This. Is. It. Sorta. After this epilogue, the story is officially over, however, it is not the end of this book! There are 3 more "extra features", including the Real Events of ODaD, the Q&A Session, and the Final Author's Note that will be crawling with juicy details and secrets, so be sure to read those! :3
I will save my omgthisstoryisactuallyover rant and my bittersweet tears for the Final Author's Note, but I will like to take this time to say thank you. Truly. Thank you for sticking around and making it this far. I'd really love to read everyone's thoughts as we've finally come to this point of the book. Even if you've never commented on the story before, I'd really, really appreciate it if you would let me know what you think of the epilogue and the story overall :) Hope you like it :)
15 years later
Hayat tucked loose strands of her greying hair behind her ears before mentally preparing herself prior to entering the lecture hall. It seated just about one hundred students and while the spring semester was nearly over, she was always mildly anxious whenever she stepped foot inside. She could never really foresee people's questions and comments, especially about the topics at hand. She took careful steps down the side ramp that led to the front podium and set down her bag and file, scanning the completely occupied hall with a satisfied look.
Nobody missed a lecture when Dr. Hayat Ishfaq was the professor.
Students loved her easygoing and kind nature. She spoke to her pupils as though they were her friends, and that helped them to easily come to her whenever they were struggling with anything in their lives. From the day she had taught her first class, she gradually created a bond with each of her students. She had even permitted them to just call her by her first name - she was never the type to want to be deemed superior in any way. However, out of respect, they would attach the title when addressing her.
Just about over a decade ago, she was referred to as Miss Hayat and only had a master's degree in education. After all of her psychiatric treatments and counseling sessions, she had found the will to move forward with her degree and eventually land her first job as an elementary school teacher.
Nevertheless, as usual, there was a problem.
Instead of seeing little Jacob, Sarah, Rebekah, Yulissa and Scotty every morning, she felt as though she was face-to-face with Jamael, Sadah, Rania, Yara and Saad.
And so, she had relapsed and found herself thrown into another round of treatments. It was difficult for her to find a job afterwards, considering nobody wanted to hire an unstable individual to be around children.
Marc and Nat had convinced her to take a slightly altered path: teaching college students. Initially, they had been wary of even suggesting such a thing. But the moment they had given her the idea, they discovered a new wave of motivation radiating from her. She grasped the opportunity to pursue a PhD in Terrorism Studies. Her family and friends were pleasantly surprised with the fiery passion in her eyes as she worked tirelessly for her third degree. Eventually, when it came time to begin her career, people were still skeptical of hiring her, for reasons ranging from her past psychological issues to the time she had spent in Syria when she was twenty-one.
Marc, who served as an adjunct professor of International Relations at the trio's alma mater, Columbia University, had convinced the administration that there would be nobody better than Hayat to teach such a subject. As expected, there was yet another problem. There were already professors who were certified to teach the course and related matters. But, they gave her a challenge: design a brand new course from start to finish. If the administration approved of Hayat's course plans, they would have her course as part of the curriculum.
She had gone back to the drawing board, so to speak, and planned a full academic year's worth of material from scratch. Once she had been satisfied with her handiwork, she had submitted it for review. The administrators had been surprised that she had managed to complete the task so quickly in just two weeks time. After a few more weeks of waiting, Hayat was notified that the board not only approved of the course she had planned, but that they had also loved the idea.
Thus, Hayat had become the university's inaugurate professor of The Religion of Terrorism, her own creation. From then onwards, she had never felt more motivated to teach others about such a touchy topic. To the surprise of those who knew her best, she had gradually come to terms with her past and was not as uncomfortable as she had been when discussing extremism. In fact, she did not regret the role as she felt it was her social responsibility, especially her out of all people, to educate others.
Over time, she had taught herself to live in the present, especially with a new responsibility on her shoulders.
The household had only consisted of Hayat and her parents, while both of her happily married brothers would visit nearly every weekend. With the exception of her frequent pen pal, Tala, and sometimes Saad, she had cleansed her mind from everyone who had sought refuge in her head.
Including Ahsan.
With every tangible bit of Ahsan's memory out of her sight, she had gradually eased her way into having him out of her mind.
But, Hayat is not heartless for doing so.
