Saif and the Nightly Walks

Muna grabbed the edges of the tray holding around twenty finjans; tiny teacups, about a finger length tall. She stood by the wall of the door to the majlis, the living room only used for visitors and guests and was closed off otherwise. She grasped the tray, exhaling through her lips.

Men spoke loudly inside, not laughing, nor in merry moods—but simply discussions between one another, like debating a matter, though they might not be debating at all and simply talking—the amount of voices speaking inside was too numerous. Multiple men spoke above one another, less distinguishable as they all gathered to interject and raise their voices. The men her father brought were full of raucous. Their discussions lasted past midnight, taking turns leaving after homes were asleep.

She stepped in, the men continued speaking, young and very old; boys of five years sitting quietly, curiously, yet in a manner of manly eloquence taught at their age and old men of seemingly ninety sitting beside other old men his age, not uttering a single word, watching the others or staring off into the distance. She started on her right as she entered the majlis with the old men. Every old man grabbed a finjan for himself mumbling ‘shukran’ and her replying ‘bl afya’ and ‘sm’. 

Afterwards, on the next couch, it was the men around their fifties or younger, all ages ranging from fifteen to forty and in between gathered together. She didn’t look at their faces; distributing the tea with a straight countenance, leaning her arms down enough that they could reach for the tea. Some noticed her later than others, realizing only after she put the tray up towards them, while others glanced at the tea and pretended not to know, while others had no idea, talking ardently about matters that nothing else existed around them.

“Chai,” she said.

The man, around his thirties or forties, she couldn’t say, didn’t notice her even after she’d spoken. The younger man beside him tapped his elbow against the man.

“Mohammed, focus.”

The forty-year-old stopped briefly, caught off his speaking reverie, and turned back to Muna, a slight exclamation leaving him. He took a cup and continued where he left off, not losing spirit, talking in the same manner he did a moment ago. She herself had lost herself to her thoughts, not counting the amount of tea she had given to the men, nor the number of times she had to say ‘sm’. She brought the tray forward, nearing the last of the men. The man didn’t take the tea. She paused, momentarily looking up, and stopped. She frowned, staring down at the tea, then back at him. His gaze striking, expression firm. He grabbed the cup and looked away. She continued to the next before taking her leave.

Every gathering, every important occasion, his family was invited alongside her family. She couldn’t avoid him—and it wasn’t about avoiding him forever, she couldn’t do that, but knowing she had to see him everywhere she went, during every important event or occasion, that he was always going to be present, in the room with her or under the same house.

What had she done to herself?

It was those same eyes. How he always stared at her, nothing's changed. He didn’t say anything, nor did he outwardly express his disappointment—he didn’t express any disappointment. He gazed at her without being able to take his eyes off of her.

She went into the living room, placing the tray on the table. Her sister stood behind the table, biting her nail, lost in thought.

“Sameen, what are you doing here?”

Sameen blinked, looking up at Muna, her nail still in between her teeth. “Nothing. I’m taking a breather.”

“You can’t leave the guests alone for too long—you were supposed to prepare the ghawa, Sameen!”

“Oh, right . . . the ghawa. That’s what I was forgetting.”

Muna exhaled, feeling her emotions barge in, frowning deeply, closing her eyelids halfway. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“You know what’s wrong.”

Sameen tried not to sigh, snorting. “No, I really don’t.”

“No, you do,” Muna said. “Saif is in there.”

Sameen paused. “He is?”

“Yeah.”

“Well . . . what can you do?”

Muna dug her palm onto her neck, her chin falling, the feeling only grew worse—it was going to eat her up inside.

Saif made his way through her thoughts many times. She thought of when they were going to see each other again, when was the next time she’d listen to him speak, or get the chance to gaze at him, to be in the same room as him or escape in the middle of the night during his visits. She was afraid one day he was going to take the initiative yet, at the same time, she enjoyed their nightly walks—she enjoyed seeing him. 

Whenever they passed each other in any crowded area while in company with others, finding one another by chance, they’d steal glances at one another, never speaking, keeping themselves discreet until the next night they met again. 

During those nights they met, without either of their parents knowing of their expeditions, they strolled the abandoned streets, speaking of poems and artists, reciting their favorite verses and laughing at those that were horrible—they made their own poems, sometimes out of the things they saw, at times out of each other. They’d ask questions, the curiosity never ending, always one thing and the next, then when one laughed, the other walked quietly to listen.

Many said they were bound to end up marrying one another. People treated it as fact. No one denied it, neither did they. Everyone understood there was something between them, they weren’t allowed to be in the same room by themselves, much less be in the same room. No one knew to what extent that something was.

Once, in the middle of their walks, towards one of the isolated areas, only them in the empty street, walking side-by-side, his arms behind his back, gazing up ahead, barely being able to look down at her for more than two seconds, he finally turned to her as they took their stop.

He didn’t say anything. He stared at her, a slight frown to his lips, completely enamoured. He could’ve enveloped her with how intently he stared. Their figures were inconspicuous in the dark; the dim moonlight hitting his back, making him clearer to her, and how his countenance contorted. His thick eyebrows, brown eyes, his beard, his soft expression among his striking appearance. “Muna, I don’t think I can live without you. I want to marry you.”

