*Shezana’s Diary* *Garments for Each Other* *Sunday 25th May* Dear Diary, It’s been a day and a half since Ahmad left, and I can feel the weight of his absence in every moment. He left early Saturday morning—just before Fajr. I stood at the door, trying to smile as I waved goodbye, pretending my heart wasn’t already aching. I watched the taillights disappear into the soft morning mist, and as soon as the gate shut behind him, I felt the world quieten in a way that only separation can create. Tears glided down my cheeks with much ease and as I wiped them, more flowed. I returned to our room. The bed was still warm on his side. His pillow still carried the scent of his cologne—cedarwood and musk. His slippers stood by the cupboard like they were waiting for him to slip into them. I paused. He always slid into them with that tired sigh, stretching slightly before coming to breakfast. Breakfast. That’s when I missed him next. I sat alone at the table, nibbling toast. The sound of the toaster popping felt louder than usual. I poured tea into his cup before realising he wasn’t there. The silence was sharp. I busied myself with texts to him, keeping the thread going, checking on his travel, reminding him about his charger, asking if he had snacks. Each ping from him brought a flutter to my heart, and yet with each reply I missed him more. At noon, I went to Ammi’s house for lunch. Everyone was there— Rehanas in laws and mine, minus my Ahmad. The men were seated outside in the verandah, the late spring sun making the whole space warm and inviting. There was laughter—deep belly laughs and gentle chuckles—and a sense of peace that only comes when family gathers. The ladies were in the main hall, spread out on soft floor cushions with trays of food being passed around. There was biryani—fluffy, fragrant, and rich—roast chicken glistening with a buttery glaze, fresh cucumber raita, and tamarind chutney. Rehana had brought a tray of cream rolls, and Ammi’s homemade carrot halwa was served hot with thick cream on top. I should have been soaking in the warmth and the chatter. And I did, to an extent. But all the while, my heart was waiting for Ahmad to walk in, to squeeze my hand gently as he passed by or tease me about taking too long to eat. At one point, I went to the kitchen for some juice and saw Rehana laughing with her husband by the fridge. They were whispering something, both trying not to laugh too loudly. And it hit me like a wave—I wanted Ahmad there, joking beside me, teasing me as I poured drinks. I smiled, but inside, it hurt. After dessert, while guests started leaving, Ammi held my hand and asked, “Why don’t you stay the night, beta? Ahmad’s not here anyway.” Even my mother-in-law gently encouraged, “Stay, you’ll feel better here. Don’t go back to that quiet house.” I smiled, thankful for their love. But something tugged at me—a strange pull. I couldn’t explain it. I needed to go home. To our room. To that quiet. Maybe to feel the ache fully. So I left. That night, I cried. Alone, curled up with his pillow, I sobbed. And it helped. Tears cleared the fog around my heart. I fell asleep somewhere between longing and peace. The next morning, I woke up before dawn. I made wudu and stood for Tahajjud. I poured my heart into duas—for his success, for his safe return, for our togetherness. My tears returned, but these felt hopeful. After Fajr, I got a text. He’d reached safely. “I thought of you all day,” he wrote. *“Every hour felt like I was missing something. Turns out, it was you.”* My heart ached with love. And also with sadness. The kind of sadness that’s only born out of deep connection. Later that morning, Rehana called. Her voice sounded low. “Sadiq is going on a trip with his friends for the weekend,” she sighed. “I tried to tell him he should prioritise me… I mean, I get it, he says he loves me the most, but still…” I listened as she explained how she let him go, even though she didn’t feel right. At around 9am, she texted me again. “He left me a gift. A Swarovski ring… with a note: ‘For the one who makes my ordinary moments feel extraordinary.It was a beautiful feeling.. “ I invited her over to my house for the long weekend , but she suggested something better. “Let’s spend the weekend at Ammi’s. Like old times.” I smiled and immediately asked my mum. “Of course, beta! Go enjoy, I’ll pack some burfee for your Ammi and Abba,” she said, her voice full of warmth. Rehana, though, had a little resistance from her side when she asked her mother in law. She called to tell me, “hey Shezi Maa is making a fuss here.What should I do? Eesh!! I asked her, “can I go to Ammi’s for the weekend with Shezana?” and she became furious Shezi!! She squealed, “Go? Now?Are you crazy? You know, I want to make pies! Who’s going to help me?” “Rehana, listen to me, be nice to her. Please, please, persuade her kindly to let you come! “ “I did, I told her that I will help her when I come back.. “ “Oh shukar! It's sorted! ” I said Rehana laughed. “After a few sighs and pursed lips, she gave in. “Fine, go. But do the laundry before you leave.She said. “ Rehana laughed again in the phone before putting it down. We met at Ammi’s around 10 am. We hugged like as though we saw each other after years. Once we were in our room, Rehana said in a whisper, “While doing Sadiq’s laundry, I found something odd in his trouser pocket.” “Like what” “Umm… ” “What did you find? “ I asked her worriedly. “It was something ajeeb. I took it to Maa and showed her. She didn't know what it was.Just then, our employee Musa walked by and said, “Oh! That’s the vape I bought for Mr. Sadiq… ShShezi we both froze.” She took a deep breath. “I asked Musa more casually. He said boss likes cherry flavour and he buys one every week. Every week, Shezana.” Her voice was a mix of surprise and sorrow. That afternoon, while Ammi chatted with an aunty, Rehana and I caught up in the corner of the room. “Why didn’t he tell me?” she asked, eyes distant. “It’s not just the vape. It’s the hiding.” I held her hand. “Maybe he didn’t think it was worth mentioning. But I know how it feels to be left out of something you should know.” I advised Rehana that she should not confront him but wait for an opportune moment and bring it up softly. She seemed very upset. To brighten things, I suggested that we all go on a picnic. Abba drove, with Rehana and I giggling in the back. Ammi packed burgers and sandwiches with homemade punch. At the park, we set up mats under a shady tree. We barbecued chicken wings and sweet-sour ribs. Laughter echoed as we played catches with Abba—who surprisingly still runs faster than us! Then we played chicken in the den, just like childhood. We ended with Monopoly and Scrabble—where Rehana cheated so much that when we found her stash of hidden cash under the chattai, we laughed till our stomachs ached. I noticed her eyes scan her phone often. “He hasn’t even texted,” she muttered once. “Did you message him?” I asked gently. “Yes,” she sighed. “He said it’s only been four hours,” she rolled her eyes. “Then he sent a laughing emoji. Said he’ll chat later—he’s out with friends.” I didn’t know what to say. I was texting Ahmad all day. But I tried to be discreet, putting my phone away when she looked over. As the sun set, we returned home. After Maghrib, we sat in the lounge. Ammi told stories of our childhood—how Rehana once shaved off her front hair trying to look like a cartoon character, or how I used to cry if anyone touched my teddy bear. We laughed and laughed. And in that moment, surrounded by the love of my family, my heart felt warm. Even with Ahmad far away, the love around me softened the ache. And as I went to bed that night, I knew one thing for sure—this love, in all its forms, is a garment for my soul *Love Shezana*