Omar Siddiqui stood near the bar at the lavish party, holding a glass of whiskey, his gaze scanning the room with the practiced detachment he had perfected over the years. It was one of those nights he was all too familiar with—the loud chatter, clinking glasses, and forced laughter that filled the air. He had attended countless events like this, networking with the right people, ensuring that his place in the business world remained secure. He took a sip from his glass, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat.
The party was in full swing, and Omar was the center of attention, as usual. Faraaz had done well organizing the celebration, bringing together important clients and potential partners. Omar knew how to play this game; he’d been doing it for years now. But tonight, for the first time, something unsettling gnawed at him—the absence of Aisha.
He knew she was sitting on the couch in their apartment's living room while he got ready and left for the party. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her to tag along, not after what had happened the first time he had invited her to one of his parties.
He remembered the night clearly, as if it were etched in his mind. He also remembered the rudeness he had directed at her when she came downstairs dressed modestly in her abaya. He hadn’t meant to be harsh, but her appearance ehad stirred embarrassment in him. Not because of Aisha herself, but because she stood out among the women of his social circle. He had wanted her to blend in, to make things easier for both of them, but her modesty had highlighted how different she was from this world of excess and indulgence.
"But she did look stunning,if it wasn't for your ego.You would have just kept staring at her." - his conscious mocked at him
Shaking his head to rid himself of the memory, Omar finished his drink, feeling the familiar warmth spread through him. He had hoped the alcohol would numb the tension he felt, but instead, it sharpened his awareness of the growing distance between him and his wife. He didn’t want to think about it, so he buried the thought and focused on the men around him, their conversation shifting from business to light-hearted banter about their lavish lifestyles.
It was around 2 a.m. when Omar unlocked the door to their apartment, exhausted from the party and the alcohol that had begun to make him dizzy. He walked into the drawing room, taking off his blazer, and saw Aisha fast asleep on the couch, just as she had been when he left. He shook his head at her stubbornness.
"She’ll get a neck sprain for sure," he muttered to himself before walking over and scooping her up in his arms.
Aisha was lightweight compared to Omar’s strong build, and he carried her easily up to their bedroom without waking her. He gently laid her down on the bed and pulled the comforter over her, then went to the bathroom to freshen up. After a while, he returned, ready to collapse from exhaustion. He was about to turn off the bedside lamp when he noticed a lock of her hair falling across her face, causing her to stir in discomfort.
Without thinking, his hand reached out to tuck the strand behind her ear. For a moment, he found himself gazing at her, his hand resting on her warm, smooth cheek. In the soft glow of the lamp, Aisha looked like an angel—so peaceful and captivating. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. When she shifted slightly in her sleep, he withdrew his hand quickly, as if he had been caught in a forbidden act. He turned off the light and lay back on his side of the bed, his mind racing. “Why did I do that?” he wondered.
There was no denying Aisha’s beauty. Omar had always known how stunning she was, even if he refused to admit it aloud. He didn’t hate her—not really. But everything about her life was a stark contrast to his. She prayed five times a day, read the Quran regularly, and never left the house without her abaya and hijab. It all irked him, not because there was anything wrong with it, but because it reminded him of the life he had left behind. He wasn’t used to sharing his space with anyone, let alone someone so different from him.
His frustration wasn’t with Aisha; it was with the clash of their worlds. He had built his life around business and ambition, his top priority. When his parents had insisted on his marriage, he had argued that it wasn’t the right time. But they hadn’t listened, and he had given in, unwilling to disappoint them.
Now, he found himself caught between two worlds—his driven pursuit of success and the quiet, devout life that Aisha represented. He wasn’t sure how to balance the two, so he kept his distance, often letting his frustration turn into coldness toward her.
As he lay there, he suddenly felt a light weight on his abdomen. Looking down, he saw Aisha’s hand resting on him, her body curled slightly toward his in her sleep. Despite everything, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He liked that she sought comfort in him, even if she never said it out loud. Maybe she wouldn’t voice her troubles to him—he wasn’t the kind of man she would confide in—but in her sleep, her guard was down. Omar gently wrapped his hand around hers, feeling an unfamiliar softness creep into his heart.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was something deeper, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the need to push her away.
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