He never once touched her, never to hold her shoulder, hug her, or put her hair behind her ear. He always kept his distance, his hands behind his back, never moving them anywhere else. He never tried to get closer than at arm’s length.

She kissed him. 

She cupped his face between her hands, having to raise herself to reach him, and curled her neck. He met her halfway, leaning down, his arms leaving its place behind his back, hanging in the air, but never touching her. She let go of him, a heavy breath leaving her nose.

That was the first time she touched him.

Her heart beat rapidly.

She didn’t know what came over her that night.

It was him and everything about him. The way he was. How he was.

“Muna, Baba wants you,” Sameen said.

Muna’s eyes inched over towards her, laying her head against her arm, waiting for the tea to fume. “Okay,” she said. “Watch the tea.”

Sameen walked over to the samwar, boiling the water and the tea. Muna left the living room to another living room that her father sat in most of the time.

He was smiling, tapping his hand to his thigh. It was impossible not to notice how happy he was. 

“What’s going on, Baba?”

“Sit, Muna,” her father said in his monotone speech, raising his brows, tilting his chin up at her. “I have news for you.”

Muna sat on the adjacent couch, her palms against the couch. “Yes . . .?”

Her father tilted his head to one side, his smile growing. “I received an impossible offer.”

“What?” Muna asked.

“This morning, Saif’s father came to me. He said his son wants to marry you.”

“Saif?”

Her father nodded.

A churning squeeze struck at her lungs. “Oh . . .” She snorted. “Hold on . . . I need a moment to think. Saif’s father came?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” her father exclaimed, laughing.

“But . . .” Muna rubbed above her temples with her right hand. “No.”

“No?”

“No . . .”

“Muna, what are you saying?”

“I don’t know if it’s right.”

“Right . . .?” her father said. “Why no?”

Muna was quiet, glancing down at the ground.

“Muna, I need to understand.”

“I don’t know.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know!”

Muna stood up.

“You’re saying no to his proposal?”

“I’m not ready.”

“Muna, you know what this means. You know what this is going to do. What’s happening to you? Why are you changing your mind so suddenly?”

“I know. I know . . .”

Muna breathed out through her lips, her eyes reddening.

She didn’t know when, but she changed her mind about him, somewhere deep inside. She couldn’t explain herself. She couldn’t say anything.

Muna headed to the kitchen, the maids walking back and forth, food set on the table, preparing dishes, the smell wafting throughout the enclosed kitchen, smoke coming from the stoves and the fires used to cook the food. Muna took the pot for the ghawa, filling it up with water and letting it boil.

Someone pushed her by the side of her hip with their own. “I’ll do it,” Sameen said. “Mama’s expecting me to do it. She’s already giving me hell for not working enough around the house.”

Muna left the kitchen without another word or glance towards Sameen. She went straight for the women’s majlis, her absence concerning for how long she was gone from the guests. The hallways were quiet, no one emerged in or out of the rooms. None of the maids, guests, or people.

“Muna.”

She stopped in place. The voice was clear, intense—wavering slightly at her name. Her heart dropped. She turned around. 

She couldn’t escape this, it was bound to happen, and she couldn’t ignore a pleading voice knowing she was guilty for it.

Saif stared at her. Muna’s jaw gapped slightly.

He was quiet.

“Why did you disappear?” he asked after a momentary respite.

Her throat dried, her eyes burning right through his eyes. “Why did you tell people that I loved someone else after I refused?”

“I didn’t say anything. I wouldn’t say such things,” Said said. “People came up with things themselves—they couldn’t believe that you refused me,” he said. “Why did you refuse?”

“You told them.”

“Muna, why are you doing this?" he asked, distress in his voice. "You know how I am, I never put you in a horrible situation. I can’t imagine doing such a thing.”

Muna furrowed her brows, her tone becoming louder, yet all through a mumble. “Then how could people have found out?”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“I don’t know why,” she said, placing her hands against her face, tears trudging through. “I don’t know.”

He huffed softly, his frown embedding deeper into his features. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No . . .”

“Do you love someone else?”

“No . . .” Muna said. “Leave.”

“Why?”

Muna sniffled, quietly weeping in between her sobs, taking in sharp inhales. She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to speak to him. The words were stuck at the bottom of her lungs. She couldn’t get them out.

His footsteps echoed throughout the hallway. 

He was leaving.

The emotions fleeted through. She did this to herself. More tears dropped down her cheeks, onto her palms, more than she could handle. It was uncontainable; it bursted through at once.

Arms wrapped around Muna’s shoulders. 

“Leave.”

“It’s okay,” Sameen said, squeezing her arms tightly around Muna. “It’s okay, Muna.”

He left . . .

“Sameen . . .” Muna said. “What have I done? What did I do to myself?”

“It’s okay, Muna . . .” 

Muna stared ahead, laying her head against her shoulder. “What have I done?”