A Prayer Heeded Read online

  A PRAYER HEEDED

  A Prayer Series II

  by

  Samreen Ahsan

  Copyright © 2014 Samreen Ahsan

  Smashwords Edition

  Those who spend their wealth

  night and day,

  secretly and in public,

  their reward is with their Lord,

  and they will have no fear,

  nor will they grieve.

  (Holy Qur'an - 2:274)

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  SEPARATION

  ONE BY ONE

  THE TRUTH

  THE OTHER SIDE

  DISCLOSURE

  THE CURSE

  ANOTHER WORLD

  THE CONFESSIONS

  HOLY MATRIMONY

  THE PYRAMIDS

  MY LIFE

  AN UNHEALED WOUND

  MY WORLD – UPSIDE DOWN

  A SILENT PRAYER

  A FEW YEARS LATER…

  It’s so hard to forget someone…

  who gave you so much to remember…

  In loving memory of my brother,

  Muhammad Ali.

  Your presence will always be felt

  and missed.

  PROLOGUE

  ♂

  July 2012

  It’s the peak of summer and people are dancing crazily under the open sky, on the rooftop of one of the nightclubs I own in downtown Toronto. I tap my cigarette over the ashtray and blow smoke rings into the air. I’m not a regular smoker, but I do when I have a lot on my mind, usually in places like this. It’s the weekend, so it’s crowded, and all I can smell is smoke, alcohol and sweat. Men are lined up at the bar for their drinks, but also drinking in the available women around them. Women are waiting for an opportunity to hunt them down into their bedrooms tonight. Purple and blue lights are changing and flickering over the dance floor, as the DJ rolls the discs and changes tracks. Couples are dancing closely, grinding to the beat of the music, swallowed into the mass of squirming dancers filling the dance floor.

  I see a man running his hands all over his woman, as if he’s going to take her right here and now. Get a room! It’s a blessing of the weather that women get a chance to wear hardly any clothes in the open air, pressed between steamy male bodies. They are sweating hard, but none of them is showing any inclination to leave, reveling in the sultry atmosphere of the club. Running a nightclub is a strange business, isn’t it? You’re giving a platform to all the singles and availables—to come, drink and pick up a partner for casual sex. And the next day, they don’t remember who they slept with, let alone talk to them afterwards. But then, why am I wondering at them? I do the same when I come here. I don’t remember a woman after a fuck either. The only difference is, I don’t talk to them before or after it.

  I take a sip of whiskey, and a woman in a very short red dress sits down next to me. I check out her red stilettos, my gaze traveling up her long sexy legs to her neckline. Yeah! Fucking sexy body. I turn my eyes back to my whiskey glass. I don’t look at the women’s faces. They don’t intrigue me…not anymore…except the one I saw a few months back. I’m not sure if that woman was real or a figment of my imagination, conjured out of fantasy and too much alcohol. But whoever she was, she’s raised the acceptance criteria of beauty for me. I look at women and I don’t find anyone as mesmerizing as her. It’s mid-July, almost five months since I saw her in that nonexistent spiral structure, but never once has she slipped from my mind. I seek her beauty in every woman’s face, regardless of whether I’m at work, at a party or in a nightclub.

  I look toward the crowd, hoping to find the same provocative beauty that took my breath away, but I guess she was just my imagination. I saw her at a place which has never been built. I’ve returned there so many times, hoping to find that same rusted door, but there is no building attached to that restaurant. I don’t know what it was in her that drew my body and soul so close to her. Her face was half-covered, with a mask tied around her eyes, but the radiance that beamed from her has cut me deep inside. I search for the same refinement in every woman around me. I touch so many women, hoping to feel the same spark that I felt when I touched her, searching for her divine fragrance. And the kiss—it was off the charts. After looking at her sensuous lips, I have no desire to kiss any other woman. I don’t know what would happen if I saw her again; she might unman me with just a look.