She was simply looking out for her own sanity and there was nothing wrong with that. When she had regained control of her mental health, albeit it had taken a few years to achieve, she had made it a choice to not think of anything that would rust her mind. At least, she did not allow anything, or anyone, to dwell in her mind for more than a few seconds.
Life was just easier that way.
"Good morning everyone," Hayat greeted as a handful of students mumbled in response. "Are you all ready for finals in two weeks?"
The answer to her question came in the form of groans.
"Oh come on, at least your final in this class is just a group presentation." She flipped through her file for the list of groups and ran her finger down the column. "Derek, Victoria, Lucas, Ophelia and Kara - you guys still haven't submitted your presentation outline. It was due online before class today. Do you not have a topic yet?"
The students in question looked at each other, mentally signaling one another to be the spokesperson for the group.
"Well, we sort of have one..." Lucas admitted sheepishly, straightening himself in his seat.
"So...where's the outline?"
"Actually, Dr. Hayat," Kara called out, glaring at her group member, and Hayat looked in her direction. "We don't have a topic yet."
Hayat fought the urge to roll her eyes. She had meticulously described all of the project details in the rubric and some students were still not cooperating. She shuffled through a few papers before retrieving the presentation guidelines.
"Okay, so, you were asked to choose any event or person that is related to terrorism and present all sides of the issue. You can present a mass murder like the Armenian and Srebrenica genocides, or you can present targeted attacks like the 2014 APS shooting in Pakistan or the 2008 Mumbai attacks. You can even talk about a terrorist leader or an infamous kidnapping that was tied to extremist activities. Remember, this is not a presentation to persuade, but to inform. You need to discuss multiple sides of the issue. You really have free reign of what you want to do. And, unfortunately and fortunately, there are plenty of topics to choose from. Does that give you a better idea?"
"Yeah, but I don't wanna do something boring," Lucas wailed, slouching in his seat.
"Boring?" Hayat raised an eyebrow and looked at him sternly. "My most sincere apologies, Mr. Neilsen, but I'm afraid extremists do not plan their attacks to cater to your interests."
The class snickered while Lucas quickly straightened himself in his chair.
"No, wait! I didn't mean boring," Lucas began to clarify his poor word choice. "I meant like, I want to do the presentation on an event or person I could relate to, you know, so I would be more passionate about it."
"I see." Hayat nodded thoughtfully. "If I told you that somewhere in, for example, Ethiopia, an impoverished fifteen year-old girl was brutally raped and left on the streets to die as an attempt to undo her supposed homosexuality - would you care?"
"Of course!" He exclaimed promptly.
She chose her next question carefully, though it did not need much thought. "Why?"
Lucas appeared slightly taken aback by her query, as did the rest of the class. "Uhm, what?"
"Why, Lucas?" Hayat slowly strode up the side ramp and took her time to stroll between the rows to stand directly in front of her student. Due to the absolute silence of the lecture hall, the strength of her voice had amplified and rippled throughout the room. "Why should you -a young, educated, Caucasian white man- care about a poor, black homosexual teenage girl? You don't have anything in common. You're not the same age, you're not the same color, you don't share the same biological makeup, and you're most likely not from the same religious or spiritual background. Heck, you're both not even on the same side of the planet! Why should you care?"
Lucas' mouth hung slightly open as his favorite professor had labeled him in many ways.
She continued, "How about this, when you hear of animals being murdered for their tusks or fur, do you feel upset?"
"Yes," he responded meekly.
"Why? You are not an animal, per se. Though, I am under the strong belief that many of our own species could easily prove otherwise," Hayat muttered, igniting chuckles from the class. "At a glance, you don't have much in common with an elephant or a tiger. So why should you care about what happens to them? As with the black teenage girl in Ethiopia, frankly, anything that happens to anyone who is not like you is none your business. Right?"
"No!" Lucas shouted, finally speaking up for himself and causing his classmates to flinch. His professor stood before him with a small, victorious smile on her face, but it had gone unnoticed. "Getting raped is wrong! Being tortured and tossed aside like trash is wrong! Animals being killed for human greed is wrong! I don't need to have four legs or a vagina to know that poaching and rape is wrong! I don't need to be a different color, nor do I need to be of a different religion or sexuality. I just need an ounce of humanity!"
