Jane awakened with flutters in her abdomen. She turned onto her right side and lay still for a few moments.
The bright morning sun filtered through the uncurtained window and reflected on the white furniture. Her gym bag resided on the floor next to her husband’s suitcase, the same as the day before, but Mahsood wasn't in the room, and no sound came from the washroom.
Why hadn’t he come last night? Perhaps, he’d fallen asleep in the great hall amid the conversation with the elders, or maybe he didn’t want to have sex with a stranger. Or worse, he found her repulsive. She swallowed. She’d no idea what Mahsood was thinking. Jane rubbed her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow.
She’d slept in her wedding attire on top of the covers and wilted rose petals. Specks of mascara dusted her fingers, and her hair twirled in tangles. The dupatta had slipped off, the hairpins sitting next to her in a neat pile.
She must’ve removed them in her slumber. Jane yawned. Clean up first and deal with Mahsood later. She lowered her feet onto the plush rug underneath, grabbed her overnighter, and headed for the shower.
The streams of hot water washed off the remnants of her make-up and traces of dried-up hairspray. Jane toweled off and rummaged through her luggage. She’d brought with her an outfit to change into—a knee-length cocktail dress with spaghetti straps.
If she wasn’t aiming for another fight with her husband, she’d better not wear it. Good thing she packed some extra clothes. Jane took out a pair of jeans, a polo shirt, and Converses. A quick blow-dry and a touch of eyeliner finished her look. She peeked out into the hallway.
A cacophony of voices resonated from downstairs accompanied by the clinking of dishware and lively middle-Eastern music. The smell of fried food hung in the air.
Jane’s stomach growled. Hot breakfast would’ve been nice, but she wasn’t ready to return to the world of the Khans and mingle with unfamiliar people. Crowds exhausted her.
She glanced around the corridor. No sign of Mahsood. But he’d show up sooner or later. Jane returned to the room and, after planting herself on the bed, started a new level of the Math Master game, her newest number-crunching obsession.
A careful knock thrummed on the wooden door.
She raised her eyes from a Fabbionaci sequence puzzle. “Enter.”
Mahsood appeared on the threshold. He wore the same red overcoat. “Angel, is everything all right?” His gaze slid along her body.
Jane fidgeted. She should ask him why he hadn’t shown last night? Too forward. She would seem overeager, and he might not tell the truth. “I’m fine,” she said.
“Why don't you go down to the guests?”
“Just tired. Listen, when can we go home?”
He frowned.
“Did Uncle tell you that we’ll live in my apartment?” she asked.
“Yes, of course, but the wedding isn’t over yet. We have to stay at least until the evening.”
More of the noisy festivities? No, thank you. She would rather keep company with the Math Master. “I have nothing to wear. The dress I brought doesn’t fit your standards.” She jumped off the bed and pulled the garment out of her bag. A narrow strip of beige silk hung down her arm.
Mahsood’s eyes widened. “I see.” He backed away and, after fumbling with a doorknob, hastened out of the bedroom.
Heh. Bet no one had ever confounded him with questions about female apparel. Maybe he would let her enjoy her solitude. Jane picked up her phone and once again opened the app.
He returned thirty minutes later with a jade-colored outfit in hand. “Ilma tayi borrowed from one of the young ladies. Get ready.” With his stare on the ground, he neared and placed the item next to Jane.
She bit her lip as the corners of her mouth drew upward. Even Mom didn’t dare to tell her what to put on. Yet, her husband had done so twice in the past twenty-four hours. Should she be worried? Maybe. Well, at least he’d solved a problem for her. Rarely a guy had done as much. She proceeded to the bathroom and examined the new costume—wide cotton pants, a long tunic, and, of course, a dupatta. Not as luxurious as her scarlet gown and a couple of sizes too large, but the color suited her skin tone. Jane sighed and pulled it on. “I’m ready.” She stepped out.
Mahsood gave her a once-over and grinned. He’d changed while she’d been out and now sported a long jacket of dark green silk over trousers of the identical shade.
