Before this world, our souls existed in another realm. In that unknown realm, souls would interact, getting on with some and less so with others. There is a recognition when they meet again in this world. Some people feel their souls resisting, pulling away from someone they already know they don’t like. Like hair being brushed the wrong way, something bristles. With others there is an instant connection, souls resuming an age-old bond. A reminiscent feeling dwells after only minutes.
Nawal met Samir eight months before the wedding in her family living room. She was sitting beside her sister, Ikram, and her parents were on the adjacent sofa. Samir was in the armchair her father usually occupied. His umber curls were drowning in gel and a goatee framed his lips. His deep-set eyes gave him an austere look but it only took a hint of a smile to reveal his true nature.
Everyone spoke in English to start with. Clipped words gave the meeting a wooden formality. The pressure was squarely on Samir’s shoulders, the suitor approaching the parents, yet it was him who softened the atmosphere and put everyone at ease. His speech was adorned by a cheerful tone, laughter punctuated his sentences. It was Samir who switched to their mother tongue, allowing them to relax, to take off the English rigidity they didn’t need to wear. Conversation flowed freely after that, their words opening like petals of a flower, bringing colour to the room as they bloomed.
He laughed like a child, Nawal thought: wholeheartedly, without reserve. It started deep in his lungs and carried on through his heart before bursting from his lips. It was higher pitched than you’d expect with his baritone voice and that made it even more beautiful. It was his laugh that first awoke something in Nawal, something familiar about it. When their eyes caught, she felt a click. Delicate and precise, like something slotting into place.
She wouldn’t call it love at first sight, more like coming across an old love once again. Someone forgotten until that moment, loved a lifetime ago. The idea of loving him resembled slipping back into something she had done before. Like finding an old jumper hidden in the back of her wardrobe, putting it on and remembering that it was her favourite. That was what made her remember what the Prophet said about souls meeting before this world. She was certain her soul had known his, had loved his.
Nawal saw him often in the lead up to the wedding, always in the presence of her sister and mother. Each time, she felt the tug of her soul reaching for him. When their eyes met, she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed before he looked away. She imagined his soul reaching for her in return. It was in those moments that she dared to believe that his soul remembered her too. But Nawal knew everything would change after the wedding; marriage wasn’t a fairytale.
Nawal, Ikram and their mother had spent the last week making an abundance of makroud and baklava, sweets to give to the wedding guests. Preparations took up all her thoughts, leaving room for nothing else, so the day of the wedding snuck up on Nawal like a fox in the night. She wasn’t ready. She enjoyed savouring the wonder of her soul remembering Samir, the fleeting nature of the happiness that would be present when he was. She enjoyed missing him in between. The wedding signalled an end to it all. From this day everything would shift irrevocably, Nawal knew this.
On the morning of the wedding, the two sisters were in their parents’ bedroom with their mother getting ready. Every atom of Nawal’s body was shaking. Today her life would change. The wedding dress was custom made in the traditional style of the Tizi Ouzou region of Algeria. Nawal admired the dress, trailing her finger over the swirling gold embroidery that shone against the deep red velvet.
A last brush stroke to the bride’s face perfected the regal vision that had been created; the accentuated dark eyes with a garnet lipstick to compliment the dress.
‘So beautiful,’ her mother said.
Ikram caught her eye and Nawal smiled.
‘Don’t make me cry, Mama, please. My make-up.’
Her father’s voice accompanied a knock on the door. He entered, admired his wife and daughters. Emotion stole his voice before he won it back, telling them it was time to go. Ikram took her father’s hand and left the room. Nawal lingered a moment more as did her mother.
‘It will be you next, insha’Allah, Nawal.’ Her mother stroked her cheek lightly.
Nawal nodded and tried to smile. Her lips resisted. She turned her face away from her mother and plucked invisible pieces of fluff from her own dress. Today, Samir was marrying her sister.
When souls remember it can be beautiful; igniting powerful connections, burning love, and friendships that last a lifetime. But if the circumstances aren’t right, it can hurt like hell. Having to brush side by side, never touching. Sometimes you were only meant to love someone from afar.
