THE DIFFERENT SHADES OF WHITE (BOOK 1)

Chapter 6-A Little Juvenile Fun

 I returned back to the apartment by 9:00 p.m. because the Chairman insisted on dinner and lunch. But I quickly got busy in preparing dinner for Shehzad—by now, I'm sure that he will be in a good mood. I prepared Chicken Korma in haste. But while I was in the kitchen, I inspected it and found a lot of liquor bottles.

   My previous conversation with the Chairman showed that he supported me in my endeavors and he will help me in bringing Shehzad back to the path of ALLAH—the path of Sirat e Mustaqeem.

   I dialed Suzan's number. After acquiring the information I needed, I drained all of the liquor bottles in the sink. It felt so good. If I left them in the trash bin, then Shehzad was sure to find them and use them.

   I can't be the good girl all the time—sooner or later; I have to show some of my bad side. After today's incident, I wasn't going to be jolly with Shehzad—I have to be strict otherwise he will take me for granted. By now, I had grasped a little on Shehzad's psyche. I have figured out a way to deal with him properly. I can't always be the conventional one. I refuse to be the only one ready for sacrifice. He's a prejudiced chauvinistic egoist therefore he should be treated the same way he treats other people.

   Shehzad came back by eleven o clock. I sat silently on the couch—pretending to be reading the magazine. He didn't pay attention to me.

   "Asalam Alaikum. The dinner is on the table, if you want to eat then go and eat and if you don't, then I don't care." I declared—without looking at him. He didn't answer and went straight to the bedroom. I heard the door open again. He passed by me and headed to the dining room in his sleeping suit.

   So he missed lunch, huh.

   My thoughts were triumphant as my lips curled into a smile—although at the back of my mind I knew that he wouldn't want to eat anything that I would make if he wasn't in a good mood. Either he was hungry or just being considerate towards our agreement.

   He was thrashing the cutlery and banging the dishes. Was he upset that I wasn't there with him—which is highly unlikely. I continued to read.

   "Hey I don't know how to eat this crap." He shouted from the dining room. Of course, I forgot that this was the first time that he was going to eat Chicken Korma with Roti.

   I went to him without question and showed him how to eat it with the Roti—while keeping a poker face. After I made a small morsel, I got confused if I should feed it to him directly or just leave it to the side of his plate. He saw that I was hesitating.

   "You i***t—what the heck are you doing." He said in English—grabbing my hand, he ate the morsel from my fingers. I froze in my place. He licked my fingers off the Korma that was left on them. I quickly snatched away my hand—I wasn't in the mood. But he caused my heart to beat uncontrollably.

   He smirked slyly. "What's up with you? Wasn't it you who said that we should be getting along?"

   "But with your personality, I find it almost impossible now." I commented and returned back to my reading. I have to stay like this because I know that there's a storm—no, more like a tornado coming soon.

   After he finished his meal, Shehzad peeked into the fridge—I had a hunch that he was looking for something familiar. When he couldn't find it in the fridge, he began to look through the kitchen cabinets. He kept banging them one by one.

   My heart raced as he went to his study but was unsuccessful in finding what he was looking for.

   "What the f**k is this?" he yelled from kitchen. I glanced in his direction. He was holding bottles from the trash bin.

   "You're being too noisy. You'll disturb the neighbors." I said nonchalantly.

   "What's the meaning of this? Did you do this?" He came to me, and pointed the bottles in my direction. I casually turned to the next page of the magazine—ignoring his fuming rage.

   "Yeah it was me. I had a word with your secretary today. Apparently you have alcoholism and you have had a bad history of with liquor that you had to be arrested twice in the past and even the doctors prescribed you against its use. So it's very bad for you." I stated coolly—being blasé. I know now that if I directly told him that it's Haram, then he will never listen to me—so in order to make him understand, I have to tackle with his logic scientifically, using my wits as well.

   "What the hell makes you think that I care about something like that s**t? Do you know how expensive this liquor was?" He shouted furious.

   I sighed, snapping the magazine shut. I stood up and faced him head on.