Did tradition dictate that the bride and groom wear the same color, or was he trying to act cute? Jane shook her head. Silly thoughts. Men didn’t care about things like matching outfits.
His gaze locked on her face. He approached her and lifted his fingers toward her jawbone.
Jane’s heartbeat quickened, and she swallowed. What was he doing?
He pushed a stray lock underneath the headcover, securing it behind her ear. “That’s better.”
Shivers ran down her body and echoed in the pit of her stomach. As a wave of heat flushed her cheeks, Jane looked away. “Let’s go.” She scrammed into the corridor.
***
Relatives and friends of the Khans filled the great hall. Most of them had spent the night in the mansion, and the party continued over breakfast that turned into lunch and would soon become dinner.
Jane’s backside ached. She sat alone on the bridal sofa, where she’d passed eons the day before. She should’ve shoved her phone into her pocket when she’d left the room. Whatever. Her manners wouldn't allow her to play games in the middle of the reception. Mahsood had said they could leave in the evening. Was six o’clock late enough? Probably not.
For the past two hours, he’d been chatting with Uncle Gafar and two elderly men. They lounged on cushions at one of the long, low coffee tables that lined the place from wall to wall. Her husband smiled and gesticulated while his collocutors listened and sipped tea. He hadn’t spoken to or looked at her, behaving as if she didn’t exist.
Jane pressed her lips together. What were they talking about? He should be getting to know her. Such a waste of time. By now, she could’ve completed a good chunk of RAF Construction’s financial evaluation. She’d taken a week off for the wedding, and the project stalled without a supervisor. She would have a load to do once she returned to the office.
Uncle Gafar rose and, after salaaming, sauntered in her direction. He reached her couch and planted himself on the opposite end of it. “Greetings, Jane.”
He must’ve guessed her foul mood and come to remedy the situation. Uncle never appeared without a purpose. “Hello.” She scooted all the way to the armrest.
“I'm glad everything went well yesterday.”
“Uh-huh.”
“This disagreement of yours was small and stupid. You are nice girl. Mahsood is good person. But, I see it’s difficult to understand each other because your origin is different.”
Jane rolled her eyes. Uncle Gafar loved his preambles. Like a predator courting prey. “What are you saying? Speak directly.”
He leaned closer to her. “What if you could remove all misunderstandings at once?”
Yeah, right. Only fools believed in panacea.
“Do you agree that there’s one God?” he asked.
Oh, no. They weren’t going in that direction. Who the heck knew anything about God? Certainly not the people who walked around proselytizing others. But best not to offend his religious feelings. “I suppose,” she said.
Uncle Gafar beamed. “Do you think Muhammad was the messenger of God on Earth?”
What could she answer? Muhammed had played a role in history, which offered no information on his connection to supernatural powers. She should get out of this conversation fast. “Perhaps. Uncle, do you want me to become a Muslim?”
“That would be an ideal way to overcome some difficulties. Right?”
She hadn’t thought of it. Rachel had dated Awad for years without any mention of converting. Why is Uncle pressuring her? A recollection seized her mind—a news report from long ago—a girl adopted Islam, left the U.S. to join a terrorist organization, and blew herself up in a suicide bombing. Jane shook her head. She would never go to such extremes.
Uncle Gafar fidgeted. “To do so is simple,” he said. “Declare out loud that there’s one God and Muhammad is his messenger. A few words will bring you closer to your husband. Islam is important to him, and if you accept it, he’ll see you in different light.”
She’d adjusted to the idea that her life would change and include restrictions. But this? Did she need Mahsood enough to enter into someone else's religion? She swallowed. Before her eyes flashed the images of a happy family, heart-to-heart conversations, warm hugs at night, and the laughter of children. She couldn’t. Not now. She needed time to consider it.
Uncle Gafar patted her shoulder. “No need to decide today. Think about it. Ok?”
She nodded.81Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQOB6BIKP4P