  I don’t believe in the concepts of Hell and Heaven, but if someone told me that she had fallen from Heaven, I would believe it. If I take my faith in a direction where Heaven exists, I would believe that she is not from this world. I have looked for her for five damn months, and if she truly existed, I would have seen her somewhere on the street, in a club, at a party—anywhere. But where is she? Why do I always lose my concentration when my mind and soul shifts into the memory of her? I don’t realize people around me are talking to me or waiting for me to say something. My eyes keep searching for her; my mind constantly trails into that spiral passage.

  I shake my head and smudge the cigarette into the ashtray.

  “Looking for someone, Mr. Gibson?” the woman in the red dress asks me. I give her a glance. She looks like a stranger to me, but the way she’s talking, I’m not sure if we know each other. I look toward my bartender, who fills me another glass of whiskey. As I take out another cigarette, her voice slits my thoughts again. “I can help you find the one you’re looking for.” I look at her and she smiles with her luscious full red lips.

  “You don’t know what I’m looking for,” I say, my voice matter-of-fact.

  “I know everyone here. Almost all the women. I’m sure you are not looking for a man.” She smirks at me again and takes a sip of her martini. I ignore her words and concentrate on my drink. “Unless I can make you forget who you’re looking for. After all, it’s not the first time for us, Mr. Gibson.” Really? Do I know her? She stands up and leans closer to me, whispering in my ear. “I can even make you forget who you are.”

  Without thinking, I leave my bar stool and walk toward the exit, expecting she will follow me, and she fulfills my expectation. She walks behind me as I trail down to the main level of the nightclub and exit the hallway. After a few minutes, we silently enter my suite. She closes the door behind me as I walk toward the bed. I pull open the nightstand drawer and take out the pink shimmery mask. I place it on the bed and walk to the window, looking out at the glittering skyline.

  “Put that over your eyes, before you take off your clothes,” I say, my voice coarse with the effect of the whiskey. I hear her stilettos tapping over the floor as she walks toward the bed. I’m sure she is intelligent enough to obey my command.

  “It’s the fourteenth time we have slept together. You’ve touched every part of my body, but you haven’t ever looked at me once.” I hear her voice behind me. Fourteen times? Seriously? How come I don’t remember her? I turn around and she takes off her red heels. She’s wearing the mask now. I walk toward her like an animal and she smiles at me. She places her hand on my chest. “What is it with you and this mask, Mr. Gibson? Do you have a connection with it?” She’s looking straight into my eyes. I avert my gaze and walk past her. I toss my jacket over the couch. When I start to unbutton my shirt, she walks toward me and stops my hand. “Allow me,” she says seductively.

  I look at the woman’s face, trying to recollect my memories of her, but even wearing the similar mask, this woman is not even close to her. “You only look at me when I wear this mask. Does it intrigue you, Mr. Gibson?” I look at her, poker-faced, not sure what to say in return. Why don’t I remember sleeping with her in the past? But if I think about my previous experiences, I don’t remember any of my sex partners. Only that one single woman has been etched into my memory so de
ep that I can’t think of anything else but her. What is fucking wrong with me?

  We lie on the bed. I’m not really in the mood for fucking her. She says she has been with me fourteen times, and I’m such a jackass that I don’t even remember her face. She rests her head on my bare chest and plays her fingers over my body, trying to pass ripples of desire into my skin. I don’t feel her touch; I don’t feel her warmth. And maybe, I won’t even remember her in the morning.

  “Do you even remember my name?” She holds up her head and looks at me. It seems like she has read my mind; I really don’t know who she is. She pulls away and sits up next to me. “You can talk to me, Mr. Gibson. I won’t spread a word of it to anyone. Consider me as your therapist, not as your bed partner.”

  “Are you a therapist?” Those are the first words to come out of my mouth since I gave her the mask.

