Bitter Sweet | (Published) ✔

{13} A Complicated Equation

Tasneem Uddin

"I don't get math," grumbled Bashir as he hit his head against the counter. "What's the point of finding out x when I don't care about the y?"

I rolled my eyes, "This is valuable information in life."

"We have calculators."

"Calculators don't find the x," I argued. 

He raised his brow at me. "But Google can."

I groaned, "You twenty first century kids are unbelievable."

We were sitting in my parent's café. I was helping Bashir with his math homework. We were going over the first problem and within five minutes, Bashir started complaining. I didn't think tutoring a twelve year old would be so difficult. I felt like doing his homework for him just to stop the complaints and logic he kept throwing at me. 

"Let's try this again," I sighed as I picked up his pencil and retaught him. 

"I still don't get it."

"What don't you get?" I asked.

He gave me a lazy grin that was almost equivalent to the one his older brother usually gave me. "I don't get why I have to know math that's complicated when I won't even use it in the future."

"Bashir, just do your homework."

"No."

I tilted my head at him. "Guess no homemade chocolate chip cookies for you," I shrugged. "That's okay. I'll just give it to Ibrahim and Thomas."

His light brown eyes widened and he took the pencil from my hand. "You win," he mumbled as he frantically tried to finish his math homework. 

I watched as he punched in numbers on his calculator. He quickly scribbled something down and punched more numbers in. His face contorted with concentration, lines appearing on his forehead. His fingers gripped the pencil harder, stumping on one problem. I watched him, silently. He looked so much like Ibrahim.

They both had the same strong jaw, the same long eyelashes, and the same thick black hair. Their skin was pale as snow, maybe even pale enough to be a vampire from Twilight. Bashir's nose was small and straight. Ibrahim's was crooked, but it didn't take away from his beauty. Ibrahim had this rugged quiet look to him. I looked at the time, 7:15 pm. Sighing, I glanced out the window of the café.

I missed him. 

Ibrahim had been gone since the early morning. We had been sleeping in our respective rooms, but it didn't feel so great having an enormous room to myself. One thing was missing. It was the body warmth from Ibrahim, his gentle breath on my neck, and his tight hold on my waist as if I'd vanish if he didn't keep me close. I felt safe in his arms, it was like I belonged there my entire life. 

I spent so many nights wondering if his nightmares came back. I was scared that he'd wake up in fear and go through it alone. I didn't want that. Ibrahim wasn't alone anymore. He had me, his wife. I was supposed to be the one who listened to his fears and comforted him. 

In Prophet Muhammad's (peace be upon him) time, he told his wife his troubles. She was one who told him he wasn't crazy for seeing an angel. She believed him when the people of Makkah went against the Prophet, telling him he was a joke or a fool. She stuck by him through it all.

I wanted to be like that with Ibrahim. I didn't care what happened in his past, I would never judge him for it. I just wanted to help him, and be there for him. Ibrahim deserved to feel loved, something he'd been deprived of for far too long.