   "I don't care how expensive they were. If they are bad for your health then you will not have them. As long as I live under the same roof as you, you and I will have to abide by some rules." I claimed obstinately.

   His eyes bulged out. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he hissed, grinding his teeth.

   I sighed in dismay.

   "I am your wife!" I proclaimed in a high pitched voice. "And I don't care if you accept me or not. As long as the Nikah-nama is present—binding us together, we have no choice but to stick together. But if you are so fed up of me, then only three words," I showed him three of my fingers. "Say those three words and set me free immediately." I challenged.

   "Oh wait—but you can't possibly do that now can you—since your inheritance and Presidency hang in the balance of this marriage." I asserted wittily.

   He was taken aback. I smiled victoriously and began to move away from him. But he abruptly grabbed my arm and stared fiercely into my eyes.

   "Don't get ahead of yourself." He murmured irately, his warm breath hit my face. "Don't you dare tell me what to do? What do you think that by knowing that small piece of information, you can easily control me? Let me tell you this now. Don't f**k with me otherwise I know a few weaknesses of your own that I can exploit." He alleged fearlessly, tightening his grip on my arm.

   "You can do whatever you like because I have nothing to lose. But you—you have a lot of things that you can lose if you lose me. So isn't it better that we cooperate with one another. Whatever I'm doing, I'm doing for your own good. I won't gain anything from this, but you most certainly will—you can't expect me to not care, now can you—I am human after all. I have to care for you because I am your wife and you are my husband and as par our contract, we have to look out for each other." I spoke boldly.

   "Now let go; you're hurting me." I said, shaking his hand off. "Look I don't expect you to love me or care for me—but at least you should be a little considerate and respect my small wishes for you."

   I took his face into my hands and stared deep into his eyes—I could see confusion and struggle in them. His face was soft aside from the slight stubble that grew on the sides of his face. The blood beneath his skin was felt hot. Both our heartbeats matched.

   "I'm trying my best to love you, although I have no experience of it myself. But you are the first man in my life and I have learned to accept you. So why wouldn't you do the same because you are my only family now and this is my home. You didn't make me feel welcome at first, but I don't mind your ways." I affirmed confidently—trying to hold back the useless tears that had risen on the corners of my eyes.

   His eyes were very sincere once I gazed into then intently. He stared back into my eyes—I felt them pierce through me like a sword, going deep down to the far corners of my soul. But I saw that he understood my contradiction.

   He didn't retort back at me. He removed my hands carefully and walked with heavy steps towards his personal room.

    Looks like I spoiled his mood. I was feeling queasy.

   He didn't come back to sleep in the master bedroom that night. But he made a careless mistake—leaving his wallet at the side table. I had a close look at it. The quality was superb. It had the monogram of Prada. There were some hundred dollar bills in the folds, but the inside pockets were fitted with different cards.

   "The Games begin now, Mr. Shehzad Atish." I giggled to myself amusingly.

                                                            **********

   Shehzad didn't speak with me for three days straight. He would come back home, spend his time in the study till late at night and lock the door from the inside. I would try bringing him dinner, but he wouldn't respond back.  The next day, I would find the bed warm, but he would leave very early—I was beginning to think that he was avoiding me. He wouldn't eat anything I would make. When I called Suzan to check up on him; she told me that he was attending the University and having his meals in the office or at some restaurant nowadays—just like he used to have.

   I was feeling rather upset.

   Did I overdo it?

    I recalled what I had said to him the other day; I wasn't offensive or imprudent when I made my point clear to him. I can't understand him at all—he has such a volatile nature. Dealing with him isn't just a challenge anymore; it's more like a supernova confrontation.

   Every night whenever he would come home, I would dress up and look my best—greet him joyfully at the door and pretend as if nothing had happened, but he wouldn't even bat an eye at me. He would put on a disgusting poker face that me feel like scratching it off with my nails. He is a man who would put on many masks to hide his true self or whatever seemed fit. 

   I guess that I'm the guilty party then. I have to make amends and settle this meaningless quarrel. But I want to have some fun while doing that.

