What he saw was disappointing; it was something he was used to seeing, yet he still could not tolerate it.
Hamlat was lying on the couch, fast asleep. The room was in complete disarray, as if a fight had taken place; clearly, no one had cleaned it for nearly a month.
Amaan became extremely angry, so he fetched cold water and splashed it on Hamlat’s face.
She woke up angrily, shouting, “Who is the bastard that poured wa—”
When she saw Amaan standing before her, she could not finish her sentence.
She took a deep breath and said, “So, you useless fellow, you’re back? And here I am without any peace.”
Amaan stood before her, boiling with anger. He could not even speak; he just stared at her.
She added, “Hey, move out of my way, will you?”
Amaan smiled and said, “Are you done?
Do you have no respect for yourself, let alone your husband?
From the look of things, since I left this house, it hasn’t been cleaned for almost a month.
And you say your husband has returned from a journey, yet you appear like this?
Instead of welcoming me with respect, you start insulting me.”
While he spoke, Hamlat glared at him, stamping her feet on the ground.
Before he could finish, she interrupted, “Stop there, you son of a nobody! I’m not your patient—don’t you dare provoke me. Just because I’m quiet now doesn’t mean I won’t react. By God, I’ll make you regret it. I don’t tolerate disrespect, and you know that better than anyone.”
Amaan replied, “So this is how you speak to your husband? From today, if you must show your lack of shame, do it to me alone—don’t involve my parents.”
Hamlat scoffed loudly and said, “Who are your parents? I don’t even know them or their ways. You know I don’t associate with nobodies. It’s only circumstance that made me stay with you; otherwise, I would have left you long ago.”
She finished, hissed, shoved him aside, and walked into the room.
Amaan only watched her, no one knowing what was going through his heart.
He stood there for over thirty minutes, doing nothing but thinking.
Finally, he said, “May Allah make things easy.”
He then began to clean the living room. After more than an hour, it looked better—though it was still far from truly clean.
---
Page 2
After finishing the living room, Amaan went into his room to bathe. By Allah’s mercy, he had cleaned it before traveling, and since Hamlat rarely entered it, it wasn’t as dirty—just dusty.
He bathed, then dressed in simple clothes; he didn’t bother with anything fancy.
After getting ready, he headed to where his car was, without even greeting Hamlat, knowing she might only worsen his mood.
He drove off fast toward Layin Zana, as if he were heading to another town.
What surprised me was that he parked near a small mud house without plaster—if you didn’t know the city, you’d think it was a rural village.
He got out and leaned against his car, staring at a little girl who looked no older than fifteen. Despite her age, she was clearly still childish; she was playing hopscotch, wearing her school uniform.
Amaan smiled as he watched her, forgetting his worries.
She was unaware of him, busy with her game.
While playing, she saw a woman selling roasted yams.
She suddenly ran away shouting, “Roasted yams seller!” while twisting her mouth playfully.
The yam seller chased her, and the girl ran for her life.
Amaan watched everything, smiling, his heart strangely drawn to her.
When she reached her gate, she pushed it open noisily and mocked the yam seller.
Amaan burst into laughter, and the seller eventually gave up and left.
Though Amaan hadn’t tired of watching her, he finally got into his car, laughing and saying,
“Someday, this little girl will make me burst my stomach with laughter.”
Then he drove off.
From that day on, whenever Amaan was around, he would come to Layin Zana around the time he knew the girl would return from school.
On any day he didn’t see her, he would fall sick with fever—she had become like the rhythm of his life.
From there, Amaan went straight to his family house, where his parents lived.
He headed directly to his father’s sitting room.
There, he met his father and mother, who welcomed him warmly.
His father asked, “How is the road?”
Amaan replied, “Fine.”
His mother then asked, “How is Hamlat? I hope you’re both well.”
Amaan answered, “She’s fine.”
After greetings, he went to his father’s room.
His mother smiled widely on seeing him, and they asked about his wellbeing.
His mother said, “Amaan, I know you are patient, but be careful.”
Amaan only smiled, not wanting to upset his parents.
They advised him deeply, after which his mother served him food and he ate.
Later, he headed back home.
On arrival, he found Hamlat had messed up the living room again.
Seeing him, she said sarcastically, “So, you little hypocrite, have you gone to report me to court? Know this—wherever you go, I’m stronger than you.”
Amaan just smiled; his mind wasn’t on her—he was thinking about his “little baby.”
Realizing his attention wasn’t on her, Hamlat rushed to him, grabbed his collar, and said, “Are you trying to make me mad?”