  “I am your therapist, Mr. Gibson.” She takes off her mask. “You’ve stopped coming to me over the past few months.” Is she telling me or is she asking me? “I’ve been observing your behavior, and you are not the same as you used to be. You don’t look at a woman’s face, except for giving it a glance. You shag women with this on their faces.” She picks up the mask. I look at her for a while and recall; she is my therapist.

  “Rebecca Nicolson?”

  “Yes, that’s right, Mr. Gibson. I’m glad you recalled my name.”

  “Of course, I have come to you for two years. How come I didn’t notice you earlier?”

  “It’s because you never look at any woman, anymore.”

  “Have we…slept together before?”

  “I told you earlier, Mr. Gibson, fourteen times. You don’t remember?” Now she’s talking like a doctor. I shake my head in negation. “Are you having a memory loss issue?”

  I take a deep breath. I don’t have anything to say. “Why did you approach me this way? You could have called me to inquire why I’m not attending the sessions.”

  “I tried, Mr. Gibson. You said you don’t need sessions anymore. I saw you at a party, back in February, and the way you were behaving made me worried about you.”

  “I’m all right.” I give her a blank look.

  “You look all right, but your mind isn’t. You need to let it out, Mr. Gibson. Whatever is on your mind, whatever is plaguing you inside, you need to discuss it. You ask women to wear this mask and try to find something in their faces. And you know this behavior is new in the last few months; it’s not something you have done in the past. Has anything happened to you lately?” I look toward the wall, avoiding her speculative gaze. “I would have met you and talked to you about this change, but I wanted to experience the change that others have noticed in you. Do you notice how you have changed?”

  “What difference does it make? They all get paid. You will too.”

  “I am not a whore, Mr. Gibson. Yes, I will charge you for my session, but not for this. You are like a fascinating book to me. Every chapter, there is something new.”

  “So you’re using me for a case study.”

  “You are my case, Mr. Gibson. But what surprises me is, you don’t talk anymore. I notice your mind is completely occupied with something…something related to this mask. And I am sure you are keeping this to yourself.” I blow a deep breath again, trying my best to focus on her words. “It is quite surprising to see a man like you in this state of mind. I told you I slept with you fourteen times and you believed me?” I look at her, surprised. “You didn’t even argue that you don’t know me or you haven’t slept with me. You stayed quiet, acknowledging everything I just said.” I keep looking at her, deadpan, as she continues. “No, Mr. Gibson, we haven’t slept together at all. I don’t sleep with my patients, but I wanted to test your mind, to see if it’s clear or not. And sad to say, your mind is blurred. It is clouded with something…I can’t really tell, unless you share. But I am certain that it’s related to this mask. Do you have nightmares?”

  I pick up the mask and flick my fingers on it. I don’t look at her. “I wouldn’t call them nightmares.” I pause for a moment; my eyes are still fixed on the mask. “I saw her wearing a similar mask.” I look toward the wall, but I am sure she is observing me, reading me.

  “When did you see her?”

  “In February.”

  “And?”

  “I saw her dancing…she was extremely beautiful. I haven’t seen anyone like her.”

  “Did you meet her again?”

  “No. That’s the misery of it. I keep searching for her, everywhere I go.” I look at her. “I ask every woman to wear the mask so that I can make sure if she’s the one or not, but it fails every time. I can’t get her off my mind. What should I do, Doctor?” I touch the mask again. “Is there any medicine to make me forget?”

  “I’m afraid not. Have you thought about what you will do, if you see her again?”

  “I guess…I will lose my mind again, like I did last time. But…I will make sure I won’t let her out of my sight.” I close my eyes and shake my head.

  “What if she acts the same as you do when you see other women?” she asks bluntly. I look at her in surprise. “I mean, what if she treats you the way you treat other women? What if she ignores you like you do to the others? You reap what you sow. Have you ever given a thought to that?”

