LOOK AT ME (Muslim Story)

He looked at me (49)

Have I not had enough? Does god not think I've had enough of this shit? I've gone through enough, I've been tested enough so what the fuck is he trying to prove? That I can't handle it? Because I can. I'm strong.

No I'm not.

Fuck.

I found myself getting up and walking to the exit of the police station. A few cops noticed me leaving and probably felt that it would be better if they called after me but knowing everything I've been through, they just let me go.

I walked to the nearest train station and sat down on the bench in front of the tracks. I remember once, my dad and I would take the train when he got his car towed. I was in the sixth grade, and whenever we would hang out, he'd take me on the train.

I sat there, crying, remembering all the memories I've had with my dad. Just the thought of him being killed made me want to kill someone. Fred to be specific. I know they're going to find him. Fred is pretty easy to find, since he testified in my court case and since he doesn't know how to cover his damn tracks.

I just needed a little more time. Just a little more time with my dad before he left me.

Just a little more time so we can convert to Islam together, live together, so he can witness my wedding, my kids and everyone.

I felt a sudden presence behind me. I didn't want to look, Mostly because I was crying and I hated people seeing me cry. For some reason, I felt like I knew the person who was behind me, considering the smell.

Cologne.

My features went blank before I felt a frown take over, my mouth curving downwards and my fists ball up. I know who's behind me. And right now isn't the best time to see them.

"I heard what happened." He said, his voice horse. I missed his voice, I can't lie, "I'm really sorry."

I was silent. I'm not responding because a response will take down my cover. My voice will crack and everyone in the train station will know I'm crying.

This time, he came into view. Ahmed sat down beside me, his beanie a little bit further down his forehead, covering half of his eyebrows. He had a black jean jacket, another black sweater underneath it and a tee shirt, visible from where I sat. He wore gloves on his hands and the slides I bought him a few months ago.

"I followed you here." He scratched the top of his nose, his eyes staring at the tracks, "There were squad cars all around your house."

Honestly, I was hoping he would be the last person to come see me. Yes, I knew he would find out about my dad sooner or later. I just didn't want him to be the first person to see me about this. That's all.

He cleared his throat, "You've been through way too much."

I closed my eyes. Opened them, closed them again, "God doesn't seem to get that." I replied.

"God is testing you." He shrugged, "He wants to know how you're going to handle it."

"Was he testing me when he took you away from me too?" I asked, staring at him from the corner of my eye. He noticed how intense I just made this conversation seem as he looked down and pursed his lips.

I nodded, "I thought so."

It was nothing but silence after that. He probably didn't know how he was going to respond to me. I don't understand. Allah knows we believe in him. Allah finally guided my dad. Allah was about to have us convert before he decided to take my dad's life. I just—I don't get it.

Can all this testing stop? I don't think I can do it anymore.

"I told my mom about you." I heard Ahmed say out of nowhere, "I told her that you were my best friend."