   On the forth night, Shehzad came to bed at around 2:00 a.m. in the morning. I was wide awake. As soon as he lied down, he was fast asleep. He must be very tired, probably from the burden of his work and studies.

   I slowly crept out of the bed. He was sleeping with in face turned away in the opposite direction. I staggered toward him. His face depicted all signs of weariness and fatigue. I carefully caressed his bangs away from his eyes. Without the constant frown on his face, he was actually very beautiful.

   My heart began to flutter. I couldn't believe that a person with such beautiful front would have such a rotten core.

  But now that I think about it, he seemed hurt when I confessed to him some days ago. I had derived a theory that maybe he must have been denied love in his childhood or something—but I never actually believed it. A part of me was starting to believe in it though.

   But this wasn't what I came here for. I grabbed a hold of his wallet and took out the things which I was familiar with and quickly retreated back to my side of the bed. But my heartbeat quickened for fear of being caught.

   I woke up in midday.

   "I missed my Fajr prayer again." I murmured remorsefully to myself.

    After freshening up, I greeted Charlotte who was busy pressing cloths in the laundry room.

   "Whose clothes are these?" I queried upon seeing the various shirt pieces that were washed and gave the smell of detergent and fabric softener.

   "These are the Master's." she exclaimed. I grimaced. I felt a sudden strange urge to press his clothes myself. I didn't approve of another woman touching his garments.

   "Let me take care of this." I stated, taking the pressing iron and shirt from her hands.

   She looked at me in bewilderment. "But—" she had wanted to say more but I told her that she had more things to do.

   I continued where she left off. His shirt was of the finest quality—soft to the touch and yielding. But they were so translucent. I could interpret every turn and corner. If only Shehzad was this easy, then my life would have been so much more simple and unproblematic.

   Problematic—I always thought that I was the problem. I was wrong. But now that I'm thinking from a different perspective, I think that he is equally to be blamed. If there was even a single vestige of decency in that man, then I would have been prompted to think otherwise.

    Maybe I was being a bit orthodox but there was a strange pleasure found in pressing the clothes of someone whom you think about and focus all your energy upon. I don't know why I cannot think of anything else other than helping Shehzad become a good Muslim—maybe my sense of devotion toward being a good and loyal wife was beginning to surpass my own prospect.

   As I carefully pressed and starched his shirt pieces, a new tune structured at the back of my mind.

    Ah—I haven't played my violin in such a long time. Maybe that's why so many emotions have piled up inside of me.

   I thought were jaded. I inhaled the garments. His scent still lingered on them. It helped in bringing more notes and adding more luster to them. 

   When I was done ironing the clothes, I neatly folded them and took them to the bedroom. In the process, I picked my violin—Beth from my suit case and went to the balcony.  I was certain that no one would disturb me while I display my sentiments on pieces of strings.

   It was sunny outside and the air bore clean and novel breezes. It only adjoined more pleasure into my heart. I sat on the bench, which was hot from the solar heat but that didn't stop me from playing my heart out on the Beth.

   The sun glossed upon me, showering its warmth in me. The peace that I can feel from God's wonderful creations is irreproachable.

   My heart fluttered with the sound of the music that rang melodiously in the surroundings. My memories were being viewed on the screen of my mind. So many emotions began to overflow—sorrow, pain, loneliness, remorse, regret, anger, hate, fondness and resentment. And all were channeled on me by myself.

   I stopped playing when I couldn't hold onto crying my heart out. I wanted to shout.

   I wanted to scream.

   I wanted someone to hold me, to tell me that I'm needed and I wanted somewhere to belong. But I had nowhere to go. I had no one to tell me kind words of comfort.

   But I still couldn't bring myself to blame it on ALLAH who is my creator and benefactor.

   "Abu—are you watching over me. I'm in need of your wisdom." I cried—gazing up at the bright sky. I missed Abu's voice and his touch whenever he would tenderly kiss my forehead. I wish that the mark of his kisses had burned onto my skin so that I could have a piece of Abu with me.

   I snapped back to reality. I had to gather my wits for what was yet to come. I breathed in heavily to fill my lungs with air. It really helped to relieve my nerves and my stiff bones. I felt calm, composed and rejuvenated.