Hayat raised her hands in front of her face and clapped, her smile springing up all the way to her eyes. "Is it safe to say that you've proved my point?"
Without waiting for an answer, she strode down the row and the side ramp to get back to the front podium, while the entire class watched her in awe and in stunned silence.
"Now that Mr. Neilsen has got a better idea of what this assignment is all about, does anyone have any more questions?" Hayat scanned the array of students to make sure she did not miss a hand that happened to slowly creep up. "Alrighty, then."
She walked over to the long conference table that was positioned near the podium in the front of the room, and sat on the tabletop. Crossing her legs at her ankles, she winced slightly as she straightened out the kinks in her back. Hayat had never maintained good posture while sitting or standing. Though her brothers would both scold her for constantly slouching, she never really understood why until her primary doctor told her that her annulus fibrosis would weaken if she continued to sit or stand with a droopy posture.
She had a vague memory of hearing such a term, though she could not quite recall exactly what it was, nor did she bother looking it up.
Whatever it was, Hayat knew it couldn't have been a good thing.
Once she had straightened her posture, she resumed addressing the class. "Over the years, we've seen and probably experienced the downside of societal interactions. People are constantly labeled and feared, while those who do the labeling and fearing tend to not educate themselves on the realities. For the longest time -in no particular order- Jews, Christians, Muslims, Sikhs, Kurds, Asians, Arabs, South Americans, Africans, homosexuals, atheists, the disabled, and so many more were and are still despised by masses. Let me tell you, the world hasn't changed much in the past few decades."
This was how her class was normally structured. The administration had vehemently believed that a discussion-based course would not survive, but after monitoring Hayat's class sessions, unannounced, they had been proven wrong. The class revolved around in-depth discussions where students would often give their personal opinions to whatever topics Hayat had brought forth. From time to time, she'd encounter some students who had extreme views, either left or right, but disputes had simmered down over time. She would occasionally put on a relevant, but interesting, film or documentary, or introduce a massacre that the students had very little knowledge of. At any rate, they learned more from this particular course than from any of their textbook-based courses.
Well, there was one book she had required them to buy...
"Anyway, that was my quick rant on worldly things. Since I'm getting the vibe that not all of you have gotten very far with your final presentation, I'd like you to cluster into your groups and get to work. If you have any questions, free to ask. At any rate, I'm getting paid to help you all out, so you might as well take advantage of this resource," Hayat added with a smile before narrowing her eyes are the far right corner of the room. "Waheed, care to share what's trending on Scribbler?"
***
If anything, meeting Waheed three years ago was one of the highlights of her teaching profession. He used to be a quiet, reserved boy who mostly kept to himself and could normally be found staring at his phone with his earphones secured. Initially, Hayat had not thought anything of it. Most people preferred solitude and she understood that quite well. Three years back, she had stepped in as a professor for a different course while the former professor was out on maternity leave. After the class had been dismissed, she had gone through the aisles to make sure that belongings had not been left behind when she found Waheed's phone lying on the ground by his seat. Her finger had slipped on the phone, causing the black background to morph into his lock screen, and she had to cover her mouth to stop herself from screaming.
Waheed had had the Al-Tho'baan flag as his lock screen wallpaper.
Never had she imagined that she would have to confront a student, a college freshman at the time, who had sought inspiration from viral Al-Tho'baan's media. Hayat had hastily taken the opportunity to look up Waheed's roster from the university system, using his teetering grades as an excuse to have a one-on-one meeting with him. She had not deemed it wise to have the administration involved straightaway, especially since that would erupt into something completely out of her hands.
Instead, she had spoken to Waheed as any professor would if their student was struggling with assignments. With time, that had evolved into Waheed gradually confiding in Hayat about how he had felt drawn by the way the terrorist leaders regarded their Islamic faith. He had told her that ever since he had begun watching Al-Tho'baan's videos, he had finally believed that he had a purpose on this Earth.
With each conversation they had, Hayat tried to empathize with his feelings. At a glance, he was a quiet student, and seemingly well behaved. Internally, however, he struggled with his identity and ambitions. She had realized that he was all too reserved: not only did he seclude himself from family affairs, he was also not involved in any activities on or off-campus and he was rarely seen with other people, with the exception of being part of group projects.
