

As I spoke, I reached out, gently holding his hand, hoping that the touch would convey the depth of my support. "I know it's hard, and I can see the strength it takes to face these moments. But you're not burdening me. In fact, being here with you is exactly where I want to be. We're a team, Hassan, and we'll get through this together."

"I love you," I added, not as a remedy but as a reminder that our love would always be the constant anchor, even in the stormiest of seas.

Hassan pulled me into a tight embrace. His arms enveloped me, offering solace in the language of a warm, heartfelt hug. "Thank you, Halimah, I love you so much more" he whispered again, his voice still carrying the tremor of emotion.

As we held each other, time seemed to stand still, allowing the comfort of the embrace to seep into the depths of us.

Eventually, he reluctantly let go

his eyes reflecting a mixture of love and appreciation.

Rising from the bed, I made my way to the wardrobe, my fingers grazing the fabric of the abayas. I selected the first one that met my touch, the material flowing gracefully as I draped it over myself. Veil and niqab followed suit, and with my purse in hand, I walked towards, sealing my departure with a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Hassan's voice lingered with a tender reminder as I stepped out of the room, "Don't forget to recite Ayatul Kursi."

With a soft smile, I looked back, our eyes meeting, soft smiles on our faces.

"Thank you," I replied, the words carrying the warmth from his thoughtfulness.

As I stepped out of the house, an unsettling feeling nestled in my chest, that I could not explain. There was an unshakable feeling of forgetting something crucial, and it made me eager to leave and come back. I'm probably getting anxious over nothing.

~

Hassan's Pov

Sitting there in the quiet room, I found myself just staring into space, waiting for Halimah to come back home. If only I could muster the strength to get up and be there for my wife, but I couldn't. I felt weak.

On some days, it's easier. I can push away those nagging thoughts and genuinely enjoy happy moments with my beautiful wife. I try to be a good husband, and I thought I was doing well. I take my medicine, and I even started talking to a therapist . So why am I still not okay? Why can't I just be the man she deserves?

The constant fear lingers in my heart, a heavy weight that tightens its grip whenever I think of Halimah. I'm terrified that she'll grow frustrated with my inability to fit into the mold of everyone else. Despite her assurances that she won't abandon me, there's a haunting worry that she might eventually reach a breaking point.

I don't doubt her sincerity when she tells me she won't leave my side, but an overwhelming guilt engulfs me. I feel like a burden, a source of distress that I'm unwillingly imposing on her. The thought of plaguing her with my struggles casts a shadow over the love she professes, creating an ache within me.

I found myself alone in the dimly lit room, the weight of my own thoughts pressing down on me like an unbearable burden. The atmosphere seemed to absorb the flickering shadows, reflecting the turmoil within my mind.

The room, still and silent, became an echo chamber for the chaos unfolding within me. The air, thick with tension, clung to my skin like an invisible shroud.

Restlessness took hold of my hands, their constant clenching and unclenching betraying the inner struggle. Memories, both beautiful and painful, intermingled in a relentless dance, each step leaving an imprint on my consciousness. Laughter reverberated, only to be drowned out by the haunting whispers of self-doubt.

"Hassan, you better not touch my ice cream – you don't even like it, you're just paying back because i accidentally ate yours!"

I shot her a sly grin, spoon poised for a dip into the tub of ice-cream. "Well, since you accidentally devoured mine, it's only fair that I'm also allowed to make the mistake of eating yours," I teased, ready to indulge in the frozen treat.

"Hassan!" Her playful protest reverberated through the kitchen as she leaped at me across the counter, fingers firmly clutching my hand that held the tub .A tug-of-war followed , with me trying to pull it forward and her determinedly yanking it back. In the midst of our struggle, an extra surge of force from halimah sent the melting tub of ice cream to pour right on her face.

Retreating cautiously, I backed away from the kitchen. But she, with a determined glint in her eyes, began to stalk around the corner.

"Hassan, you're in for it now."

Laughter erupted uncontrollably from my chest as I tried – unsuccessfully – to make a quick escape. Anticipating my moves, she pounced, leaping onto my back. I tried to make her let go but she started tickling me which led to me collapsing to the ground in laughter.

The room felt like a battlefield, my mind the battleground. The mix of emotions played out in my head. A war waged between the highs of fleeting joy and the lows of persistent darkness.

"You're not good enough," one voice sneers, it's words like a venomous serpent injecting doubt into the very core of my being. Another voice, harsh and judgmental, echoes, "Why bother trying? You'll only fail."

As I try to make sense of my thoughts, these voices just keep on criticizing me, making me feel less confident. Their words feel heavy, like they're pressing down on me, making it hard to see any hope. It's like the air gets all thick, and it's tough to breathe.

"You're a burden to others," accuses one voice, echoing the fears that lurk in the corners of my mind. Another voice chimes in, "No one cares about you, not even halimah. You're better off alone."

In desperation, I clutched my ears, yearning to muffle the taunting sounds. Yet, this wasn't external; it stemmed from within. I found myself trapped, unable to escape the torment that resided inside me. The whispers, more like sinister hisses coiling around my thoughts.

"Ya Rabb" I called out tearfully into the empty room.

I need to make it stop. I need to not think. I need something.

Driven by frenzy, I rushed to the bathroom cupboard, desperately searching through its contents for solace from the inner turmoil. Finally, I laid my hands on what I was looking for.

Sleeping pills.

I hastily grabbed two and tossed them into my mouth, hoping for a quick relief. After a few minutes, the voices intensified, compelling me to reach for the bottle once more. I swallowed more pills, cannot for the life of me remember the exact count. All I craved was the respite of sleep, a brief escape from the torment that surrounded me.

As I turned to make my way back to the bed, an unexpected dizziness engulfed me. The world spun wildly, disorienting my senses. Desperately, I reached out for the sink, my fingers gripping its edge to anchor myself. The room seemed to sway, a disconcerting movement of shadows and blurred edges.

Each step back to the bed felt like moving through a fog. I could feel the grogginess creeping in, a heavy haze settling over my mind. The sounds around me became distant echoes, and the room seemed to pulse with an eerie rhythm.

With each passing moment, a sense of detachment overcame me. The familiar surroundings blurred, and the sink became my lifeline in this disoriented state. The effort to stay upright grew increasingly challenging, my body succumbing to the sedation of the pills.

Finally, the struggle became too much. My grip on consciousness slipped away, and the room plunged into darkness as I surrendered to the encroaching unconsciousness.

The last sensation was a fleeting awareness of losing control and a fading whisper before being engulfed by an abyss of darkness.

You're not enough.

~

Ouu Ramadan Mubarak ygs. Please remember the people of Palestine as you make duas. Ameen to every dua.

Please vote and comment.

Sooo Ramadan is upon us and I won't be as frequent because I'm trying to stack up on my good deeds, and you should too.