    My stomach growled. I had forgotten about breakfast. I laughed in a murmur. Sometimes I really forget my own body needs.

   I made some milk tea—Chai. That would suffice for now. I was quietly enjoying it when I heard the door open like a hurricane.

   "You...!" Shehzad came shouting in. I stayed calm and composed and drank my tea like a proper lady.

   "You're early. How was your work?" I asked innocently, my eyes on my tea.

   "You stole my credit and debit cards didn't you." He spoke through clenched teeth.

   "Stole..? That's a mean word...," I said causally. "Are you sure you're here to see them or are here to see how your darling wife is doing, since you have been avoiding her for three days straight." I teased with a pout, looking at his face. He was more than serious.

   "Give them back to me, right now!" he stressed—snarling at me.

   "You're acting like a child throwing a tantrum. I will give them back if you ask me nicely." I proclaimed decisively but my tone was waggish. It was really interesting to see the annoyed look on his face. I couldn't hold my chuckle. I got up and walked to his side; stretching out my hands, I pinched his cheeks in the upward direction.

   "What the hell do you think you're doing, you psycho?" He slapped my hands away. I beamed at him.

   "You should smile more. That way, you look kind of cute." I commented, feeling a surge of glee passing through me. He rubbed his cheeks—he looked somewhat embarrassed. I smirked wryly.

   "Stay here. I'll bring them." I said and ran to the bedroom. I took them from the side table drawer and ran back to the living lounge. He was waiting restlessly.

   "Looking for these?" I said sarcastically with a grin.

   "Give them to me." he ordered forcefully, extending out his hand.

   "Want them, come and get them." I implied—running for the dining room. He ran after me. He was clearly desperate. I laughed jollily and rushed in all directions as he chased after me.

   "Dammit.......Just give it to me already you stupid woman." He implored.

   "No way—if you want them then come and get me, you soar puss." I screamed in delight. We ran like little children chasing after each other. It was so much fun. I laughed out loud and shrieked in happiness. Even Shehzad was enjoying himself.

   "Come and get me, you slow pock." I teased.

   "Oh you're asking for it." He stated, taking his coat off and he ran after me in top speed. I shrieked in panic and jumped on the couch. He was surrounding me. I jumped at the back and ran to the bedroom. He ensued. I leaped on the bed, but it was so soft that I lost my balance. He caught up and bound on the bed too. We both lost our balance, but he was such a fierce competitor that he pounced into me and we both fell on the bed.

   When I came to, I was on top of him.

   "Uff.......get off, you're heavy." He groaned. But I actually saw his lips twist into a playful childish smile. Involuntarily, my fingertips began to trace his lips.

   "See—I told you that you look cute when you smile." I murmured, my face was very close to his that the tips of our noses could meet. Our breaths collided with one another.

   His eyes became honest. He showed me an open and friendly expression for the first time ever. He touched the side of my face with the back of his hand. It was cold.  A few locks from my fringe stuck out. He placed them at the back of my ear very gently. I felt his heart beat race beneath me.

   Abruptly, his stomach growled beneath me.

   I giggled.  "You're hungry aren't you? When was the last time you had a decent meal." I asked coyly.

   He grimaced.

    I smiled widely.

   "Come on. I'll fix you something good to eat." I offered, trying to carefully get off him. But he pulled his arms around my waist and stopped me from moving.

   "No—stay like this for a bit, Khadijah." He whispered softly and sweetly into my ear.

   I froze. It was the first time I heard him call my name—he would either call me hey you or just you—but hearing him call my name so appealingly and amiably, caused me to flush hot and red all over.

   He relaxed and laid his head on the bed. He looked very relieved. I didn't move. He was soon fast asleep. I slowly released his grip around me and got off—being careful not to wake him up.

   I unfastened his neck tie, took his loafers off and tucked him under a sheet. He was dead tired, that was certain. The muscles of his face were stretched and the frown lines indicated that he was completely worn off—that's why he must have come home early.

   I pressed the buttons that automatically shaded the large window and switched the lights off. I watchfully closed the door behind me. My new attitude towards Shehzad was finally beginning to show results. I have made my resolve to fight fire with fire. That is the only way to bring in to the straight path.