Such a person was an easy catch for Al-Tho'baan, she was fully aware.
That was when Hayat had taken it upon herself to guide Waheed to his real purpose.
While he had shown her a video uploaded by extremists, she had also spotted Islamic lectures on his playlist.
"Why don't you join the Muslim Students Association and the Orator Club? Judging from what I know about you already, I think you'd fit in quite nicely with the people in both organizations," she had told him. "You might even begin to have lectures of your own."
"I don't know, Doc." Waheed had hung his head, tossing his phone aside carelessly. "I don't really know anybody here."
"This is how you meet people," Hayat had pressed. "Sitting around indolently will not help you find your purpose. As the saying goes, 'an idle mind is the devil's workshop'." She had lifted his phone with the video thumbnail, and waved it in his face. "These are the devils, Waheed. I've seen it, I know it. The last thing I would ever want to hear is that you have joined Al-Tho'baan because you chose to crush yourself into ultimate worthlessness. I know...I mean, I knew people who had realized they had trotted on the wrong path much too late. You know where they all are now?"
Waheed had shaken his head.
"They're all dead." She had watched as his eyes had widened a fraction after she had left the last word linger in the air. "That was their fate, the result of their initial so-called purpose. Don't put yourself in the same position, Waheed. You need to escape from your world and step into the real world in order to find your true calling. Opportunities don't come to your door. You have to make the first, small move. I highly suggest you begin by associating with people who will shed positivity in your life."
"I'll try," he had said, lifting his head up to look at her.
"Good. I'm actually the faculty sponsor for the MSA, so I better see you at Friday's meeting."
"I'll be there, Doc." He had smiled, retrieving his phone and getting up from the chair in her office. Before he had headed out the door, he turned to her. "Hey, Doc?"
"Yes?" Hayat had looked up from typing away at her computer.
"You said something about how you knew people who went on the wrong path and that now they're dead." Waheed had paused when he had witnessed a mixture of emotions on his professor's face. She had not stopped him, so he resumed. "Were they all in Al-Tho'baan? If so, how do know for sure that they had repented too late?"
Hayat had opened her mouth, but words had not escaped.
"Sorry," he had quickly apologized. "I only asked because you had brought it up. I-"
"It's fine. We can discuss that at another time." She had given him a small smile after sensing that he was truly apologetic. She decided that she should confide in him regarding certain things.
"Alright. Thank you...for everything." Waheed had left before she had a chance to respond.
Only then did she realize that her students were probably only around the age of five when she had gone through all of that. While people had spread rumors that there was a faculty member who had been held hostage by an extremist group over a decade ago, nobody had dared to ask her for details. Up until that point, she did not think it had been anybody's business but her own.
But Waheed had changed her mind.
Because if Waheed had initially resorted to extremist views, chances were that he would not be the only one she'd come across.
She had realized that it was up to her to give her students the hard, ugly truth.
***
That was three years ago and Waheed had since gone through an upgrade in his social, spiritual and personal life. Occasionally, she would check up on him and was pleased to see all of the charitable events he was a part of.
He had undergone a complete transformation, however, that did not stop Hayat from treating him like any other student.
"Waheed, I'm talking to you."
Waheed's head quickly shot up from staring at his phone, his ears reddening. "I...uh...I was just...there's this trend..."
"Right..." she dragged out. "Now enlighten me and the rest of the class as to what this new Scribbler trend is."
He looked at his professor carefully, trying to figure out if she really wanted him to read the headline. "Zaakhir ibn Haytham Al-Mujahid was found unconscious after a public castration had been abruptly conducted by the women he had raped and abused. The imam-turned-extremist had declining health as well, though that did not hinder him from terrorizing the masses throughout the past few decades. He was handed over to authorities a few hours ago, and has been revealed to be in critical condition."
Her mind went blank.
Only when Lucas had an uncontrollable outburst, did she come back to her senses. "Huh, that name sounds familiar!"
"Of course it should sound familiar, you idiot," Victoria muttered in response. "He's the same terrorist from Dr. H's book, Operation: Dard and Devotion."
"Oh yeah! I remember!" Lucas nodded hastily, referring to Hayat's published, but abridged, version of events. He turned to where Waheed was seated. "Damn, he got castrated?"
