Yaseerah couldn’t breathe.
An all-too familiar fear ran through every nerve in her body, prickling against every inch of her skin, becoming a tangled noose that looped around her neck, restricting her airways in a way she had never felt before.
Her breaths were coming out in short, shallow gasps, her heart thundering against her chest like a caged bird as she charged through the hospital’s entrance, a sharp acidic burn churning within her guts.
Her legs moved of their own accord, propelling her forward, her pace quickening until she was almost running down the hospital corridor which seemed to stretch endlessly before her–a never-ending maze of doors and corners, each one like a physical barrier between her and her mother.
“Yaseerah, slow down!” Fou’ad huffed, as he rushed to catch up with her. “Tell me what’s going on, you’re scaring me!”
The last one hour had been almost hazy, as they rushed out of the house, Fou’ad following after her holding an abaya he had picked at random–because she had ran out of the den in only her pajamas–and his car keys.
Fou’ad had wanted to ask her what happened or who had been on the other end of the call but he knew it wasn’t the right time.
So, he’d held one of her hand in his throughout the drive, only letting go when they’d reached their destination.
She hadn’t said much on their drive to the hospital, only muttering the name of the hospital and urging him to drive fast, her eyes wide with panic.
And now, he watched her with a level of confusion and wariness, as she made a beeline for the reception desk, her steps shaky and carrying an undercurrent of urgency that almost made him dizzy.
“Maryam Mahmoud Ibrahim,” she uttered, as she slammed her hands against the desk, startling the woman behind it. “Where is–”
“Yaseerah?” An unfamiliar voice–to Fou’ad–cut through the hallway, making them both turn.
Once again, Fou’ad watched as she dashed towards the lone figure across the hallway, and threw her hands around his neck, clinging to him like he was her only anchor in the raging storm.
His brows furrowed deeply, his eyes narrowing into slits as he watched the scene unfold before him, his confusion deepening even more. His emotions were a tangled mess–jealousy at war with his desire to be understanding.
He knew he should trust her, that there was more to the situation than met the eye. Yet, the sight of her in another man’s arms, desperate for a respite he couldn’t provide her gnawed at him, filling him with a sense of profound betrayal he couldn’t shake.
She was his wife.
Why was she clinging to another man so desperately and that too in front of him?
His heart wrenched with guilt for his jealousy, knowing it was unjustified, that she deserved his understanding. But in that moment, all he could see was her in the arms of another, and it tore at him with a fierceness he couldn’t contain.
Swallowing past the tight ball that had lodged itself in his throat and pushing aside the jealousy that had reared its ugly head with great difficulty, he inched closer to where they stood, hoping to get a clearer understanding of the situation.
“What happened?” he heard her ask, once she had pulled back from the man’s embrace.
His fingers itched to pull her away from him completely but he quelled down the urge, choosing to observe the scene instead.
“She woke up and asked for tea,” the man–whom he now noticed looked a lot younger than his wife–began, his voice wavering slightly, as he struggled not to cry. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to give it to her and I...” he choked back on a sob, and Fou’ad could feel the anguish coming off of him in waves. “Everything happened so fast. She started convulsing and... Wallahi Yaseerah I didn’t know.”
Fou’ad’s expression softened, as he listened to the confession, another pang of guilt hitting him square in the chest.
Something traumatizing had happened to the young man, something traumatizing enough to have made Yaseerah almost lose her mind, and there he was, losing his mind because she was comforting the boy.
Shame on you, Fou’ad, he thought, hanging his head low, as his eyes glazed over with tears he didn’t allow to fall. Shame on you!
“It’s okay,” Yaseerah spoke in a soft whisper, as she used the ends of her veil to wipe away Bilal’s tears, setting aside her own emotions and focusing on him. “I believe you.”
“She almost died because of me,” he said in a broken whisper. “We almost lost her. If she... If she doesn’t... If...” he trailed off, the possibility of losing her haunting him.
“Don’t think like that,” Yaseerah pleaded, a pang of sorrow piercing through her heart. “Let’s stay positive. Mamu will pull through. She’ll wake up and–”
“I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to her because of me.”
Instinctively, her fingers curled into tight fists, her pointer fingers tracing over the scabs on both palms. She ached for him, for the pain and guilt etched across his face, tears brimming in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
Her guilt and anger swirled inside her, as Bilal’s words echoed in her mind, each one like a sharp dagger, twisting and reopening old wounds, reminding her of her own failure.
A familiar urge crept up on her in that moment, whispering seductively in her ear.
Just one cut to ease the pain, it said, it’s seductive tone caressing all of her frayed nerves. Just one cut, and it’ll all go away.
A soft breath escaped her lips, as she pressed her blunt nails against her palms, knowing that it didn’t matter whether her nails were sharp or not. All she needed to do was to dig in deep, and the old scabs would reopen.
No! She closed her eyes, fighting against the temptation, knowing where that path led, knew all too well the darkness that awaited her if she succumbed.
No! She stated more firmly this time, opening her eyes and fixing her gaze on Bilal because he was all that mattered in that moment. Not again, never again!
“You are not responsible, B.” She said, her voice steady now, and filled with determination. “It was an accident. Mamu wouldn’t want you to blame yourself like this.”
Bilal looked up at her, shedding more tears. “I should have been more careful,” he said, his voice shaking like a leaf.
