Footballer's hijabi wife

14. What is wrong with you/me

Youssef sat wondering what was wrong with Aqsa. Well, since she ran out of the house 5 days ago they hardly talked.

She was back to work full force and they hardly spoke to each other. He knew it wasn't because of work. Aqsa worked at least 66 hours a week, an on call night atleast once or twice a week. Worked 12 hours a day, 5 and a half days a week. Her job was very demanding but he felt like this wasn't just about her job.

He had played fifa last night with a bowl of fruit salad wondering what was wrong with Aqsa. It was troubling him and he had wished she had confided in him if something was wrong. Had he done something wrong? Nothing he could think of.

Youssef was in the kitchen making breakfast for himself as he had training today. They had a match tomorrow for his normal club, one he wanted to leave so bad and play in a first league club. He enjoyed playing there but it wasn't what he wanted long term, he wanted to leave so bad. But he had to work harder to get out of there.

He heard the apartment door open and immediately he knew it was Aqsa coming back from her on call shift. She was going to rest a few hours then go back to the hospital at 4pm till 9pm (which was her half day) and come back home later.

'Salaam Youssef!' Aqsa greeted him with a small smile. No hug, nothing.

'Waaleykum salaam love. How was work?' He said with a wide smile.

'Alhamdulillah. Fine. I'm just tired.'

'I'm so sorry.' Youssef said making his way towards her to give her a hug but she took a step back. He noticed her avoiding him.

'Why don't you go freshen up then join me for breakfast before I leave?'

'Leave?'

'Yes, training. I have a match tomorrow.'

'Oh!' She said absent minded. 'Okay.'

What was wrong with her. He asked himself that again. It was eating him inside. He wanted to be bestfriends with his wife but it was as if there was an iron wall between them throughout this week and he just couldn't help but wonder if this was how his married life was going to be.

Once Aqsa was in the shower, Youssef finished preparing his "not-so-round pancakes", tea and some fruits and syrup.

Youssef was going through his phone waiting for Aqsa to join him, reading some sports news and articles she finally came to the kitchen in her short white night gown and a knee length brown cardigan her hair in a messy bun.

Youssef watched her as she sat a few steps from him. His patience thinning but not saying a word waiting to see if she will say anything but nothing. The silence was killing him. So much. What had he done to her? Wasn't she ready? Had he hurt her? Self doubt kept creeping in.

He watched her as she silently ate her pancakes and fruits.

'Aqsa!'
She looked up at him, her eyes blank.

'What is going on?' He asked. The pain evident in his deep voice.

'What do you mean?' She asked as she lowered her cup of tea.

'Do you think this is okay? You saying 5 words to me a day. Avoiding me. Not talking to me about anything. Not work, not life. No affection from you, avoiding any from me, what is wrong with you?' He bellowed completely losing his patience and she winced.