"That's what it says," Waheed replied.
"The asshole deserved it. This is exactly how monsters should be dealt with, not locked up in prisons with free food and medical care," Kara piped up. "It's about time, finally!"
Hayat cleared her throat and clapped her hands twice to regain the class's attention. "Alright guys, get back to work on your presentations."
"Hey, Doc!" Lucas called out. "I think it'd be interesting to see how he went from being an imam to a terrorist leader. Is it okay if we do our presentation on Zaakhir?"
No.
She could not let her biases hinder her students from learning, so Hayat complied without giving a definite answer. "That's something you should discuss with your group, Neilsen. I don't mind either way."
Though, she could not admit to Lucas that she really did not want to see Zaakhir's face all over his group's presentation slides if they did indeed decide to choose him. Zaakhir was the last militant she knew who was still alive. Even though they were miles apart, the thought that he was still out there somewhere did not settle her stomach quite well.
She remembered how her bare skin had burned when he had dragged his unkempt fingers up her legs. She remembered how he had painfully grabbed her hair so that she would face the camera while he rambled on. She remembered that Zaakhir was the imam that had brainwashed-
No.
She would not think of it, of him.
She kept her thoughts to herself while the class worked diligently for the remainder of the class. Hayat had sat up front, occasionally answering whatever questions some students had. With a few minutes left, she decided to address them before they all went their way.
"If there's anything I want you to get out of this course, it is to, at the very least, practice empathy. It is so easy to get absorbed in the life we live. Yes, we all do have problems, perhaps some more than others, but at least, we have resources to help us with our issues. If we aren't feeling well, we have hospitals, mental health facilities, and counselors. If we are hungry, we have grocery stores, restaurants, and food trucks. If we want entertainment, we have movie theatres, concerts, and libraries. If we want to go somewhere, we have cars, taxis, and trains. If we want to pursue a particular career path, we have schools, colleges, professors, and advisers. Whether or not we utilize these, and other, resources for whatever we may come across is up to us. By no means am I belittling any of the obstacles we go through, however, there are plenty of people who have none of these things. Trust me. We need to do something about that."
She couldn't help but feel gratified to see that every pair of eyes was on her. "Though Neilsen probably did not think this far into this while he spoke, he made a very good point. You don't need to be deprived of all of your resources, nor do you need to fit into a certain demographic in order to care about somebody's plight. You really do need just an ounce of humanity, which can be exhibited through direct actions or by verbally spreading awareness. And so, I am extremely happy to let you all know that seventy-two - out of one hundred of you - have paid your advance for our three-month service trip to Turkey to help refugees. I think this is the largest batch that the university ever had for a summer trip." Hayat beamed at her class. "I honestly had no idea that this many people would be interested, let alone pay up already. It truly is heartwarming to know that you all want to make a difference for these people. They are strangers to us, but you've clearly proven that you simply need a snippet of humanity in order to care for someone.
"Okay, before I get any more emotional, just shoo," Hayat concluded with a wave of her hand and the class did nothing but gleefully obey. Within a few minutes, the entire lecture hall was desolate, except for another student and herself. "Did you need something, Waheed?" She asked kindly.
"No, but I thought I'd tell you something," He threw one strap of his book bag over his shoulder before shuffling in his pocket.
Hayat gathered her papers and neatly placed them into her bag. "Yes?"
"I refreshed the site," Waheed told her, glancing at his phone. "Zaakhir just died."
***
A few weeks later
Hayat stared at the faraway minarets and skyscrapers that had both graced the Turkish skyline. She was waiting for Tala and her team to arrive so that they could begin distributing items to the families in need. She tore her gaze from the scenery when a pair of hands tugged at her jeans.
"Aunty Hayat! Momma won't let me eat choklit!"
Hayat laughed before swooping down to carry the little girl. "Mattie, can you keep a secret?"
The six year-old's little head furiously bobbed up and down.
"I have a lot of chocolate bars in my purse just for you!" She pecked Mattie's cheek and set her down to retrieve a chocolate bar.
"Oh my God," a high-pitched shrill came from a short distance. "Matilda Hannah DiLuca, I told you to stay away from sweets! Hayat, why do you continue to encourage her? She has two cavities already!" Nat stormed over to the duo while Mattie sought refuge behind Hayat.