She had daydreamed about Samir calling the wedding off, coming to her and saying he couldn’t do it because he loved her. But what would happen then? The daydream always faltered because what would follow would be Ikram’s pain, her parent’s shame.
It was strangely romantic to her, that he would remain forbidden. That she would be forced to dampen her feelings. The idea of loving him was equally tragic and passionate and by only ever being an idea, the tragedy and passion were preserved. The romance was in the longing, in the ache. It was in the silence of the thing.
Nawal forced herself to separate her pain from the celebration of her sister’s wedding. She wouldn’t cry today. It would be assumed that her tears were because Ikram was leaving them. It would partly be the truth but it would also partly be a lie and that wouldn’t be fair. She wouldn’t cry today; today was Ikram’s, but tomorrow was hers.
After their honeymoon, a fortnight in Istanbul, the newlyweds came bearing gifts. Chocolate, a glass tea set and immaculately embroidered prayer mats.
‘You shouldn’t have bought all this,’ her mother said, the gifts mostly landing at her feet.
‘You deserve it,’ Samir said. His tone was serious for once. Ikram beamed at his side.
‘You really shouldn’t have.’ Her mother shook her head but couldn’t hide her smile and proceeded to shower Samir with supplications for good health, a long life, and plenty of offspring – the last inciting blushes.
‘For you,’ Samir said as he handed Nawal her gift. A handmade notebook, its cover woven in the style of a Turkish rug.
She said thank you, wished them a long life and blew a kiss to her sister. Later, she would replay those two words, for you, over and over until she wore them out. Even if it hurt her, it was enough for Nawal, knowing him again.
Her parents left the room, preparing a feast in honour of the returned newlyweds. Ikram leant into Samir, perching her head on his shoulders, something she wouldn’t do in front of their parents. Nawal’s chest burned and she looked down, studying the notebook in her hands.
‘Habibi, we need to set Nawal up with someone. One of your friends,’ Ikram said. She sat up and Nawal could look her way again.
‘I don’t want to be set up with anyone, thank you.’
‘What can I do if she doesn’t want it?’ Samir said, adding his custom laugh.
Ikram ignored them both and began reeling off names of Samir’s friends, cousins and even his brother, still a teenager. Samir shook his head, making noncommittal noises in response, sniggering at the mention of his brother.
‘Hold on. It’s so obvious, I didn’t even see it. Wassim!’
‘No.’ The word came out in a warning, Samir’s eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. The single syllable was a blow to Nawal, it felt like he was rejecting her himself.
Wassim was Samir’s best friend. They had left Algiers together the year after they graduated university. They shared a poky studio flat with bunk beds in north London for five years, worked at the same restaurant, and spent nearly every night under the same roof until Samir married Ikram. They were more than brothers. Nawal hadn’t met him yet; he’d been in Algeria on the day of the wedding, flying back unexpectedly for his grandfather’s funeral.
‘He’d be great for Nawal,’ Ikram said. She leant towards Nawal. ‘He’s so similar to Samir, I think you’d love him!’
Nawal froze, her lungs reluctant to draw breath. Nawal wasn’t worried that Ikram knew what she felt for Samir, but she was petrified that this moment would betray her.
Samir saved her. ‘We’re nothing alike. Wassim is nowhere near as funny as me. Anyway, I said no.’
‘But why are you saying no to everyone?’ Ikram’s tone was indignant, offended on her sister’s behalf.
‘None of them are right for her. They’d have to be perfect for my sister,’ Samir said. He looked at Nawal, his smile unreadable.
‘And what about you?’ Nawal said. The words escaped from her mouth before she could stop them.
‘Me?’ His smile fell. A hint of a frown shadowed his eyes. Nawal searched his face. Her heart soared before shattering at the trace of sadness she saw, what it meant. Ikram was beside her husband, unaware of what his face betrayed. Nawal dug her nails into her palms.
‘Are you perfect for my sister?’ Nawal said.
A trickle of Samir’s wholesome laughter filled the room. ‘I’m trying to be.’
‘Invite Wassim to our cousin’s wedding next month, I want him and Nawal to meet.’ Ikram was insistent.
‘Do I get a say in this?’ Nawal asked.
