1.Meherunnisa
She sat alone in the garden, her gaze fixed on the blue sky above. A gentle breeze stirred the flowers and leaves, making them sway as if dancing to a silent rhythm. The sweet fragrance of blossoms lingered in the air, vibrant and alive.
Yet, despite the beauty surrounding her, sadness weighed down her heart. Though she sat in silence, she was pouring out her sorrows to the Almighty. When one speaks to Allah, words aren’t always necessary; He listens to the unspoken, hears the whispers of the heart. And her heart was heavy with loneliness.
“Allah Ta’ala,”she began softly, her voice almost a whisper,“can I have a friend? Not like the ones I had before. They were kind, but... they laughed at me. Shamima broke her promise and shared my secret with others. She gave friendship bands to everyone, but never to me. Labiba would always whisper with Raima and Shamima right in front of me, and they’d never tell me what they were saying.”She sighed, a bitter edge to her voice.“I just want a friend I can talk to. My husband barely speaks to me. He’s a quiet man.”
She paused, glancing up at the sky as if gauging its silent response.“Not that I’m complaining,”she added quickly.“I’m thankful, Allah, that You gave me such a handsome and intelligent husband. I loved seeing everyone’s reaction at the wedding—they couldn’t believe I’d married someone like him. Even Labiba, Shamima, and Raima were gobsmacked. Watching their faces was... satisfying.”A glint of happiness flickered in her eyes at the memory, but it faded as quickly as it came.
“But he’s so quiet, Allah Ta’ala,”she continued, her voice small.“If I ask him how his day was, he just says, ‘nice.’ If I ask what I should cook, he says, ‘anything you like.’ Even when I ask him how the food was, he says, ‘nice.’ Those are the only words I hear from him.”She hesitated, then let out a small laugh.“Do You know...”She paused, then shook her head, smiling to herself.“Of course You know. But let me tell You anyway. Two days ago, I added extra salt to his food, hoping he’d say, ‘Meherunnisa, there’s too much salt in this.’ But he ate it without a word. For a moment, I doubted myself, wondering if I’d imagined it. So I tasted it, and I nearly spat it out—it was inedible. Poor thing, he didn’t say a word. I felt awful.”She pressed a hand to her chest, a pang of guilt visible in her expression.“He’s a good man, but so silent. I just need someone to talk to.”
She looked down, her fingers tracing patterns in the grass.“In this country, everyone’s a stranger. I don’t even understand their language properly. My English... it’s not good. Sometimes, they don’t understand what I’m saying.”A small, embarrassed laugh escaped her lips.“The other day, I went to buy bananas, but I was so nervous I forgot the word for it. It took me half an hour to make the seller understand what I wanted.”She sighed, her voice barely a whisper.“Can I please have a friend?”
Her plea hung in the air, unanswered. She continued to stare at the sky, lost in her thoughts, when suddenly the doorbell rang, jolting her back to reality. It was unusual—no one ever visited her at this time of day. She stood up, hesitating, then slowly opened the door to find an older woman, perhaps fifty or sixty, standing there. The woman wore a hijab and carried a tray with a small white bag on it.
“Is Arsh home?”the woman asked, her voice warm.
“No.”
“But isn’t today his off day?”
“Yes, but he’s been really busy lately.”
The woman smiled.“Are you his wife?”
“Yes, but... how did you know?”
“He told me he was getting married. MashAllah, you’re so pretty.”
Meherunnisa’s face lit up, and she opened the door wider, inviting the woman in.
From that day on, the old woman became Meherunnisa’s ally. She lived in the same neighborhood, and her husband had once taught Arsh, so she knew him well. Whenever Meherunnisa had free time, she would visit her. The old woman, who Meherunnisa came to know as Aunt Asiya, was often alone during the day, as her husband was usually at work. She had no children, and Meherunnisa filled that void in her life. Though they were from different nations, spoke different languages, and belonged to different generations—Meherunnisa a young Bengali girl from Bangladesh, and Aunt Asiya a Malay woman—they quickly developed a bond that felt like a mother-daughter relationship.
One afternoon, they sat together in Aunt Asiya’s cozy living room, sipping tea. Meherunnisa hesitated before voicing the thoughts weighing on her heart.“Aunt Asiya, I think... I think Arsh doesn’t like me. Maybe his mother forced him to marry me, like in those dramas we watch.”
Aunt Asiya chuckled, raising an eyebrow.“Why do you think that, dear?”
Meherunnisa looked down at her cup, tracing the rim with her finger.“Because I’m not pretty.”
“Who told you that?”
“Everyone.”She smiled sadly.“My mother and grandmother were so worried because of my dark skin. All my cousins have fair, clear skin and long, straight hair. But me? I have brown skin and hair that’s too rough. My mother always feared I’d never get married, that I’d become a burden on my brother.”She took a sip, her gaze distant.“She thought I’d end up like my father’s sisters, living off my brother’s income.”
“First of all, MashAllah, you are very pretty,”Aunt Asiya said firmly.“Beauty doesn’t come from one’s skin tone or hair texture. It comes from the heart, and you, my dear, have a heart as pure as gold.”