"Momma, please! It's just one more bar."
"Oh, really? That's what you said twelve chocolate bars ago!"
Hayat sighed and looked down at Mattie with a pout. "I guess it's time to listen to Momma."
Marc strolled over and, to Mattie's agony, was munching on a chocolate bar himself. "Hey, Nat?"
"What?" She snapped at him, shooting him a glare.
"Zayn Malik is coming to this refugee camp to help out the families."
"Oh my God, where!" Nat spun around in all directions when she stopped herself after hearing Marc and Hayat chuckle, narrowing her eyes at the two of them. "Wow, you liar."
Marc sighed. "See Hayat, even after marriage and a child, she's still obsessed with him."
"I am not obsessed!"
Mattie carefully strode over to Marc, eyeing her mother warily. "Daddy, who's Zayn Mall-lick?"
Nat immediately cleared her throat and shoved Mattie out of the way. "Mattie, why don't you go make new friends over there? Run along!"
Thinking nothing much of her mother's abnormally unusual behavior, Mattie innocently skipped over to where the other children were.
"What, you didn't want me to tell our daughter about all the Zayn Mall-lick posters you used to have?" Marc smirked at Nat.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know where they are."
"Yeah, that's because I burned them."
Nat's jaw collided with the earth. "You did what?!"
"I buried the ashes in our backyard so you can always visit him, in case that makes you feel any better."
"I can't believe you! I paid seventy dollars for one of them!"
"You paid seventy dollars for a giant piece of paper with someone's face on it?!" It was Marc's turn to stare at his wife in shock. "I married a madwoman. You are insane!"
"It's not just a giant piece of paper and I am not insane! Hayat, he burned-"
Hayat zoned out briefly while Nat and Marc went at it. It took quite a few years for Marc to come to terms with reality, but Hayat was nothing but happy when Marc had successfully proposed to Nat eight years ago. Moreover, not once did they make her feel like the third wheel whenever they had hung out together. On the contrary, they were even more protective of each other, so much that both Nat and Marc had insisted upon accompanying Hayat and her students to the refugee camp.
Nat and Marc's voices were far off as Hayat scanned the vast camp where hundreds upon hundreds of families cluttered amongst each other, seeking protection.
Despite the fact that Hayat and Tala would video chat frequently, it was Tala who had insisted upon writing actual letters as well, so as to improve her handwriting and grammar. In her most recent letter, she had mentioned how the conditions of refugee camps now where not much different. The cultural and religious melting pot was still prevalent with Muslims, Christians, Bahá'ís, Zoroastrians, Kurds, Iraqis, Afghans, Syrians, Palestinians, and so much more. They were all just strangers to one another with a common dream: a better life.
What were their stories?
Hayat knew she would probably never learn what exactly brought each one of them to where they presently were. She also figured that they most likely would not want to share the darkest points of their lives, at least, not so soon.
After taking a swig from her water bottle, she directed her students to spread out and hand out dry clothing and water bottles to all the people in their periphery and beyond. A warm hand gripped her shoulder, and she mentally prepared herself to listen to yet another one of Nat's lectures regarding Mattie and her number of cavities.
But it wasn't Nat.
The familiar face had aged slightly, but the faint crinkles around her mouth and sparkling eyes had been unchanged. The loose end of the visitor's hijab swished with the wind and Hayat grinned widely at the stranger upon recognition.
Without delay, Hayat grabbed Tala by the arms and squeezed her into a tight hug, tears lining up at both of their waterlines. The eyes of the former flew open as soon as she realized a bump had collided with her abdomen. Hayat pulled away quickly and asked, "Oh my God, are you pregnant?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" Tala beamed in response, motioning towards her husband, who Hayat had seen through one of their video chatting sessions.
"You never told me!"
"I wanted to keep it as a surprise. I'm fourteen weeks in!" Tala smiled. "Enough about me, look at you! You look so radiant and not a single day over twenty-one!"
"Oh, stop it. I'll be thirty-eight soon." Hayat dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand. "My hair is greying and I have wrinkles all over my face."
"So?" Tala appeared to be taken aback by her friend's bluntness. "You're aging gracefully-!"
