Burnout was, ironically, too tired a word for this type of exhaustion.
While Neela was having the time of her life at some post-finals rager off-campus—and was sure to return past the early hours of the morning—Talia had collapsed on top of her bedsheets at half-past eight, too spent to have even tugged them over her bare shoulders. The AC never worked in this part of the building anyway, but at least it was pleasant enough of a near-summer night that a silk tank top and pair of shorts sufficed.
She huffed, glimpsing her reflection in the floor-length mirror. God, that matching pajama set was way too sexy for her lonely night.
Her last real final had taken place two days ago, and since then, she'd emptied this cramped room of most of her useless belongings and spent the last two evenings annoying Calvin as he'd tried to cram for his remaining AP exams. She was only on campus for the Arabic oral final awaiting her at eleven in the morning, a supposed thirty-minute conversation about close to anything.
She'd spent most of her shower mumbling to herself, counting that as studying, before throwing in the towel—literally—when twelve episodes of another Spanish drama beckoned to her.
How many ways can you tell the same damn murder mystery?
Disappointment built halfway through episode three of the second season, making her glad for once to be interrupted by her vibrating phone. It was another panicked text from Caleb, a freshman political science major and her partner for nearly the entire semester in Arabic. He'd taken a strange liking to her ever since she'd handed in a listening quiz thirty minutes before the rest of the class and walked out of the room without a care in the world.
Talia had clearly disappointed him when she'd fumbled for words even more than he had in their group presentation the following week. Her clearly lopsided abilities had captured the attention of their animated professor, who would invite her office hours regularly for informal chats and extra help sessions.
After all that awkward suffering—which, admittedly, had worked wonders for her confidence—her ninety-seven average looked quite nice.
Thanks for the not-so-easy A, Zaid.
Throwing her head back down onto the pillow, Talia closed her eyes, not before being jerked awake again by false panic over a non-existent missing assignment. The ungodly demands of this semester had induced a toxic form of Pavlovian conditioning, associating relaxation with the need to study and rendering her dreams just as turbulent as her thoughts.
***
"Zaid."
His name was on Talia's lips as she met a different type of darkness: that of her room past one in the morning. The glowing analog clock on her wall mocked her as she shook off her alarm, fingers curling around her sheets like a safety blanket. For five minutes, she felt as stuck in place as she had in her dream, back flat against the headboard, taking in nothing other than the light of the moon forcing its way through the blinds.
Body on autopilot, she fished for her phone on her nightstand and tapped the only contact adorned with a heart. The rings that ensued somehow calmed her beating heart, but certainly not that of the recipient of this late-night call.
"What, hello—marhaba?"
It took the rasped greeting to remember that it was four-thirty in the morning for him, a time difference that had slipped her mind more than once before. Every time she'd told him she'd remember the next time, he'd made her forget all over again with three simple words.
I'll always answer.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," Talia breathed, voice thick with unshed tears. She dragged her fingers through the roots of her curly hair and tugged for comfort. "I'm going to turn you into an insomniac at this rate."
"At least my sleep is less deep at four than it is at two." Zaid made light of the situation, clearly recalling the time in March when she'd panicked-called him at eleven p.m. while studying for an exam in that class from Hell. "You sound different, Talia."
"You can tell?" Of course, he could. By now, the four months he'd heard her through the phone had long outweighed the three weeks they'd communicated in person. "Maybe I just need a drink of water."
"Maybe," he repeated, adding through a yawn, "but you have to be calling for a reason—and I don't think it's because of a class."
"No, my finals are almost done," she said, reaching for her water. The coolness of the bottle helped cement her in reality, washing away some of the trauma of that haunting dream. "It is something else."
"What is it, ya omri?"
"I dreamt of you," she choked out, hunting around for a tissue in the dark. "Well, nightmared of you, but I'm not sure that's a word."
"It's not." She swore she could see that self-satisfied smile on his lips before it faded away into the dark. "But we can make it one."
Talia tried to laugh with him, but the cracks in her voice would have been a dead giveaway that she was crying. She didn't want to burden him more at such an ungodly hour of the night—well, morning. Pressing her nose into the clump of tissue in her hands, she sniffled as quietly as possible, letting the cotton absorb the trickles of moisture from her eyes.
"I don't think my subconscious brain likes you as much as my conscious one does," she said carefully, using the tissues as a makeshift stress ball. "If my dream is happy, you're never in it."
He sighed. "You could be cursed like me and simply never dream anymore."
"Maybe that's not much of a curse..."
She no longer wanted to see him in her dreams or her nightmares. She wanted him in front of her again, to watch those hazel-brown eyes take her in, to run her hands down his chest and feel his beating heart.
