Chapter 7 : The Absence of Words

Chapter 7: The Absence of Words

Almost a week had passed since Iqra's Aqeeqah. Omar had returned to work from the next day onwards, immersed in his duties. Today, he had an important meeting with Mr. Ansaar Shaikh, one of his esteemed mentors in the business world and a respected industrialist. This meeting, related to a significant collaboration, was one Omar had been preparing for meticulously.

"Sir, Mr. Shaikh is here. I’ve directed him to our conference room; he’s waiting for you," said Zaid, Omar’s assistant, a pleasant young man in his twenties.

"Alright, let’s go," Omar replied, picking up his files and heading out.

"Good morning, Mr. Shaikh. It’s a pleasure to see you again," Omar greeted as he entered the conference room.

"Good morning, beta. I told you to drop the formalities,call me uncle," Ansaar replied, his tone warm and casual.

Despite his achievements, Ansaar Shaikh was a remarkably humble man. He had been a guiding force for Omar and Faraaz when they launched their startup, investing both financially and emotionally in their success. His mentorship, combined with their dedication, had transformed their company, INFINITIVE, into a thriving business. For both men, their relationship extended beyond work; they were family in spirit.

As the meeting unfolded, Ansaar observed Omar with pride, impressed by the sharp, confident businessman he had become.

Afterward, Omar escorted Ansaar to his office for refreshments.

As they chatted, a striking woman entered after a confident knock. She walked in with grace, wearing a pink top-and-pant set, a sleek watch on her left wrist, along with a white purse in the same hand.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said, smiling as she greeted them both with a warm hug.

"Good afternoon, bache. I thought you were going out with your friends," Ansaar replied with a hint of surprise.

"Yes, Dad, but we pushed it back a bit. I’ll be heading to the club later," replied Sara, Ansaar’s daughter.

"Omar, it’s been so long! How are you?" she asked with a cheerful smile.

"I’m well, Sara. It’s wonderful to see you again," Omar responded, returning her smile.

"Where’s Faraaz?" Sara asked, looking around.

"He’s with his family; his parents are visiting, so he couldn’t be here today. He sends his regards to Uncle Ansaar," Omar explained.

"I should’ve told him I was coming! I wanted to see him, Azra, and meet baby Iqra," Sara said thoughtfully.

The trio shared a strong bond, having studied together in London. Though Sara had since moved back to New York, their friendship remained as solid as ever.

"We could visit his house if you're free," Omar suggested.

"That’s a great idea! Dad, would you like to join us?" Sara asked, turning to her father.

"I’d love to, bache, but I promised your mother I’d pick up a gift for her. I’d be in trouble if I went home empty-handed!" Ansaar chuckled, earning laughter from them both.

"Uncle, we could search for the gift tomorrow. Faraaz would be delighted to see you today," Omar suggested.

Ansaar shook his head, explaining, "We’re flying back to New York tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll have to pass. But next time, I’ll make sure to visit both your home and Faraaz’s."

Omar smiled and replied, "We’d love to host you anytime, Uncle."

After bidding farewell to Ansaar, Omar and Sara headed to Faraaz’s house. Sara was overjoyed to meet Faraaz’s family, and baby Iqra clung to her affectionately. They spent the evening catching up, reminiscing about old times, and sharing updates on their lives. Sara mentioned her thriving fashion boutique in New York, which sparked admiration from everyone.

As evening turned to night, Azra suggested they all have dinner together. She also asked Omar to invite Aisha, concerned that she’d be home alone. Omar excused himself to call Aisha, but after several attempts with no answer, he concluded she must be occupied.

Back in the living room, dinner conversations flowed, and laughter filled the air. Once the older couple retired to bed, Sara suddenly asked, "Guys, remember Rehan Malik?"

Both Omar and Faraaz nodded. Rehan had been a classmate back in university.

"Well, it’s his birthday today, and his girlfriend invited me to a party at the club. I thought it’d be great if you two joined me," Sara proposed, excited.

"I don’t think I should join. You two go ahead," Faraaz replied.

"Yeah, I’m not sure…" Omar began, but Sara cut him off.

"Don’t be party poopers! It’s not often we all get to meet. We’ll get to see everyone from university—don’t say no!" She pleaded, her enthusiasm undeniable.

