Chapter 27

With eyes at rest in the way of dreams, Hidayah heard the quenching rain. The percussion of the given water varies according to the surface it wets. There were the drums that were windows, the cymbals that were the concrete floor, and the soft, soft maracas that are the music of the grass. The triangles are the puddles, a high note to pick up the mood to sing of the joy of the plants upon such a night.

With tedious movement, she got off her bed and ambled out of the room. She headed to the balcony and peeked out. He wasn’t back yet and it was already midnight.

Hidayah heaved a sigh of frustration. She walked back to her room and settled down on the edge of her bed. She rubbed her temple and bit her lower lip to stop the tears from cascading.

Coming home late, giving her silent treatment, yelling for unnecessary reasons, not eating her food when she cooks. This was how Ahmad has been treating her for the past four weeks or even five, she lost count. And it