She wanted all of him.
"Well, I think this is the hardest problem I've ever had to solve, and I feel like all I do is study problems with no solutions." A small breath escaped his lips, and then she heard what sounded like a body falling back against a mattress. "Especially when I can't get rid of all this damn space in my bed with your body."
"I wish I had extra space in my bed," she laughed, extending her arm and feeling the cold wall under her palm. After a moment, she released a sigh of acceptance and finished, "I guess we can hang up now, Zaid. Next time I promise to call—"
A firm voice cut her off. "Talia."
"What?"
"Stop talking."
"Okay," she breathed, fighting a smile.
A moment later, he spoke again. "And Talia?"
"Yes?"
"Even if one day you have a good dream about me...you can still call."
***
"Thank you so much, Professor. I really enjoyed your class a lot more than I thought I would."
Talia picked up her black tote from the floor of her professor's office, shaking off the unneeded anxiety from this exam. She was ready to make a beeline to the exit, until Professor Ayers stopped her in her tracks.
"You know, I'm very glad to hear that, Talia," she said, tipping down her brown-rimmed glasses, a few wispy blonde strands falling over her face. "Do you have another minute?" Talia nodded. "I'm not sure how busy the fall will look like for you, but I'm wondering what you'd think of working as a teaching assistant for this same class next semester."
"Me?" Cringing at the immediate response, Talia cleared her throat. "I mean, that sounds like an interesting opportunity. What would the job require?"
She smiled, picking up a mug of coffee from her cluttered desk. "Given that you're one of the few of what we would call 'heritage speakers' in this class, I'd like you to help me facilitate group discussions in class and extra-credit conversation hours outside of class." She took a small sip and continued, "Of course, you'd have regular TA duties, like grading quizzes, homework assignments, and holding an office hour or two a week. Sound okay for you?"
Those parts of the job she was certainly familiar with after having TAed two semesters of Calculus II sophomore year—but she was beyond tired of math.
"That sounds great, actually. Is there anything I have to do before then?"
"Don't stop reading," she said through a smile. "Have a wonderful summer, Talia."
Breathing in her freedom, Talia roamed campus with a light skip in her step, red floral dress twirling around her in the light May breeze. Skipping the coffee for once, as she had no reason to stay up to a stupid hour of the morning until her internship started, anyway, she headed back to her room to pack up the last of her things and finally eat her first meal of the day with Neela.
A prolonged brunch and two mocktails later, they climbed back into Neela's cherry-red Lexus. As she set her dainty hands onto the wood-accented steering wheel, she stared at Talia through her oversized Prada sunglasses.
"You know what. This is why you need to bite the bullet and learn to drive." With a firm foot to the gas, the speedometer went from zero to sixty in seconds. "There's no greater ticket to freedom with two foreign parents than a driver's license, Talia."
"I can drive," Talia mumbled, rolling her eyes. "I'm just bad at it."
"Bitch, so am I." She jerked the car around a section of the street closed off for construction. "As long as you don't kill someone, who's judging?"
Talia held on to the dashboard, knuckles turning white as she zoomed past a yellow light. "Uh, the police, insurance companies, emergency room doctors, possibly?"
Affected by her logical response, Neela continued at a more comfortable fifty-five miles per hour and found the first radio station playing soft music. Feeling somewhat more secure about her life, Talia closed her eyes for a brief nap, one she was sure was going to be interrupted every five minutes by a quick glance at the road.
Sure enough, that was exactly how the rest of the drive to her house had played out. Brow furrowing, she took in the sight of both her mother's SUV and father's BMW in the driveway, a sight that rarely occurred before the evening hours. The garage was also open. Most of their neighbors rarely closed theirs—this area saw nothing more scandalous than a missing cat, anyway—but her father still swore by the "just in case" rule.
Still confused, Talia stopped in the garage for a moment, glossing her eyes over the bikes and jump ropes in the corner that she and Calvin had long abandoned, before pushing open the door to the mudroom. The thud of her bag hitting the floor drowned out some conversation for a moment, but when it was quiet again, she heard nothing.
"Hey, guys I'm—"
Her words lodged themselves in her throat when she found her parents in the kitchen. Her father held her mother against his chest, both dressed in business attire with more wrinkles than either of their meticulous selves could stand. Arms tightening around her smaller frame, her father sent his tired brown gaze off to the distance, where Calvin stood, back from school an hour early and still clad in uniform khakis and a shirt and tie. He slouched against the wall, lips pressed into a firm line, eyes downcast.
She watched as her mother grew weaker in her father's hold, her knees giving way, and instinct pulled a scream from her chest.
"Talia." Calvin's wary voice came from across the room instead. "It's our grandmother."