“You’re a good son, B.” Her voice dropped to a low whisper, filled with empathy, as she held both of his hands in hers. “You’ve always taken good care of Mamu, so please stop blaming yourself.”
“I should have been enough,” he pulled his hands from hers, and stabbed a finger over his chest. “But I wasn’t, I never am. Everything kept falling apart because you weren’t here and I just... I needed my sister, but you weren’t here.” his voice cracked, his eyes falling, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I needed you.”
Yaseerah’s heart twitched even more painfully at his words, guilt washing over her in a suffocating wave. Her gaze dropped, her shoulders slumping with the weight of everything she felt.
She had been so consumed by her own struggles and her need to set everything right on her own that she had failed both Mamu and Bilal woefully.
“I’m so sorry, B.” She sniffed, her voice thick with unshed tears, as her shortcomings came into sharp focus. “I know that I let you down but I’m here now, and I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”
Bilal looked up at her, his eyes searching hers for sincerity, loathing the fact that her words were simply no longer enough.
He could see the pain and guilt etched on her face, mirroring his own, and he wanted so desperately to believe her, to believe that she would always be there for them. But a part of him feared that she would once again be consumed by her own life, leaving him and Mamu behind to fend for themselves.
What would happen to him if Mamu... No, he wouldn’t finish that thought.
“I know you mean that now, Yaseerah,” he said, his voice trembling. “But what about tomorrow? What about the day after? Will you still be here then?”
Yaseerah felt a stab of hurt at his words, but she didn’t let it show. “I’m sorry I broke my promise B,” she offered the words with a soft smile, her voice filled with sincerity, and her eyes filled with love. “But I promise you this, I will always be here for you and Mamu. No matter what.”
She squeezed his hand gently, when he didn’t respond, knowing that it’s going to take a while for him to trust her again. “We’re in this together, always.” Yaseerah echoed, her voice filled with conviction. “Ohana means family and family means?”
“Nobody gets left behind or forgotten,” Bilal sniffed, his hold tightening against Yaseerah.
Fou’ad watched everything unfold silently, feeling like an intruder as he listened in on what was clearly an intimate moment between the siblings.
And once again, his conscience berated him for his moment of unjustified jealousy.
He felt a pang of admiration for Yaseerah’s unwavering suppor, marveling at how she could set aside her own emotions and deal with Bilal’s when she clearly struggled with her own demons.
His footsteps were quiet, as he approached them, putting a hand over her shoulder. “Yaseerah?”
When she turned, and their gazes clashed–hers red-rimmed and churning with a maelstrom of emotions–he knew he had to do something to help calm her down. “I think we should get some fresh air,” he suggested, his voice gentle.
“I don’t think–”
“He needs fresh air,” Fou’ad pointed out, feeling a slight twinge of guilt for using Bilal’s grief on her.
“I think... I need to be alone for a bit,” Bilal sniffed.
“No, that’s not–”
“Let him go, Albi,” Fou'ad said quietly, his gaze shifting between Yaseerah and Bilal. “He needs some time to himself.”
Yaseerah hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, as she assessed Bilal. She didn’t want him to be alone but she knew Fou’ad was right. He needed space to process everything that had happened–they both did–and she couldn’t force herself into his healing process.
She nodded slowly, watching with a heavy heart as he turned and walked away.
“Thank you,” she whispered, turning to Fou’ad once Bilal had disappeared around a corner.
“He’ll be okay,” he said, his voice gentle, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “He just needs some time to process everything. I can’t imagine how horrifying it must have been for him.”
“I should have been here with them,” she murmured, her voice cracking with emotions as she leaned into his embrace, drawing strength from his presence. “I let my emotions and pride get the best of me, and I stayed away. I let him down, I let them both down.”
“You couldn’t have known this was going to happen,” Fou’ad uttered softly.
Bile rose in her throat, but she choked it back. “But I knew that she was sick,” she sniffed, pulling away from him, and burying her face between the palms of her hand, as if she were hiding from the truth. “I knew how bad it was, and I did nothing. I... I still chose to stay away and now she’s–”
“Albi.” His voice was so soft, so private, so beautiful, as he gently pulled her hands away, his touch tender. But she didn’t look at him.
She couldn’t.
“She’s my mother, Fou’ad. I was supposed to take care of her, to ensure that she has everything she needs to make a full recovery but I wasn’t here. I wasn’t here!”
Fou’ad squeezed her shoulder, his touch warm and comforting. “You’re doing the best you can,” he said softly. “And that’s all anyone can ask for.”
Yaseerah nodded, her heart heavy with regret. She knew Fou’ad was right, but in that moment, all she could feel was the weight of her own guilt and failures.
“Would you like to go, and see her now?”
“No,” she shook her head, feeling the weight of her guilt and failures. “Let’s go outside, first. I need some fresh air.”
“Albi–”
“Please,” she pleaded, letting him see how close she was to breaking, when their gazes met. “I’m not running away, I just need a moment. I can’t see her now, not like this.”
“Okay,” Fou’ad nodded, grabbing her hand and pulling back towards the way they had come in.
***
Okay, there’s that
Mamu’s not dead 🌚 I’m not dramatic like that 🤭
So, you guys do know that this book is coming to an end, right? 🌚 But fret not, it’s a part of a series so you’ll definitely see them in the next books.
Any guesses who’s book we’re reading next? Hint (It’s one of the Farrajs) 🤭
Anyways, see you next time in shaa Allah.
Xoxo, Jidderh ❤️