CHAPTER ONE
“I prayed this morning.”
That was the sentence that started my love story. That was the sentence that made me take a chance in the hopes of finding myself. In the hopes of finding my heart.
“You pray every morning,” my shrink had stated in return, smiling softly at me. “What makes this particular prayer stand out to you?”
I had lifted my shoulders half-heartedly despite having an answer to his question. Mr. Fourie's lips tilted upwards once again, a knowing glint in his oval eyes.
“I asked God for a perfect relationship.”
Those words were almost whispered into the quiet, tranquil styled room. It received a raise of Mr. Fourie's left eyebrow, earning a slight tilt of his head to the side.
“I thought you were done with relationships,” he had said. “Thought that nothing good comes with it. Isn't that what you said Ms. Davids?”
“I said that,” I agreed immediately, “And I am done with relationships.” In the silent room I sighed softly. My shoulders lifted on their own accord again. “It was a long prayer. The words sort of just slipped out at the end.”
Mr. Fourie had crossed his hands over his knee at that point of the conversation and my spine straightened, my body mentally and physically shielding itself against the wise words that were sure to come. It was a telling sign of his. One of many I had come to pick up on during the two years I had been seeing him. Wise words were always harder to swallow.
“Nothing comes out of nowhere, Ms. Davids.” The soft smile graced his face. “Nothing comes from nothing. We physically do and say things that secure our personality and front in this world, but there's a whole other world in here.” His fingertips softly grazed the width of his forehead. “Open it and you are exposed. Your demons, hopes, dreams… fears. Naked. For everyone to see.”
I had crossed my arms over my chest at this point of the conversation. I knew what was coming as if it was the upcoming line in a novel I would be reading for the millionth time. Mr. Fourie would ask me the same question he always did and I would give him the same answer I always did. For two years, we never strayed from our unplanned script. This question and answer thing we had going on. But, since that day was the start of my love story, unbeknownst to me, things had to be done differently.
“What is your biggest fear, Ms. Davids?”
My answer came immediately, as things do that we were prepared for. “I fear getting hurt,” I had admitted.
After two years we were at the point where it was no longer painful to admit. We were at the point where it was just an admission, just words… no longer mirroring an actual fear. At least, that was the way my answer sounded. Indifferent. Matter of fact. Arms crossed, I had wished we were at the point where it was no longer a fear.
I knew what was supposed to come next. Mr. Fourie would agree with me and when I became teary eyed, which was bound to happen eventually, we would advance to a safer ground.
For two years, we followed this distinct pattern. Perhaps that was the reason I admired Mr. Fourie as much as I did. He was a comfortable level in my life. A safety net. Always listening. Never pushing. But, since that day was the start of my love story, unbeknownst to me, things had to be done differently. For that reason, Mr. Fourie burst ourselves out of the safety net we had formed. For that reason the unwritten script we had been so carefully following went straight into the trash can.
That day I watched as the man who always leaned forward at that particular part of the conversation, at that particular part of the script- the man with the gentle smile that always formed a dent on his chin- that man- I watched that man's lips form a straight line. I observed him straightening on his plush sofa and knew things would never be the same from that moment forward. The heavy feeling that had seemed to find its home in the pit of my stomach bore witness to that feeling. I just never knew how different things would be.
“Do you want to know what I think, Ms. Davids?”
For a while I had just stared at him, the man I had only professionally known for two years. For some reason, with my piercing, unblinking gaze on Mr. Fourie, it felt as if I saw him for the first time. Not the shrink I had been meeting every Thursday for the past two years, but the aging man who had been evaluating me. He seemed more human then, if possible. Less professional when straying from the script we were both so used to.
A quick bark of laughter escaped me and my gaze wandered around the dimly lit room in a rapid pace. What I was looking for or looking at was a mystery, but I could no longer hold his gaze. His bottle green eyes were seeking out mine though, in the dimly lit room, but when I made no move to meet him half way, he repeated his question.
This time, when he spoke, I could hear that the soft smile was back on his face. The detection was clear in his voice and I wondered if the little dent was back on his chin. I made no move to check though.
“Do you want to know what I think Ms. Davids?”
Mr. Fourie continued despite my silence.
“I think that getting hurt is not your biggest fear.”
My answer was a scoff. My legs and arms crossed on their own accord.
“Not even your second biggest, I'd argue,” he had claimed. “But nothing comes from nothing, remember? To get to the point of you getting hurt, somethings needs to happen. Thus, your biggest fear is not you getting hurt. Your biggest fear is what will lead up to you getting hurt.”
Another scoff.
“Your biggest fear is not being good enough.” A beat. “To not be good enough you would have to fail at whatever task you were committed to or commitment you were withholding. For this reason,” he counted down on his fingers, “Not being good enough, then being a failure and last but not least, this would result in you getting hurt.”
