SALIMA brushed her hair slowly, looking into the mirror but not seeing her reflection there. Her thoughts were filled with Rahim, someone not quite known to her, whose story related to her by her father evoked a feeling of sympathy for him.

The pain of losing a loved one, the separation when you can hold that hand no more, the voice becomes silent and the smile vanishes, is sometimes so deep, the wound cannot stop bleeding, not for a long time.
“No wonder there is so much hate and anger within him,” she mused.

Rahim’s mother’s illness, an incurable disease, had interrupted their lives when he was just a young boy. They shared a close bond, mother and son and his love for her was unique as he shared her pain and struggles in her battle to live. She wanted to see him graduate from university, maturing into a man, and get married but no wishes nor prayers could change the sentence on her life signed by fate. Rahim had turned down offers from top universities just to stay by her side while his sisters had continued their studies and gained doctorates. The girls had been afraid to disobey their authoritative father, but Rahim stood strong and brave against his command, creating a tension between them that grew over the years. His father, a man of God, recognised for his invaluable contribution to his religion and charitable organisations was a tyrant in his own home. His cruel dominance drove fear in the hearts of his wife and children and in her dying days he could hardly find words of comfort for his wife nor showed much that he cared for her pains and struggle. It fuelled hatred in Rahim’s heart and when his father chose to go on the Haj pilgrimage despite knowing his wife had little time left, that hatred became a dark storm in his heart that unleashed a relentless fury when his mother died before his father returned from the pilgrimage. That storm continued to rage as Rahim stopped praying and began drinking, doing the daring and bad things in rebellion against his father and religious beliefs. His pain, he locked inside his heart, bearing it alone, not allowing anyone close to him.

“That boy had lost his way,” her father told her, “he needs someone to light a path for him, to hold his hand and bring him back before he self-destructs.”
“How can anyone do that when he doesn’t allow anyone close to him?” Salima asked.
“Someone who has patience and faith, who can understand his pain, will find a way.”

Salima went to bed, those words the last thing on her mind before she fell asleep. She wasn’t sure she would see him again but about a week later, she almost collided with him again, coming out of the Administrator’s office.
“Oh, sorry,” she said.
He glared at her, starting to say something then changed his mind, his expression relaxing.
“No harsh words?” she asked.

He shook his head, a wry smile on his face and continued on his way.
He turned back to look at her before turning the corner, at the same time she did, and for a brief moment their eyes met.
A moment captured by fate that would intertwine their lives, the beginning of a journey of pain, love and forgiveness.
Salima had not much of a social life because of her dedication to her work, but she always tried her best to honour special occasions.

She was working through lunch one day until night when Dr. Laurel stopped by to remind her of dinner on Saturday night with two more of their friends from medical school.
“Oh yeah,” Salima said, “I would not have forgotten.”
“Really?” Laurel asked doubtfully, knowing how Salima put work over her social life. “Why do you think I’m reminding you?”

The dinner was a nice, friendly affair for the four friends, all doctors in different fields. They talked about their high school days, the fun and frolic and the stress of exams, raising their glasses to toast their close friendship.
“And to all the cute guys in the world,” Dr. Priya Singh said in a sincere tone then she broke into a little laugh.
“Talk about cute guys,” Dr. Christine Jardine said, “Look who just walked in with a glam beauty on his arm.”

Salima didn’t turn to look, whilst her friends voiced their appreciation. But a little while later, a strong feeling compelled her to turn and she saw it was Rahim, standing by the bar with his girlfriend. He was looking attractive indeed and she smiled a little before looking away.
“So, no prince charming in your life as yet, Salima?” her friends wanted to know.

“In time,” she answered not quite sincerely.
“I’ll love to see who steals you heart,” Dr. Priya said, “He’ll probably have to be chosen by God himself.”
Laurel and Christine echoed her sentiments, little did they know, God had already chosen him.
During the dinner that strong feeling stayed within her, causing her to turn and look at him again and this time, his eyes met hers.

“This is crazy,” Salima chided herself, “What am I doing, he’s not of my world.”
She was thankful when the dinner was over and she could be in the private comfort of her home. She prayed before going to bed, not wanting any strange thoughts in her mind, but his was the face she saw before she fell asleep.

She went to the hospital early the next morning because for today, Sunday, she had planned to visit a girl’s orphanage with her mother and a few women from their Masjid.
The Fatima girl’s orphanage was an impressive place with modern facilities and conveniences built by a son in his mother’s memory, not too long ago. There wasn’t much details on the family history and looking at the portrait on the wall, Saleem felt drawn to the beautiful woman whose eyes portrayed a soft, loving look but in the depths there was a touch of pain.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” a familiar voice said.
Salima turned around, a bit startled, not realising she had been left alone by the others, as she stood staring at the portrait. Rahim had walked in quietly, standing behind her.
“Yes she is,” Salima answered in a sincere tone, “Her eyes seem to be telling a story.”
He walked forward and stood by the portrait, “You’re the only person who’s seen that.”

“I didn’t know you were the founder, the son.” She said.
He smiled, just a little, “Her memories are very precious, something I always want to cherish, that’s why the privacy.”
“And your family?”
He beckoned her to sit, “My sisters supported me with this idea.”

She smiled warmly, pleased that this was his brainchild that portrayed the personality of someone totally different from the one she had been seeing.
“You must have loved her very much.”
“She was my mother, my everything.” He said in a low tone and for the first time she saw pain in his eyes.”

“And your father?”
A dark look crossed his face and he stood up, harshness catapulted back into his voice,
“Don’t ever ask me about him!”
“I’m sorry, I –“
He walked out, leaving her standing there before she could finish apologising.

“Oh boy,” Salima said quietly, “Whatever is bothering him, it’s really deep.”
She rejoined the women and continued their visit, impressed with the girl’s decorum and intelligence, except for one notable fact.
None of the girls wore the hijab.

“This is strange,” she thought to herself, “He must have a very good reason for hating the headwear.”
She did not see him again and was leaving when his assistant called her, “Dr. Mohammed, Mr Jaffarally would like to see you in the lounge.”
He was standing, staring silently out the window when she entered.

“You wanted to see me?”
He turned, tried to smile and failed, “I’m not in the habit of apologising to anyone,” he said, “but I’m sorry for getting angry at you.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a little smile, “I didn’t know you have issues with– you know who.”
This time he managed a little smile, looked at his mother’s portrait, then at Salima, “She would have liked you, minus the hijab of course.”

Salima made to say something then thought better of it,
“You know what, I’ll take you up on that issue some other time.”
“So I’ll be seeing you again?”

“I don’t know.”
“I hope I do.”
There was a hushed moment as they looked at each other then she said ‘Bye’ and was gone.

He watched her go, the smile on his face still there and turned to look at his mother’s portrait,
“What do you think, Amijan (mother)?”
To be continued…