Life of Me

chapter 8

Hamza

I'm in my car speeding my way through to get to Ismahan. She lives about 15 minutes away from me. When I heard her voice the moment I picked up her call, I knew something was wrong. Her voice was broken on the call. Even when she needs help. She is always one to do her things on her own, her way. But this time, she really needed someone. And I'm more than honoured to be the one who she thought of first, to call.

"H-how far are you?" I hear Ismahan voice. Her voice is still shaky and soft. I can hear her sniffle as if she is holding back more tears.

"I'm about five minutes away." I say as I drive faster.

Ismahan never seeks help. Never. She was the independent. Literally. She would never ask anyone for help even though she may breaking apart. Because, she knew she had Allah with her. And I think that's what i love about her. She is one of a kind.

"How are you feeling?" I keep conversation as I stop at a red light.

My phone is connected to the phone holder while she is on speaker.

Shuffling comes from the other side of the call. "I'm feeling a b-bit- better." I smile.

"Alhamdulilah, glad to hear that."

"H-how did you d-do that?" She asks out of sudden.

"Do what?" I arrive at her house and park the car.

"How'd you know I was having a panic attack?"

"Let's speak inside, unlock the door for me. I'm outside." He says softly. She mumbles a small okay making me hold a chuckle. She's adorable.

"I'm going to hang up." I do.

The door opens, and she stands in the door way, in her loose, light beige pajamas. She's wearing her hijab. Mashallah. She's looking at me. Those eyes...

I walk closer reaching the door. She's barefeet.

Her eyes are red and puffy from crying. Her hands are shaking, she is breathing deeply, definitely still following about what I did earlier to help her. I'm proud of her. She doesn't speak. She just looks at me. Like she's holding alot more tears.

I cannot hug her. I cannot comfort her. I have never touched her before. Worse, I have never came within a feet close to her. And it upsets me. I want to do this the right way. So I do.

"Laykom." I say softly.

Her lips wobble, yet she bites on her bottom lip to stop her from crying. I can see it. She is trying to hold back. But i shake my head, I smile at her and I open my arms, ready to engulf her into my arms and protect her from the world. That's how precious she is. And that's how she will always be.

Then she starts crying. She breaks.

I rush my way forward, taking her in my arms tightly as she breaks. Her arms comes around my neck gripping onto me. She's on her tippy toes. I don't think about anything. My head is messed up about her. Only her. She's just enchanting.

I only think about her, her cries, getting her to calm down, comforting her and how proud I am of her for being so strong for so long.

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here."

My hand gently strokes the back of her head, petting it even though she has her hijab on. I pat her head gently as she pressed tightly against me for comfort. And I gladly provide it. She is in my arms, her feet dangling cutely, not even touching the ground as I raise her up hugging her.

"You're okay." I continue to chant to her softly as I can, to get her to calm down.

She does within a few minutes. My hoodie is wet, from her cries. Adorable. She is. She steps back, sniffling. I wipe her eyes with the back of my thumb.

"It's good to let it out sometimes." I'm the first to speak. She smiles brightly... My head tilts.

"There's that pretty smile." I smile at her. She's so pretty. Pretty isn't even a good word to describe her features. She's absolutely gorgeous. That doesn't count either. She is beyond gorgeous.

I see her cheeks heat.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, yes." She blurts and walks inside. I follow her.

I take the chance to look around. Everything is neat. She is like that. Even at school. Everyone's books would be scattered on the tables. But she always had her books and things orderly packed.

"Nice and warm."

"Shukran." She smiles. "I'm gonna make me some tea, do you want anything?"

"How about I make it for you?" I look at her.

"Are you sure-"

"I am, Isma." She agrees and we go to the kitchen.

She sits at the stool by the table in the kitchen while I make myself and her tea.

"How'd you know I had a panic attack?"

"I use to get them."

"You did?"

"I had anxiety after my parents died." She gapes at me. I laugh.

"Yeah...so I know what it feels like. And I completely understand you." I now look at her, placing her tea infront of her. I take a seat next to her, taking a sip at my own tea. She does the same.

She closes her eyes, smiling. "This is good."

"It is?" I chuckle.

"Can tea taste this good?" She asks giggling. She takes another sip, closing her eyes once more. 

"Are you feeling better?"

She nods.

"I do feel better, shukran to you."

"You can call me anytime when you feel like this again. I'll be glad to help you Isma." I say softly.

"Shukran." She whispers.

(Thank you)

"Its okay. There's no need to say shukran."

"Do your parents visit?" She looks at me. Then looks down at her cup.

"My parents died. Also in a car crash. A year ago."

"Maaf..."

"Its okay. You told me about your parents too."

"But..."

"Its okay." She giggles. "Its hard sometimes because I miss them alot." She smiles softly. I look at her. She is just so fascinating.

"I understand." I say. She's nervous.

"I know."

"Who are your guardians taking care of you?"

"No one. A year after my parents died, I sold our house we were living in. Alhamdulilah the money helped me get through the year last year. They left me money to help me. And all thanks to Allah I'm still here, not homeless or poor."

"Wow, that's amazing. You're so brave to do that."

Silence. Eye contact. We stare. No words.

But my heart does. It speaks. It beats. It pounds.

Just for her.

"Marry me."

~R