   A path that bears a different shade of white—one that is clear and straight.

                                                                        ********** 

   The other day went very pleasant. I helped him get ready for work. He didn't complain about any annoyance. He was in a good mood or his good side was present in front of me that day.

   "Oh I almost forgot." He exclaimed after putting on his coat. He went to one of the wall closets and brought something out of it.

   "I'll be going to a soiree tonight and you going to accompany Me." he told me and threw what seemed like a dress cover on the bed.

   "Really? You want me to go with you?" I asked in disbelief. He frowned.

   "Of course, since you're for free. Or would you prefer that I take someone else with Me." he smirked sarcastically.

   "I'll be going with you as your wife?" I asked.

   He sighed. "You're such an i***t. Didn't I tell you that I will not introduce you as my wife to society." He claimed. I bowed my head.

   "Oh forget it. I shouldn't have told a stupid woman like you to be my date for the evening." He sighed in disappointment and headed for the door. But I ran ahead and blocked his way.

   "What time?" I asked obliviously. 

   He furrowed his brows but sighed and told me to be ready by 7:00 p.m.

   After he left, I took a look at the dress that he had left for me. The label on the suit cover was of Gucci.

   When I unzipped the cover, I was shocked at what found inside. It was black cocktail dress. It was very revealing and if I wore it, then it would only hide my abdomen and leave my chest, legs and shoulders bear.

   He wanted me to wear such a vulgar thing; it needed some serious adjustments. I looked at the time. I had a lot of time. Since I didn't have a sewing machine, so I suppose that I would have to work with a needle and thread. I was very skilled at it too. But it would be too time consuming, so I grabbed my coat and bag and went out to look for a decent sewing machine.

                                                            **********

   It took me some time but I was finally done with the adjustments on the dress. I left it on the bed and went to the bathroom to take a bath. When I was done, I quickly blow dried my hair and put on some makeup. With black, smoky eye makeup is always complimented.

   I got out. I had to find my black pencil heals that Ami had bought for me from Milan. I was surprised to find Shehzad in the bedroom.

   He was examining the dress with an unfriendly frown on his face.

   "What the hell is this?" he shouted, pointing the dress at me, his frown deepening.

   "What? I just did a few modifications." I tried to explain, but he threw the dress directly at my face.

   "Oww...... what did you do that for." I complained because the broach that I had sewed on the dress hit me on my left cheekbone. My cheek began to throb with a sharp shooting pain. It must have left a scratch.

   I saw Shehzad open the closet. "Wear this and get ready. You have five minutes." He ordered and threw another cocktail dress at my feet.

   "I refuse. I will not wear something so revealing." I proclaimed confidently and fearlessly. "Do you want other people to look at your wife's bear body?" I queried ambiguously.

   He took a firm hold of my arm. "Listen here, if you won't do as I say then of what use are you to me? You will wear this," he picked the dress and brought it near my face. "Don't argue with me or defy me otherwise I will make you pay for it." He threatened. His face was so near and his breath hit my face like hot air currents. It stung the injury on my face. I felt hot all over.

   But I gathered my wits and replied assertively.

   "NO!" I said clearly and firmly. He narrowed his eyes and stared into my eyes. He must have seen complete rejection in them. But I noticed viciousness in his eyes.  Abruptly, he took the black dress, grabbed my wrist and took me to the bathroom.

   "What are you doing? Let go of me." I was getting worried. He wasn't going to beat me, was he? The look in his eyes revealed that he was capable of anything. But he was a liberal person. He wouldn't dare.

   He stopped in front of the bathtub and threw my modified dress in it. I felt adrenaline pulse through my veins. My imagination was running wild.

   I gulped. "W-what are you going to do?" I stuttered in dread.

   "You worked very hard on it, right." he asked, glancing at the dress in the bath tub. I sensed an evil aura around him. I shuddered.

   Instead of answering, I nodded—my body was trembling with confusion. He grinned—a pure evil grin. He took out his lighter and threw it on the dress. It caught fire quickly.

