𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒𝟓

ARZO

Stress for one exam ruins your preparation for others.

I learnt that in 6th grade when I was worried about failing my math exam and couldn’t prepare properly for urdu.

Thankfully, I didn’t fail any of those subjects but the marks I got didn’t exactly satisfy me. I could’ve done better.

Since then, I forced myself not to let my stress about one subject ruin my preparation for the ones I wasn’t stress about.

In this case, my portrait exam.

It’s in four days and I still don’t know what to paint. I tried painting. I usually paint landscapes, sceneries but none of them feel right to me. My art studio is filled with random paintings but none of them feel right for the exam.

Since none of the paintings are satisfying me, I’ve stopped until the exam arrives. Maybe the stress will be some kind of inspiration.

Today, I’m studying art history, which is my next exam.

My art studio has also become my study room. I lock myself in here after Fajr to study and leave it to get something to eat or drink.

Since my exams have started, Faizan has been a huge help. He got practice exam papers which helped so much, he quizzes me whenever I ask him to and even asks questions that the teachers may surprise me with.

He makes sure I eat proper meals, keeps checking up on me, making sure my health is well. He also saved me from almost walking into a wall while I was revising my notes.

I sometimes end up falling asleep on the couch or on my study table while studying so Faizan carries me to bed. One time, I fell asleep on the prayer mat after offering Isha and instead of carrying to bed, I found him asleep beside me in the morning.

When I asked him why he didn't take me to bed like any other night, he pointed out that I told him I liked sleeping on the prayer mat. So, he fell asleep beside me.

Its gestures like these that leave me speechless.

My attention turns to the studio door as it opens. Faizan walks in, holding a tray of food and places it on the end of my table before taking a seat beside me. He’s dressed in his usual gray t-shirt and black sweats. He shouldn’t wear those t-shirts when I’m studying, the amount of muscles he has is distracting.

He kisses my cheeks, “you’ve been locked in here since I left for work.”

I rub my eyes then sign, “I was starting to forget what I learnt so I rushed to redo my practice exam.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, amar.” he says, picking up the plate of pulao, “Salma said you deserve to eat one of your many favorite foods because of all the hard work you’ve been doing.”

I smile, “I’m going to make sure I hug her very tightly as a thank you.”

“I’m sure she would love that.”

Faizan feeds me and I continue to revise my notes. He lets me use his shoulder to rest my head and doesn’t complain. He reminds me to drink water as well.

“Do you want more?” he asks after I finish my second plate.

I shake my head, “no, thank you.”

“Okay,”

I look back at the multiple paintings sitting on the table across from me. A defeated sigh leaves my lips.

“What’s wrong, amar?”

I turn to Faizan, “I don’t think I am going to score well in my portrait exam.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I can’t think of anything good to draw. The paintings I drew are just not it!” I sigh, “I have nothing as an inspiration.”

He stares at me for a while, his eyes searching my face, he hums, “finish your preparation, I’ll think of something.”

He gives me a small kiss before he takes the empty plate back downstairs- after handing me a bar of chocolate as dessert.

I study for two more hours then my yawns tell me to stop. I clean my books around the table, pack my bag then leave the art studio.

I go straight to Faizan’s home office and thankfully, he’s there, sitting behind his computer, typing something.

He looks up as I walk towards him and pushes away from the desk so I can sit on his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck, resting my head on his shoulder.

His fingers thread through my hair and I make a hum sound at the comfort.

“I have something that may help you for the portrait exam.” he says after a while.

I pull away, frowning and sign, “what is it?”

“I’ll show you.”

I get up from his lap. He shuts his laptop, getting up. He holds my hand and I let him lead me out of the home office to our room. He grabs a blanket from the closet and two pillows then exits the room.

He takes me downstairs to the backyard.

I watch him as he lays down the blanket by the pool and drops the pillows.

“Sit,” he says and I do just when he does.

I look around and then sign to him, “now what?”

He gives me a small smile and points up, “the sky.” he says then looks up.

I look up as well. The sky is dark with gray clouds moving slowly, no star in sight.

“When I was young, back in Saudia Arabia,” he starts, still looking up, “I used to sneak out of my room in the middle of the night and go stare at the sky in the backyard. I would lay there for hours, just staring as the clouds moved across the sky, some slow, some fast. The smallest stars catching my eyes the longer I look. The moon, too beautiful to stare at, bringing its own comfort.”

I turn my head towards his side profile, the small smile resting on his lips.

“That was the only kind of comfort I got. In the darkness of the night. When everyone was asleep.” He continues, “when I came here with mama and baba, it was hard to see stars in the sky but the clouds and the moon still brought comfort.”

He looks at me, “even the darkest cloud can be the reason for someone's comfort.”

He gives me a smile that shows the hint of his dimple before he looks back at the sky.

Keeping his words in mind, I stare at the clouds moving across the sky.

I imagine a five year old Faizan laying in his backyard, staring up at the sky because it was the only comfort he had. How long he stared at the moon, forgetting about what his father did to him or what he would do the next morning. How, it didn’t matter what the day would bring as long as he got to stare at the moon.

Faizan lays down after a while, his head resting on the pillow, his eyes staying on the sky.

I rest my head on his chest, wrapping my arms around his stomach. His fingers thread through my hair as we lay silently, staring at the sky.

My eyes catch the moon as it slowly reappears from behind the clouds. My eyes trace the details of the clouds still roaming around the moon, making it more beautiful than it already is.

Even the darkest cloud can be the reason for someone’s comfort.

A smile takes over my lips as the cloud becomes a shadow around the moon as if giving it comfort or saying that the moon isn’t alone in the dark night.

I realize Faizan is like that. The cloud around the moon. My shadow. Always making sure I know, I’m not alone. He is the cloud that shadows me from the negativity anyone throws at me.

His words repeat in my head, making me realize how true they meant.