My nose had burned at that point. My eyes had found the ceiling in an attempt to keep the moisture that was slowly forming on my bottom eyelid at bay. I shook my head with a smile of disbelief on my face. Disbelief that we were actually really going there. Disbelief that the safety net was permeable after all.
Mr. Fourie continued. “Am I right?”
I clenched my fists at my sides, a shaky action, the drawings on the ceilings now unrecognisable under the tears that covered my eyeballs like fitted blankets. Or the way the clouds blanketed Table Mountain, a sight I longed for in this strange town I had been calling home for almost eight years.
“You fear not being good enough.” His voice was soothing under the hurt. “Like your father always told you you were.”
My lips trembled.
“Like your mother always treated you.”
My shoulders heaved with uncontrollable emotion.
“The way your sister, your once best friend, would look at you now.”
A lone tear trailed down my flushed cheeks, hardening my already clenched jaw. I could already tell my hijab would bear witness to my breakdown. If only it was waterproof, I had thought.
“You fear not being enough despite all the work you've put in. Despite the fact that you own your own successful dentistry practice. Despite being your own boss, despite being beautiful, financially stable… Independent. You fear that despite all this, someone will still look at you and say that you're not good enough.”
Another pearl-shaped tear slid down from my honey brown eyes, creating a pathway around my dotted mole. This was the part for Mr. Fourie to back down, like he always did when I lost control, which I always did. Perhaps, after all, the safety net hadn't been entirely penetrated. We could still return to its comfort level if we wanted to, but Mr. Fourie really did not want to.
“Not a good enough friend, which is why they were always your sister's friends. Never yours.”
As much as I tried to hold it in, the beads of tears started falling one after the other, no longer loners, holding hands as they slid down my cheeks as if united in my pain. I averted my gaze towards the window and at the sight I saw, the walls that had been so sturdy in holding me up until then, crumbled in front of me. The universe was crying with me too, its tear streaks clinging to the window only to be washed away by another droplet of agony. Perhaps the universe too felt inadequate in this globe of ungrateful trotters. The thought made the tears stream faster.
“Not a good enough wife, like your father always complained about all the wives he's ever had.”
I finally looked at Mr. Fourie. In a silent plea, my puffy eyes begged him to stop. To do what he always did. Listening. Never pushing. He did not abide to my silent plea, however, only gave me a soft smile in return telling me what I already suspected. Things would never be the same again. Through my tear filled gaze, I could not identify the dent in his chin that I knew was there.
“Not a good enough mother,” he said in a pitch lower than a whisper, so gently, as if he knew that this one would be my undoing, “like your own is guilty of.”
I released a sorrow filled breath then, only one. A broken, harsh breath that I failed to recognise as my own for a second. If it was a movie, I would have fell to my knees then. My company would have surrounded me, dropping to their knees in front of me, whispering empty promises into my ear. But it was only my life, so none of that happened. I continued peering at the droplets falling heavily onto the window, the patter patter sound it made somewhat soothing against my uneven breaths.
“Oh, Huda,” Mr. Fourie had sympathised, handing me a box of tissues I had never noticed before. With shaky hands, I had reached out, clutching onto it for dear life. I didn't use it, not to wipe my tears anyway. Just to anchor me to this world so the pain couldn't take me away.
“Huda, Huda, Huda,” Mr. Fourie had almost sung. “Broken, beautiful, perfect Huda. You are none of the things they said about you. You’re not rude, just too honest sometimes. You are not selfish, just aware of what you are not worth. Now you just have to realise all the things you are worth. You are not insensitive, or heartless, or stuck up.”
My lips trembled.
“But you are loyal and—”
“Loyal,” I had finally spoken with a sniff, “I am not loyal.”
Mr. Fourie had leaned forward then, determination in his aging eyes. “Why?” he had questioned with hard eyes. I was taken aback at this display of emotion. He looked more human then too, in this display of affection. “Why? Because you took the opportunity and left when you had the chance? That does not make you less loyal. When people don't deserve your loyalty and are crushing your soul with every breath you take, leaving does not make you less loyal. You just know when something becomes toxic.”
I had never heard my shrink speak with such fierceness before and I couldn’t help but hold his gaze and nod when he asked, “You understand?”
In that moment, for the first time, I saw him as a more than a shrink. Perhaps it was because of the gentle way he always spoke to me, as if he cared. Or perhaps it was because of the fatherly love I saw glinting in his eyes, but I briefly wondered why I never saw it before. I probably never took my time to actually notice him to be other than the man whom I paid to listen to my problems. Selfish, I couldn’t help but chastise myself.