   "What are you doing?" I asked in a panic. I tried to turn on the water tap but he squeezed my arm, digging his nails in my skin. I winced in agony.

   "Let go. You're hurting me." I demanded.

   "I told you that I would make you pay. Next time you try to defy me, then I will most certainly do something far worst." He vowed indiscriminately. I clenched my teeth in anger, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

   I wanted so badly to hit him in the face, but I controlled myself.

   "What the hell was that for? I had worked so hard on it. You're such an insensitive—" I trailed off, stopping myself from saying the word that was to come.

   He smirked, raising an amused brow at me.

    "I'm a what? An insensitive bastard, right?" he completed my sentence. His face didn't hide his humor. "Yes, you're right about that." He commented in English and released me. I fell—my feet weren't able to carry me. 

   "You're a horrible person." I shrieked—my voice thick with sorrow.

   He didn't respond and exited from there. I cried intensively. I couldn't believe that he would resort to such cruel behavior.

                                                                   **********  

    I calmed myself. The dress had turned to ashes. I couldn't save it at all. I had put my heart and soul into making it like a flowing flock with chiffon sleeves and black satin silk hemming that I took from Ami's suit dupatta because I didn't know about any shops that sold plain cloth.

   It was hard for me to comprehend that Shehzad could be of such weak morals. I knew that he was a pseudoMuslim and they are usually shameless—but he had gone too far. I thought that he would protect me and my fidelity. But he was directly asking me to show my body to other men. How can he expect me to even stomach such vulgar and indiscreet conduct?

    I was beginning to assume that maybe he had stepped onto common ground and respected my values a bit—but I was badly mistaken.

   He should apologize to me. I was too considerate with him. It has gone beyond my patience. He wants me to be a p********e instead of a wife—who should a***e the body that God has blessed her with. I could never do that because it was not only Haram—but also because it was against my morals. I could never be that shameless.

   I had given it a thought that maybe after my marriage I would start the Hijab—but it seems that my brazen and blatant husband wouldn't approve. Right now, I'm so ashamed to call myself his wife.  

   He didn't take me with him to the soiree. He must've taken some other woman with him. It shouldn't matter much to me because he wouldn't introduce me as his wife—but I was completely uncomfortable with it.  I couldn't stomach the thought of him with another woman.

   I dialed Suzan's number. It was really stupid of me to be the wife and yet not know anything about my husband.

   "Oh, good evening madam." She answered after the second ring. I asked her about Shehzad and the person who Shehzad took with him.

   "Oh....Um...." she stuttered. Why was she hesitating to reply?

   "He is .....Um...." this was very surprising. She would always calmly answer my questions. Something was wrong.

   I heard someone calling her. It was Shehzad's voice.

   "Madam, I'll call you later once I've checked the President's schedule." She said quickly and hung up. This had nothing to do with his schedule.

   I was beginning to feel queasy. Why was she deliberating in answering my simple question?

    I suppose I'll have to ask Shehzad directly about that. I thought of giving myself some confidence but my skepticism only increased.

   I performed my Maghreb prayers and made a Dua that may everything works out between me and Shehzad. It was about time that I should feel some peace of mind—though the challenge is only exceeding day by day.

   Suddenly, my heart began to sink and my chest felt heavy. I realized something.

A shade of white was structured—one that didn't give a pleasant feeling. It was one of those ominous shades that bore bad omen.

                                                               **********

UH-OH.....WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NOW?

ALL OF A SUDDEN, THE SITUATION HAS TAKEN A NEW TWIST.

FIRST WE SAW A SWEET SIDE TO SHEHZAD, AND THEN WE SAW THE DEVILISH SIDE OF HIM. WHICH IS THE REAL SHEHZAD?

GIVE ME YOUR GUESSES.

AND WHAT ABOUT THIS BAD FEELING THAT KHADIJAH IS HAVING RIGHT NOW? AND WHAT ABOUT THIS BAD SHADE OF WHITE THAT SHE REALIZED?

READ, VOTE AND COMMENT YOUR WILDEST GUESS ABOUT WHATS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT.

THANKX A LOT.