Better Left Unsaid by Tufayel Ahmed

Author:Tufayel Ahmed [Ahmed, Tufayel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2023-09-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

IMRAN

Imran was already on edge when he arrived at work the next day. He had barely slept the night before, worrying about Fahima, and there was still radio silence from his wife this morning.

Amma had told him once, when he was a young boy, that there was a moment and a time for everything. She had meant it to be reassuring, a balm to soothe the ache of him not being picked for the school football team. But now, as Imran thought about what wisdom she might offer him, and as he pored over his memories for some comfort, the words felt hollow. What now, Amma? he asked himself derisively. Last night had been the time. He had finally come to his senses. He had come home humbled. He had been ready to profess his love for Fahima and throw himself at her feet, to beg for mercy. But he had missed his moment.

The previous night, Imran had sat for a long time on the bottom step of the stairs, his eyes locked on the front door, willing it to open. For Fahima to return to him. But deep down, he knew that he wouldn’t be so lucky. He had tried to call her but all his calls went to voicemail. She must have turned her phone off – or worse, blocked his number. Perhaps he was reaping what he had sowed, he had thought, his head leaning against the white banister, the paint peeling off to reveal flecks of brown wood. He had pushed away everyone who loved him: Sumaya couldn’t stand to spend even two days in his company; Majid avoided his calls, and when he begrudgingly took them he seemed antsy and eager to get off the phone as quickly as possible; and now, Fahima, too, he had driven away. The last good thing remaining in his life.

Before resigning himself to bed, weary from the high emotions of the day, he had made one last attempt to call his wife. He had prayed silently that she’d pick up this time. If he could just hear her voice and know that she was okay . . .

‘The number you are trying to reach . . .’ the voicemail had begun. Imran had clicked off the call.

Now it was a new day, and Fahima had still made no attempt to call or text him back. He’d tried to ring her again when he woke up but got the same response as last night – an automated voicemail message.

Imran entered the office already jittery, but when he saw the rigid expression on Shelly’s face, his stomach turned. Shelly nodded to the kitchenette, and so Imran hastily put his bag and coat down at his desk, avoiding eye contact with Joe and Martin – who smirked at him gleefully, like cats toying with a mouse. The atmosphere in the office told him that things were not going to be any easier today.

‘Shit, Imran,’ Shelly said, shutting the kitchenette door behind them.

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