At the same time Samir said, ‘okay, fine.’
Another wedding came. Nawal and her parents arrived together and met Ikram and Samir there. She’d avoided seeing the newlyweds, it wasn’t too difficult. If they were visiting, she’d go shopping for their mother or take an extra shift at work. It was getting harder to see them together, only made worse by the guilt that lingered, the sense that she was betraying her sister.
Samir was in a sullen mood; speaking little, no jokes, barely a smile. Nawal had been dreading today, having to see Ikram and Samir together and the heartache and guilt she would be left with. But, she had thought, at least she would see his smile.
‘Wassim should be here soon. He took the day off especially,’ Ikram said. She had persevered with her plan.
‘Oh God,’ Nawal mumbled.
Someone with a broad smile approached their table. The introductions were awkward. Ikram dropped hints, nudged Nawal and made remarks to Wassim. Samir smiled but it was forced. Nawal’s parents abandoned the foursome to pay their respects to the bride’s family. Shortly after, Ikram nudged Samir and told him they should do the same. She parted with a grin, putting her hand on Nawal’s shoulder to stop her from standing when she tried to follow.
The moment they were alone, or alone as they could be in a room filled with two hundred guests, Nawal wanted the ground to swallow her. But when Ikram and Samir left, so did the awkwardness they had manifested, and Wassim visibly relaxed. Nawal found herself enjoying his company.
Nawal could see what her sister meant, there was a likeness between Samir and Wassim. At first glance, physically, there was nothing similar. Wassim was shorter yet broader, his face was clean shaven and his hair was curlier. A closer look revealed that their eyes were taken from the same pool of dark honey, gave the same glint when they smiled. But it was in their nature that the similarity was striking. The same electric energy, the same sense of humour and brazen quality to their laugh. Samir was wrong, Nawal thought; Wassim was as funny as him.
Nawal wondered whether this similarity had always been there or if years of living, breathing and working together had moulded them into each other. Nawal couldn’t deny, she was destabilised by the similarity.
She’d been talking to Wassim all afternoon. He shared stories of him and Samir; their lives in Algiers, the restaurant they worked at and the highs and lows of life in the capital. Nawal couldn’t tell if the thrill she felt at the stories was because they were about Samir or because Wassim was telling them.
They left the stuffy heat of the hall, wedding guests all vying for the buffet, and sat side by side on a bench outside.
‘I feel like I know you from somewhere,’ Wassim said after a comfortable lull in conversation. ‘I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve met before. Even though I know we haven’t. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I think I do know what you mean. I’ve experienced it before,’ she said. She told him of the Hadith about souls meeting in the realm before this world.
He looked into his lap and they both sat quietly for a moment. ‘That explains it, why I feel like I know you. Maybe our souls knew each other.’
His face was still, eyebrows slightly raised.
‘I guess, maybe. Only Allah knows,’ was all she could say.
‘What if only one soul can remember, the other forgot, what then?’ he asked.
‘That would be kind of sad.’
‘What if I remember you and you don’t remember me?’
Nawal looked him in the eye and saw he was serious. She could only be honest and the truth was, she didn’t know. Her feelings for Samir clouded every thought.
‘I don’t know,” she said. ‘Maybe time would help me remember. Maybe it doesn’t matter.’
Wassim smiled and changed the subject, started telling her a funny story. Nawal’s laugh was cut short when she saw Samir coming out of the hotel. Her smile dropped; heart clenched. She had hoped this feeling would start to fade. Samir stopped when he saw them. Wassim hadn’t noticed him, still looking at her. Samir held her eye for a moment, a smile still absent from his lips, before going back inside.
She couldn’t spend her life pining after him.
She thought about what Wassim said, if only one soul remembers. She pictured for a moment, not being aware of the connection she felt, of the pull that carried her across a room just to hear what Samir was saying. The way his laugh, his smile, lifted her higher. Then she imagined feeling pure, unadulterated happiness for her sister, unblemished by her own pain. She imagined feeling only sisterly affection for Samir. She turned it over and over in her head, went back and forth, round and round.
But she couldn’t decide which was worse; remembering or forgetting.