Amaan entered with his greeting.
What he saw was disappointing; it was something he was used to seeing, yet he still could not tolerate it.
Hamlat was lying on the couch, fast asleep. The room was in complete disarray, as if a fight had taken place; clearly, no one had cleaned it for nearly a month.
Amaan became extremely angry, so he fetched cold water and splashed it on Hamlat’s face.
She woke up angrily, shouting, “Who is the bastard that poured wa—”
When she saw Amaan standing before her, she could not finish her sentence.
She took a deep breath and said, “So, you useless fellow, you’re back? And here I am without any peace.”
Amaan stood before her, boiling with anger. He could not even speak; he just stared at her.
She added, “Hey, move out of my way, will you?”
Amaan smiled and said, “Are you done?
Do you have no respect for yourself, let alone your husband?
From the look of things, since I left this house, it hasn’t been cleaned for almost a month.
And you say your husband has returned from a journey, yet you appear like this?
Instead of welcoming me with respect, you start insulting me.”
While he spoke, Hamlat glared at him, stamping her feet on the ground.
Before he could finish, she interrupted, “Stop there, you son of a nobody! I’m not your patient—don’t you dare provoke me. Just because I’m quiet now doesn’t mean I won’t react. By God, I’ll make you regret it. I don’t tolerate disrespect, and you know that better than anyone.”
Amaan replied, “So this is how you speak to your husband? From today, if you must show your lack of shame, do it to me alone—don’t involve my parents.”
Hamlat scoffed loudly and said, “Who are your parents? I don’t even know them or their ways. You know I don’t associate with nobodies. It’s only circumstance that made me stay with you; otherwise, I would have left you long ago.”
She finished, hissed, shoved him aside, and walked into the room.
Amaan only watched her, no one knowing what was going through his heart.
He stood there for over thirty minutes, doing nothing but thinking.
Finally, he said, “May Allah make things easy.”
He then began to clean the living room. After more than an hour, it looked better—though it was still far from truly clean.
---
Page 2
After finishing the living room, Amaan went into his room to bathe. By Allah’s mercy, he had cleaned it before traveling, and since Hamlat rarely entered it, it wasn’t as dirty—just dusty.
He bathed, then dressed in simple clothes; he didn’t bother with anything fancy.
After getting ready, he headed to where his car was, without even greeting Hamlat, knowing she might only worsen his mood.
He drove off fast toward Layin Zana, as if he were heading to another town.
What surprised me was that he parked near a small mud house without plaster—if you didn’t know the city, you’d think it was a rural village.
He got out and leaned against his car, staring at a little girl who looked no older than fifteen. Despite her age, she was clearly still childish; she was playing hopscotch, wearing her school uniform.
Amaan smiled as he watched her, forgetting his worries.
She was unaware of him, busy with her game.
While playing, she saw a woman selling roasted yams.
She suddenly ran away shouting, “Roasted yams seller!” while twisting her mouth playfully.
The yam seller chased her, and the girl ran for her life.
Amaan watched everything, smiling, his heart strangely drawn to her.
When she reached her gate, she pushed it open noisily and mocked the yam seller.
Amaan burst into laughter, and the seller eventually gave up and left.
Though Amaan hadn’t tired of watching her, he finally got into his car, laughing and saying,
“Someday, this little girl will make me burst my stomach with laughter.”
Then he drove off.
From that day on, whenever Amaan was around, he would come to Layin Zana around the time he knew the girl would return from school.
On any day he didn’t see her, he would fall sick with fever—she had become like the rhythm of his life.
From there, Amaan went straight to his family house, where his parents lived.
He headed directly to his father’s sitting room.
There, he met his father and mother, who welcomed him warmly.
His father asked, “How is the road?”
Amaan replied, “Fine.”
His mother then asked, “How is Hamlat? I hope you’re both well.”
Amaan answered, “She’s fine.”
After greetings, he went to his father’s room.
His mother smiled widely on seeing him, and they asked about his wellbeing.
His mother said, “Amaan, I know you are patient, but be careful.”
Amaan only smiled, not wanting to upset his parents.
They advised him deeply, after which his mother served him food and he ate.
Later, he headed back home.
On arrival, he found Hamlat had messed up the living room again.
Seeing him, she said sarcastically, “So, you little hypocrite, have you gone to report me to court? Know this—wherever you go, I’m stronger than you.”
Amaan just smiled; his mind wasn’t on her—he was thinking about his “little baby.”
Realizing his attention wasn’t on her, Hamlat rushed to him, grabbed his collar, and said, “Are you trying to make me mad?”