Your Imperfections

Chapter 11

AALEYAH'S POV

I think I finally get what it feels like to be shallow. One might think I am hurt, other might think I am angry, but literally all I feel is emptiness.

The plain white wall seems way too interesting right now. I’ve been staring at it since I got up in my room. Or maybe our room, since Adian also lives with me. He didn’t return, and I am grateful for that.

I think curling in a tight ball helps sometimes. It gives me the feeling of security, the feeling of being independent. It makes me not want others to comfort me.

What is the time anyway? I searched for my phone but there was no trace of it. I wanted to call Mom and tell her I was feeling better. Of course I would’ve lied to her about all this that happened with that woman in the lobby, she doesn’t need to know every detail, but at that same time I don’t want to lie to her either.

The door lock clicks.

I don’t look. I don’t peek. I don’t move at all.

“I got us some food to eat,” he announces.

The bed dips beside me. I snap my eyes shut. For some very odd reason, his scent seems to calm me down.

“You’re angry with me, not with the food. So eat it before it gets chilled.”

He’s trying to be nice. “I am not really feeling hungry.” That’s a half lie. I was hungry before I caught him with her. Now, it is just killed.

“Aaleyah,” he sighs, as if I am the one causing all the trouble. “She was just a friend of mine. Nothing else.”

I get up. “So, do you often hand over 5000 dollars to your friends?” I shoot him a dirty look. His eyes turn even more dark, if that could be even possible.

His head dips. I notice he is holding boxes in his hands. He’s got Chinese I guess.

“She did some work for me.”

I wait for him to continue.

“And no, it’s not the work you are thinking,” he reassures my fears from earlier, and I breathe a breath of relief. “My father—he is not a nice man. I just made her do something that is related to him and not me.”

He could be lying for all I know, but I was gonna have to trust him from now onwards. I couldn’t just assume on my own, because I can be quite delusional sometimes.

I hold up two hands. He looks down at them—and smiles. He places one of the boxes in them, the warmth soaking through my cold skin.

“Thanks for the food,” I thank wholeheartedly.

“My pleasure, wifey.”

“Good day!” the air hostess smiles at me, bright and cheerful.

Adian rolls his eyes at her, grabs my hand and pulls me to our seats.

“Calm down, will you?” I laugh.

It’s been almost a week since our wedding, and now we are finally off to the UK. That’s where his Dad lives, and most of his family. People who came to bid us farewell thought we were going on honeymoon, but I literally had to tell them we I was going off to my new house. It was more like I got rukhsat—when a girl leaves her home to go live with her in-laws after her nikah—and was now going to live with Adian.

Once we are seated, have buckled our seat belts, Adian begins massaging his temples.

I can’t help the smile that comes to my face. “Headache?”

“Don’t ask. I feel dead.”

“Yeah, well who asked you to stay up all night, huh?”

The lady starts with those instruction thingy’s .

“Well, why would you tell me about those awesome series a night before our flight?” he almost yells.

I burst out laughing.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. Your seatbelt isn’t correctly buckled,” says a man, possibly the host. I immediately lower my gaze.

“Oh sorry,” I mumble, and begin fumbling with it. After much difficulty, I manage to hook it safely, feeling the gazes of both men on me.

“She got it, man.”

“Adian, behave,” I whisper hiss.

He elbows me. I hit him back. The man laughs.

“You two make a cute couple,” he chuckles.

My cheeks burn red.

“Yeah, we know. Thanks.”

Oh God, Adian is so mean! Why can’t he ever believe that not every man on earth wants me? Most of them have issues with the jilbab/outer garment I wear. Most men are not like my husband who actually likes the way I cover myself. But when it comes to dealing/socializing. Adian is a total fail.

“You didn’t have to act so rude! He was being so nice,” I whine once he has moved onto the rows of seats in front of us.

“He fancied you.”

“You need help.”

“Yours, perhaps.”

Of course. Winning an argument with him is close to the line of impossible.