The Best Part To Coming Home

  • 02 Dec - 08 Dec, 2017
  • Ayesha Adil
  • Fiction

I often wondered what was the best part of coming home for people; it’s not at the top of my list but I often did wonder.

I even asked my students once as part of a lesson. A lot said their mom; some said their room and sleep. Some said food. Whatever they said of course there were blessings at the end of the day that they looked forward to.

I think these are important things to keep in mind. We are taught lessons of gratitude and constantly reminded that gratitude is, in fact, the key to success. But how many times do we actually pause to ‘see’ the things that we should be grateful for? How many times do we ‘feel’ them?

The torturous day, the heat, the work, the bothersome colleagues, what wasn’t there to make me crazy? I didn’t complain but I felt the brunt.

But then again the smiles, the love, the care and attention that I got from my students and friends, these were things to focus on; I was truly and fully blessed.

“What are you thinking?” Fawad turned around to ask.

What was I thinking?

“Blessings, I’m thinking of blessings,” I replied pensively.

He knew better to let me be when I was in such a mood. Why had I become so meditative? I often wondered. I was always a ‘loner’, but never alone. I know now that I’m a born introvert and more so an old soul. I was always the misfit. Only now at this age can I truly enjoy my brooding character. I am old enough to be my boss and no one can ask or question anymore.

Being old is a good thing, I realise. It’s not something to shy away from. It brings its own set of blessings and challenges.

So I was thinking of ‘blessings’.

It had been a particularly busy weekend. Friday evening was spent at a wedding that I didn’t care to go to, but had to.

As Fawad put it, “They will forget we exist if we don’t go. And besides, their hospitality is so well-known.”

By which of course he meant that he was going for the dinner buffet which indeed was something to look forward to.

I hated the late nights. Waiting till 9pm to get ready, leaving after 10 and getting back home around one or two in the morning. The world has gone to the moon and back, and we in Pakistan cannot have a wedding reception on time.

It exasperated me.

But it was indeed a chance to meet everyone and stay in the limelight as my ‘celebrity’ husband pointed out.

So we are now here on a Sunday, being our usual lazy selves, bracing ourselves for the week ahead.

“What is your best part to coming home, Fawad?” I asked him curiously.

“Hmm, you want me to be honest?”


“You will want me to say you,” he teased.

“No dear, I want you to say what you truly feel.”

I kept my voice as calm as I could but I couldn’t hide the fact that I was feeling bugged. Why was he even considering saying something else? Just say ‘you’, we don’t want to start World War III you know. That’s something the elites are taking care of anyways.

“I feel blessed about a lot of things. You know it. I like the simplicity and our uncomplicated existence.”

What was he trying to do? I mean, I didn’t ask the question to start a debate. Suddenly, my ‘pensive’ calm had turned into a ‘raging storm’.

This escalated rather quickly, somewhat unexpectedly.

Calm down, Saima. A wise inner voice reprimanded.

I listened to my inner voice occasionally and started to weigh the consequences of where this conversation was going.

Why did he always have to be so literal? I mean it’s a simple question. Just say you. It’s so easy. You.

You are the best thing to come home to. It’s you… its always been you. Why can’t you say it? Say it Fawad. Say it.

I could feel my heart racing.

Now I’m generally a very secure person. I don’t need constant reminders of my worth. I need motivation and encouragement and appreciation but I also take criticism rather well. What irked me more was that Fawad was making such a big deal of this. Saying that I was the reason for his happiness was not such a big deal. I mean just say it.

“You know, you’re making a big deal of this. It’s not such a big deal. We all have a lot to be grateful for which cannot always be measured and explained.” He said, in a monotone.

I was making a big deal? Me? All I wanted was a simple pronoun. A simple acknowledgement, was that too much to ask? Why couldn’t he comply?

Was he even paying attention? I’m not having a causal conversation. Pay attention!

Relax, Saima. Remember all that you have to be grateful for? Fawad is a big part of that. My inner voice hardly gave up.

Oh, shut up, you inner voice. I said under my breath.

“What’s that you said?”

“It’s a simple question. Why are you being so technical about it?”

These were the times that I felt that maybe I didn’t even know this man at all. Why does he have to be so infuriating?

“Are you testing my patience?” I said cattily.

“No, of course not. I just feel that our blessings cannot be put into a few words that’s all,” he said matter-of-factly, intelligently and philosophically.

He was always so smart. Mr Smarty Pants.

“I asked what you like to come home to. Not a historical essay on past, present and future blessings.”

I couldn’t hide my irritation.

“You know what. Forget it.” I got up and left the room.

I needed alone time. My solace was my comfort. Fawad learnt the hard way not to bother me when I was in these moods. He knew that it was best to leave me alone when I was angry – angry at anything for that matter.

Even if it was something that happened at work or with a friend, asking about it meant that not only will I rant about how upset I was with that person, but I will burst on him and let lose all hell fire on my innocent hubby.

He’s not that innocent you know, Saima. The devil hardly gave up.

I needed to calm down.

And as soon as my anger-o-metre came down a few notches, I began to miss him. He was my soulmate. He was my ‘person’; he always had my back and I could always unburden myself to him.

I felt that he was sitting there alone waiting for me to come back.

He won’t come and seek you girl after you stormed out like that, the angel reminded me.

Fawad knew that when I was ready I would eventually open up to him with everything that disturbed me. He was my rock.

He was one of the best parts of coming home for me.

I took out an iced water bottle from the fridge and poured myself a glass. As I sipped the water, coolness hit the spot.

I realised what a huge, childish mess I had made.

I had ruined a perfectly good evening over nothing. Did it really matter what he said when deep down I knew what he really felt. And he was the end of the day for me always. In my heart of hearts I knew I was his.

I went back into the room and found him sitting at the edge of the bed reading.

He looked so innocently unaware.

“You’re back,” he said.

“I am,” I said.

He smiled a knowing smile. I nodded a wise nod.