Omar and Faraaz exchanged a laugh, finally agreeing.

"I would’ve asked Azra and Aisha to come, but Azra needs to take care of Iqra. But Omar, maybe Aisha could join us?" Sara suggested.

Omar shook his head. "She probably wouldn’t enjoy a club atmosphere."

Azra encouraged Faraaz, "Go ahead and have fun, but don’t be too late."

With that, they headed to the club, reconnecting with friends and basking in nostalgia. The hours slipped away in laughter, dancing, and joy.

It was around 4:30 a.m. when Omar finally walked into his apartment, only to find Aisha waiting on the couch, her eyes red and filled with worry. As soon as she saw him, she rushed into his arms, tears streaming down her face.

Surprised and deeply concerned, Omar gently pulled her back. "What happened, Aisha? Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Aisha continued to sob, her head shaking slightly in refusal, but Omar felt a sliver of relief—at least she wasn’t physically hurt. He knew, however, that getting to the root of what had shaken her would take some patience. Gently, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and led her to the couch.

“Sit here,” he murmured softly, trying not to add to her distress. Aisha sank into the cushions, still clutching his hand as though it were a lifeline. He began to turn away to fetch something, but her grip tightened, her fingers trembling slightly.

“I’m just going to get something for you,” he reassured her, gently loosening his hand from hers. He returned moments later with a box of tissues and held a few out to her, watching as she took them and dabbed at her eyes. Then, he handed her a glass of water, giving her a slight nod of encouragement as she looked up at him hesitantly. She took a few sips, her breathing slowing a bit, and placed the glass back on the table.

Omar settled down beside her, his gaze filled with quiet concern. “Can you tell me what happened now?” he asked gently, his tone soft but resolute, hoping that his calm presence would help her open up.

Aisha shook her head, still crying. After a moment, she managed to whisper, "I… I thought something happened to you. You’ve never been this late without calling."

Omar’s heart sank. He had tried calling her earlier, but she hadn’t picked up, and he hadn’t followed up. Guilt gnawed at him as he realized he hadn’t bothered to inform her about the evening’s plans.

"I did try calling you, but you didn’t answer. Why didn’t you call me back instead of worrying?"

"I did," she said, her voice barely audible, "but your phone was off."

She had tried calling him back as soon as she realized she’d missed his calls.She had been praying her Isha prayer, unaware of his attempts to reach her. When she dialed his number, it rang a few times before going straight to voicemail. She tried again, but it was clear his phone was switched off.

Convincing herself he might just be delayed, she had a quiet dinner, but as the clock crept toward 1 a.m., her unease grew into a gnawing worry. Sleep was impossible. She clutched her phone, hoping for a sign, a call, anything—but nothing came. Her mind raced with anxious thoughts, scenarios she didn’t want to imagine, each one sparking a fresh wave of worry. She sat in the dim living room, whispering prayers for his safety, the ache in her heart mirrored by the tears welling in her eyes.

Omar was always careful to let her know where he’d be. Even on business trips, he’d make sure she was aware he would be leaving. Though she didn’t like the solitude his travels brought, she had come to accept it. But this—this silence, this unknowing—was unbearable. She had stayed curled up on the couch, glancing at the door with every slight sound, willing it to open.

Meanwhile, Omar, fished his phone out of his pocket, feeling a pang of guilt as he saw the dark screen. His battery must have died hours ago, leaving her in the dark, and he could only imagine the worry she must have felt. He sighed, understanding her distress. "I’m sorry, Aisha. I went to a friend’s birthday party at the club. I didn’t mean to worry you."

Aisha nodded, giving a soft, weary "It’s okay," and stood to leave.

"Wait. Have you eaten?" Omar asked, his concern evident.

"Yes, I had dinner. I’m heading to bed; I’m exhausted. You should get some rest, too," she replied before retreating to their bedroom.

Omar watched her walk away, his guilt deepening. He caught a whiff of alcohol on his shirt, realizing how she must have felt. Sitting there alone, he couldn’t shake the lingering sense of guilt, understanding that for Aisha, his safety and presence mattered deeply,even if he hadn’t fully realized it until now.