"Anyway," Hayat interjected. "We have not traveled this far to talk about my mid-life crisis. Let's gather the rest of the supplies and give them out!"
The group spent the next few hours conversing with the refugees with the help of translators. After some time, Tala's adoptive Christian family had also arrived and showered Hayat with good blessings and kind words. Even little Danyal, who had been ten years old when Hayat had received Tala's first letter, was no longer little as he had turned twenty-six and had been recently married. Both he and his wife agreed to spend their honeymoon at the refugee camp. Tala, her husband, Nat and Marc had heard of one another through Hayat and though they were only seeing each other for the very first time, the four of them spoke as if they were old friends.
The camp's atmosphere had transformed from despair to comfort as the group had distributed as much as they could to as many people as they could. After some hours, Tala, Marc, Nat, Waheed, and Hayat took a short break, watching the people tear up with the newfound love that had circulated.
Waheed had come forth, leading a boy with windswept hair and who also seemed to be not much older than six or seven. "This one won't eat and he was sitting by himself this whole time."
"He came with an Iraqi family. They told me that he was orphaned back home," Tala informed Hayat, resting her hands under her swollen belly as she knelt down beside the latter.
Hayat nodded thoughtfully, glancing back at the boy. "Do you speak Arabic?" She asked him with a smile.
After watching her intently under his thick lashes, he nodded, his eyes brightening as he heard his mother tongue.
"Great, now we can talk! We are going to be best of friends, I'm sure!" She beamed at him despite wanting to cry. The boy's face was unkempt with dirt and crusted blood. He seemed to be a bit more comfortable with Hayat, considering he had placed his hands in his lap, allowing her to fully see his face. Clearing her throat, she rummaged through her bag, pulling out a box of markers and a coloring book. "Do you want to color?"
The boy shook his head.
"Would you like something to eat?"
He shook his head yet again.
"Will you like to be my friend?"
The boy stared at her curiously, but did not respond either way. Hayat sat down on the dirt ground next to the boy, and put a gentle arm around him. "I really would like to be your friend. You can tell me anything."
"I am scared and alone," he said abruptly. The child hardly gave the art supplies a glance and pushed his fists into his cheeks as he sat on the ground.
She cupped his face with her hands and forced herself to look into his teary eyes. "Habibi, what's wrong?"
"I do not have anyone here. Everyone is a stranger. Strangers hurt."
"Child, I know exactly how you feel." Hayat's face fell as her heart broke for him. "But I promise, we will not hurt you. We're not here to hurt you."
"They killed my sister and father. They took my mother away from me when I cried for her. They ripped off her clothes and they hurt her. I do not know why they would do that. I did not hurt them. They were big, scary men. They left me all alone."
Hayat struggled to keep her face neutral, but her own tears betrayed her. In fact, not a single person who had listened to the boy was free from glistening eyes. She swallowed, took a deep breath and rubbed the boy's back, not knowing how to properly comfort him.
How could she possibly comfort him that things would get better, that he mustn't despair and give up hope, that he can fight his way through the obstacles that life throws at him?
How could she possibly explain all of that to a child?
"We...we're not here to hurt you," she repeated, stammering. "We're going to help you. But, it looks as though you haven't eaten for ages. Can you eat this fig for me, at least?"
The boy held out his palm for the fruit and Hayat was relieved at the slight progress he had just made. She smoothed out his hair away from his face and cupped his chin in her hand after he had gone through two figs and three dates.
"I'm Hayat." She smiled. "What's your name?"
"My name is Ahsan."
Hayat's breath had hitched, but apart from that, there was silence. All eyes were on her. Tala, Marc, Nat, Waheed were watching Hayat very carefully for some reaction. But, she sat frozen.
A million emotions surged through her head. Familiar waves of compassion, pain, empathy, relief, warmth, mercy, repentance and love roamed through her mind, causing her to relive many memories at once.
Finally, she had made a move; she held the boy in a tight embrace.
"For as long as I am alive, I won't let anyone hurt you," Hayat assured Ahsan firmly, kissing his bloodstained forehead. "I promise."
***
Thank you for sticking around with me for this long :)
Please check out the Final Author's Note for the last cliffhanger of the story :)