“You know how I know you're loyal? How I know you're not selfish?” Mr. Fourie questioned. “Do you still spend all your Thursday afternoons in your car watching those three children that sit on the side of the road?”
My lips tilted upwards at the mention of them, mind drifting to the nameless faces. I spent a lot of my time wondering about them, those children. The oldest with the hopeful gaze always searching. For what, I could only imagine. Every Thursday the hope was there, meeting the eyes of everyone who entered the restaurant. Every Thursday she'd leave disappointed, clutching to her brothers, her search once again unsuccessful. Those eyes were always so hopeful, but everyday held the same outcome. As the hours progressed, the hope diminished and perhaps I was drawn to her because I recognised the look in her eyes. The innocence of a child, hoping and hoping just to be disappointed by an adult. I wondered what she was searching for.
The younger brothers looked like twins, almost identical in appearance. The only thing that distinguished them from a safe distance was that one was chubbier than the other. He was also the more energetic and devilish of the two. While the thin twin stayed snug at his sister's side, silent, the other was always trying to run about. What were children so young doing outside on the pavement of a restaurant?
The first Thursday I saw them, the day I parked in front of the restaurant to answer a phone call, I had thought they were perhaps begging. But they just sat there, the girl's eyes searching every person's face that entered the restaurant. I had remained there too, in the car, too intrigued to mind my own business. When I came to check up on them the next day, they weren't there so I automatically assumed the event was a one time thing. I was wrong. Driving from my session with Mr. Fourie the following Thursday, my eyes had involuntarily sought them out. There they were, her hopeful eyes searching. It became a habit of mine to park my car on that side of the road every Thursday, watching over them, wondering what three children so young were doing on the side of the road.
“I take that as a yes,” Mr. Fourie had glowed. “How could you be selfish when you spend all Thursday afternoons watching those children? There is nothing in it for you. I mean, they don't even know you're there. Their very own guardian angel.”
I had chuckled then, through the tears and wiped them off with my sleeve, forgetting about the tissue box still in my grasp. “Guardian angel?” I swiped my sleeve over my nose. “More like a creep.”
Mr. Fourie ignored me, just stared, brain overworking. “You're smiling,” he mused as if it was a foreign feature on me. His next sentence would put the rest of my life into motion and change the course of my existence. It was a simple question. A suggestion. But how different things would be from that moment forward.
“Why don't you talk to them?”
I did a double take then, my eyes widening. A frown settled on my face. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” his mouth curved upwards. “Why don't you talk to them. Make a friend. Forge a relationship.”
“Mr. Fourie, no offence, but I think you're seeing too many patients. You are showing symptoms of delusion because that is never going to happen.”
“Your sense of humour needs some work, but I'm being serious. It's unhealthy having no bonds with the outside world. Humans crave connection. That's the way it is.”
My brows drew together. “I have connections with people,” I mumbled.
“You are an honest person, Ms. Davids. Too honest, but honest none the less. Why are you lying to yourself?”
“I literally work with people everyday,” I snapped, my voice rising.
Mr. Fourie had smiled in response… as usual. “You close up when something is too close to the truth. You either cry or get angry. We got both of that today.” He failed to mention that he gets both emotions every Thursday.
“Now, why don't you go talk to them?”
I threw my hands up into the air. “Ever heard of stranger danger?”
“You’re closing up,” he stated, head tilting to the side. “You are quite unreasonable when you get like this, Ms. Davids.”
My arms folded across my chest. “I have a point though,” I shrugged, angling my body away from him stubbornly.
Mr. Fourie had shook his head in amusement and got up from his seat. “Good bye, Ms. Davids. See you next Thursday.”
I turned back towards him desperately, my movements swift. I stood up on my feet, straightening my attire in the process. “I'm sorry, Mr. Fourie. I didn't mean to offend you.”
“You didn't,” he swore, looking down at me. “It’s 2o’clock.”
My eyes travelled to the watch around my wrist. “Oh,” I cleared my throat. Looking up to meet his gaze, I gave a sheepish smile. “See you Thursday then.”
I gave another apologetic smile before making my way to the door. Before I could open it, Mr. Fourie's voice halted my movements mid step.
“Huda?” he called. I didn't turn around, only waited. My spine straightened on its own , muscles turning stoic. “You should go talk to them. Make a friend. You might claim that you're not lonely, but this life is meant to be shared. Our souls and hearts. It couldn't hurt.”
“Bye, Mr. Fourie,” I had answered with a sigh.
That Thursday was the start of my love story, not because I met him that day. The blind man who said I was beautiful. I didn't. But it was the day that I would meet his heart in the form of three children. It was the day I would hope again and ignite theirs. It was the day aligned stars would realign. It was the day God answered my prayer.