Meherunnisa smiled, though doubt lingered in her eyes.“These are just words now. They sound nice, but no one really believes them anymore.”
Aunt Asiya pinched her nose playfully.“Good people still believe them. Arsh believes them, too.”
Meherunnisa let out a snort.“Kochu!”she muttered, using the Bangla term to express her frustration.“The truth is, he doesn’t care about me at all. He ignores me, treats me like I’m invisible.”
Aunt Asiya, who was knitting a sweater, paused and looked up, frowning slightly.“What do you mean? Haven’t you two...?”She hesitated, her voice trailing off as she searched Meherunnisa’s face.
Understanding dawned on Meherunnisa’s cheeks, which flushed a deep red. She lowered her gaze, stammering,“No, I mean, yes... everything is fine.”
Aunt Asiya let out a sigh of relief.“Then what’s the problem?”
“That’s the problem, Auntie. He only remembers me at night. During the day, he barely acknowledges me. I’ve tried to start conversations, but he rarely speaks.”
Aunt Asiya laughed, her eyes twinkling.“Oh, my dear, he’s a man. Men and women are wired differently, especially in arranged marriages. Besides, Arsh has always been quiet—that’s his nature.”
Meherunnisa’s expression softened.“Really? But... I want him to talk to me.”
“He will, in time. Be patient, dear. He’ll come out of his shell. No one can resist our sweet Nisa forever.”
Her face brightened, and she gave Aunt Asiya a shy smile.“Auntie... can I call you Mama?”
Aunt Asiya’s eyes filled with tears.“Of course, my child. You can call me whatever you like.”
Nisa’s smile widened, and she wrapped her arms around her, feeling the warmth of the motherly embrace she had longed for.
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One morning, Arsh was getting ready for work as Meherunnisa made the bed. She heard him mutter something under his breath. She looked over and saw him standing in front of his mirror, button in hand, a look of frustration on his face.
“My button fell off, and I don’t have time to change shirts,”he said, his tone exasperated.
“Wait,”she said, hurrying over with a stapler in hand.“It’ll only take a couple of seconds.”
Before he could object, she had already stapled the spot where the button had been.“There!”she announced proudly.“See? No one will know.”
Arsh stared at her, a faint smile breaking through his usually stoic expression. Her little acts of silliness continued to surprise him. Then, as if on impulse, he reached into his cupboard and handed her something.
“Here’s your pocket money for the month.”
Her eyes widened as she saw the amount on the check.“This much? I don’t need that much money. What will I do with it?”
“It’s yours. Do whatever you want,”he replied, brushing off her protest.“The other money was for groceries.”
Meherunnisa looked down at the check, a strange warmth blossoming in her chest. No one had ever treated her like this before. She felt a swell of emotion, and before she knew it, her eyes were misting over.
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A few days later, Meherunnisa and Arsh visited his eldest sister Salma. She found herself sitting quietly with his sisters-in-law, listening as they chatted animatedly. Arsh, meanwhile, sat with his brother-in-law, occasionally glancing over at her.
At one point, Salma’s mother-in-law turned to her with a scrutinizing gaze.“What’s your educational background?”
“I have a degree in mathematics,”Meherunnisa replied, a hint of pride in her voice.
The woman raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp with sarcasm.“Mathematics! Impressive. You wouldn’t guess it by looking at you.”
Meherunnisa felt a prick of hurt but held her tongue, keeping her composure as best she could.
Later, as she served herself food from the buffet, she overheard two women talking behind her.
“Poor Arsh! I have no idea why Kulsum married him to that girl. She’s got no class, and she’s not even pretty. I wanted Arsh for my own daughter. They would’ve made such a perfect couple.”The woman’s voice was laced with bitterness.“Instead, look at him—poor boy. And I heard his first wife was stunning. Tragic that she died before they could even start their life together.”
The words stung, slicing through her fragile self-confidence. Her appetite vanished. She put down her plate, her heart heavy.
After they returned home, Meherunnisa didn’t say a word. Arsh noticed her quietness but assumed she was simply tired. The next day, after he left for work, she went straight to Aunt Asiya’s house. She sat in the garden, her head bowed, hands clenched in her lap. Aunt Asiya brought out a slice of her favorite chocolate cake, but Meherunnisa didn’t touch it.
“Nisa, dear, you haven’t touched your cake. What happened? You were so happy to meet your in-laws yesterday. Why the sadness today?”
Meherunnisa’s eyes filled with tears.“I was right, Mama. Arsh doesn’t care about me. His mother must have forced him to marry me. He’s still in love with his first wife. I think he’s going to leave me.”Her voice cracked, her fears spilling over in a torrent of words.“What am I going to do? I don’t want to go back to my family.”
Aunt Asiya reached out, taking her hands in a firm but gentle grip.“Silly girl,”she chided softly.“You’re letting the jealous words of others poison your happiness. People like that don’t know anything. They just want to make others feel small.”
But no matter how much Aunt Asiya tried to reassure her, Meherunnisa’s heart was filled with doubt. And so she sat, her head bowed, tears slipping down her cheeks, while Aunt Asiya held her hand, hoping her warmth could soothe Meherunnisa’s troubled heart.