  Her question stupefies me. I never thought about it. What if she truly exists? What if she doesn’t look at me the way I imagine her? What if she ignores me and walks away like she did the first time? Would I ever be able to handle it?

  “I would make sure she looks at me the same as I imagine her to.”

  “But what if your imagination doesn’t match the reality?”

  I inhale deeply. “Then I will make sure she matches my imagination. I will dwell in her fantasy. I will make sure she feels me and no one else. I will make sure she desires me as much as I desire her.” The doctor is listening to my every word. “I will make sure I’m the only one for her and there is no space for any other man in her life.” I take a deep breath once again. “I will make her mine, no matter how far I have to go, no matter how hard I have to strive for it. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s eating me from inside, Doctor. And the worst part is, I don’t even know if I will ever see her again.”

  SEPARATION

  December 24, 2012

  Rania rushes toward the exit. Ali catches her elbow at the doorway, holding her back. She cries out in pain. “Let me go, Ali.”

  “I am very sorry for what happened, Rania, but where would you go at this hour?” Ali looks at the worn-out girl with pity.

  “I don’t know. Just let me go.”

  “I will drop you wherever you want.” Ali tries to calm her down.

  “I will get a cab. Please don’t make it so hard on me, Ali. If you ever respected me, just let me go and call a cab.” He releases her arm. Ali can see the pain she is going through. She is not warm, she is not cold, she is simply dead inside. The person whom she mistakenly considered to be her soul mate has crushed her soul into millions of pieces. Ali helps her to call the cab. She thanks him and, before slipping into the car, she opens her clutch and gives him her phone.

  “Give this to Adam.” She wipes her tears with the back of her hand, still sobbing hard. “Tell him not to chase me ever again. I don’t want him to contact me in any way.”

  Ali looks at her with empathy. “Just give him one chance. You might not know it, but he loves—”

  “Please, Ali. I don’t want to hear it. I was always his. He didn’t have to win me, but still, he’s lost me now. Please take care of him and don’t let him drink too much. Bye.” She closes the car door and leaves for nowhere.

  ***

  Meanwhile, inside the party, Grace picks up her son and takes him to the same private room where Aunt Marie was giving her fortunetelling sessions. She is still there when Adam enters the room. He sits in a corner of the room and his mother provides first aid for his injured hand. Marie observes the broken man intently. She sits beside
Adam and looks at his hands, covered with blood and pieces of broken glass.

  “So you let your demon win over your soul.” Adam looks at the old lady with fearful eyes. “And she thought you had a powerful soul. She was overconfident about it.” Adam still looks perplexed, unable to understand what she is trying to say. He wonders how and why she is even talking to him about this. What does she have to do with their lives? But then he remembers that she was the one who first made Rania run away from the party. Adam wishes he had let her go home then, and not let Nathan meet her. Things wouldn’t have gone beyond that, if he had agreed to let her go.

  “You were warned, Adam; jealousy burned your relationship. You didn’t hear what was being said to you. She is very far from you now. You will have to start all over again, and this time, it’s going to be much harder. You need to start searching for her soul.” Grace and her son look at the old lady with astonishment, as she speaks the truth. “You were almost there, Adam. You found her lost soul with your goodness, but you lost it as soon as you let your demon win over you. Her soul escaped from one fire last night to find yours, but your own fire burned her.”

  Adam gapes at the woman in surprise. He wonders how she knows about the fire. “What do I do now?” Adam still wonders why he is even talking to this strange lady, but he knows that the old lady and Rania share a secret.

  “Nothing, right now. Let her go wherever she wants to. If her soul is destined to be yours, then your soul will find its way.” With that, the old lady gets up from her seat. She stops at the doorway and turns back. “Just make sure she is only bent, and not broken.” She exits the room, leaving Adam speechless and perplexed.

  His pride and envy have taken everything from him. He lost Rania once by fire, but this fire that is burning inside him inflamed everything, including him. His fire is worse than the fire Rania had in her apartment.