under the covers [hs au]

chapter forty-two.

The anchor was too stubborn to let Samira move forward.

As the days passed, Samira had been struggling to pull it out of the harsh waters, dragging it with her everywhere that she went. As it weighed her down, getting out of bed hadn't been so easy.

Her strength wasn't there. Having to pour everything out had weakened her to the core. Part of her wanted to give up; she wanted to lie in all her hopelessness until it killed her.

Hidden in her pillowcase, she'd sometimes take the time to reread Harry's journal. Scrutinize it. Understand why he behaved the way he did and the reasons for how she responded. Analyze the good and bad parts. Think of why this relationship brought out the worst in her, for what other reasons she met this man.

Harry's last thoughts for the journal were for Samira to feel better without him—they had her standing on her feet, believe it or not, even if it hurt that he couldn't say it to her face.

Those very sentiments caused Samira to walk into Dr. Ayub's office every other week. She would bring that stupid lamb with her; as much as she couldn't understand it, she forced herself to try because being pessimistic was what made her this way.

"Samira, you haven't written in your journal. It's your third session," Dr. Ayub mentioned. "Why haven't you?"

Sitting on the couch in Dr. Ayub's office, Samira looked into the lamb's eyes. She attempted to stare into its soul . . . but there was nothing.

"Because I still don't get it."

"Get yourself, you mean?"

Dr. Ayub took a seat on the big chair across from Samira, rolling up her gray cardigan sleeves. Samira sloped back on the sofa, legs crisscrossed and hands entangled. Her hair was a bit messy, passing her shoulders since she'd trimmed it. All Samira had been wearing nowadays were clothes that looked almost like pajamas—she never took the time to decide on a cute outfit or adorn her face with makeup like she used to.

"The challenges have just been confusing me, I guess," Samira answered. "I'm doing what you say, but they've been a bit hard. Like, my family was cool for a bit when I started saying no, but now they're annoyed."

"So, you're feeling bad?"

"I think they're making me feel bad if that makes sense?" Samira fiddled with her fingers.

Dr. Ayub took a few notes, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose: "Is there anything you've been having a hard time saying no to?"

Samira gulped, stroking the lamb's fur.

"Actually, yeah. My father has been bugging me with marriage since I finished my degree. I wish I could tell him that I want to focus on myself for a bit before dealing with that. He's been sending me pictures of guys, and I went on one date, but that didn't work out."

Whenever Samira sat around the house, the topic of marriage hung over her like a blustery cloud. Omma and Wapa would pester her now that she has all this 'time' in her hands, even though that time was dedicated to her well-being as she'd previously decided.

Although the guy her father had in mind—Irfan, or whatever his name was—was charming, the coffee date didn't go so well. She'd left for the date with no purpose other than making her father happy.

Samira couldn't help but stay quiet the whole time, let alone bother to put herself together beforehand. Maybe it was her dark circles, low voice, and standoffishness that scared Irfan away.

But, surprisingly, Wapa wasn't upset with her.

"Oh." Dr. Ayub raised her eyebrows. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Do you want to get married?"