Delete. Delete. Delete.
I cannot delete the nightmares I have lived through these past few days but I can delete their shadows that stain my persona with shame, regret and tribulation. It is time I restore my pride, my composure and poise. Standing before the glass wall, staring down at the traffic buzzing by in the city below me, sky darkening as the sun surrenders to the night in a burning orange glow blending away to a twilight blue, I put my phone to my ear in Ahmad Mamu's office.
"Hana Aapi?"
"Zaid, where's Nashwa?"
"Scheming in her room. She made me go to the craft shop, buy her a white chart paper. She wrote Zimal's name in the centre and now we're making a spider web of ways to torture her. Uzair and Huzair are also helping. Do you want to contribute ideas or are you with the opposition?"
"I need a favour from you."
"..."
"Zaid?"
"Nothing's for free in this world, Hana Aapi. And you know how taxes have been increasing; the adverse effect of that on prices on the basic most necessities—"
"You're twelve, Zaid, stop teaching me economics when you don't even know how to expand square brackets."
"I do actually, I taught Nashwa Aapi how to do integration too—"
Of course he did. He's a math whiz.
"I'll subscribe to your YouTube Channel and like all your videos. Will you listen to what I have to say?"
"I've been listening ever since you called."
"Someone's sending Nashwa roses, you might have noticed."
"I think there are two people involved actually."
"Two?" My heart skips a beat.
"One is sending her red roses as usual but this evening, a more colourful bouquet arrived, larger than the red one."
"Was there a card inside?"
He hums. "And a very romantic message too. Nashwa Aapi's nose turned entirely red as she read it, pity I couldn't get to it first or film her reaction for a potential vlog: alvida aapi, shadi ho gayee tumhari."
And Haala Mami hasn't kicked out Nashwa yet?
"Zaid? Does your mother know of all this?"
He hums again. "She wasn't happy when the red roses showed up but she got excited over the colourful roses, she made us all swear we won't tell Abba. I tell you, both these women are crazy."
Haala Mami approves?
Zaid clears his throat. "That favour you wanted ..."
If Haala Mami is aware then Nashwa is safe, I suppose. I need not worry about her turning against Nashwa or accusing her of something.
"Not anymore actually."
"You can't shatter my hopes like that, Hana Aapi. I'm just a few followers away from monetisation—"
"—nothing's for free in this world, Zaidi. And you know how taxes have been increasing; the adverse effect of that on prices on the basic most necessities—"
"Khuda pooche ga appko!"
I pull away the phone from my ear, the smile turning sour.
Is this another game? Is this payback? Is Taha Muhammad really so indifferent to everything that he's spinning me a new web of torments even before I have escaped the first?
All my sympathies are yours only.
The sky has darkened entirely but does not twinkle at me with stars or even a moon now that Taha Muhammad has claimed them in his own eyes.
My hand slips into my bag but I drag it back out; no more hurting myself. All this pain, all this madness is not worth making myself an addict, thriving on temporary euphoria and numbness that will only damage my ability to heal. No more overdosing on painkillers to escape reality. It is time I make reality want to escape me.
The door to Mamu's private office opens and I look over my shoulder. Mamu's peon stands in the doorway. "I got the wire fixed, Ma'am. Anything else I can get you?"
"And the water dripping from the pipe? That too?"
He nods. "You were right. The plumber said, had it been a second late, the whole office could've gone up in flames from a short circuit explosion."
I wrap my arms around myself, shivering at the scenes unfolding in my mind. "That will be all."
"Can I get you something to eat or drink? You've been here a while and Sahab won't be free for another hour. Consider me your own humble servant."
"No need."
He hesitates in the doorway before closing it behind him leaving me alone in the chilling air conditioner. Best to keep all males at a safe distance, it doesn't take them long to cross the distance and violate their limits. Like Taha Muhammad doesn't mind his.
I take a seat in front of Mamu's desk. When I came over, an hour ago, I found him in the conference room with six other men dressed in suit ties. Yahya stood away from the table, watching and hearing from a distance even though there were empty chairs for him to sit at but maybe he's not as high ranked or powerful as them so he didn't sit. But the furrow of his brows and the hand holding his chin made me think he was more knowing than the men sitting in front of him.
It didn't look like a cooperative meeting either. My Mamu looked angsty, his usually gelled hair dishevelled and the lawyers sitting opposite him were loosening their own ties and reaching for the drinks before them too. It's not until eight thirty that the door opens behind me.
"... I say we take this deal, Ahmad, sign the bloody contract, we will not get anywhere better than this without losing our heads."
"Do I see you cowering, Salman?"
"If that means not taking my life for granted, then yes, Ahmad, you see me as I am."
"Have I made no impression on you? It is better to live one day as a lion—"
"—than a hundred years as a sheep. Yes, Ahmad." the man called Salman sighs in exasperation. "You have quoted that too many times at me, it no longer holds the same charm. All I'm saying is, I have a dazzling fiancé, we have lush plans together and Lashari clan will only throw you and me out onto the streets, make us bleed slowly, gag us all the while—"
"—I will not bow before them, Salman. You can pull away from the case, let me bleed on my own." He stops once he notices me. "Hana."
His hands go into his pockets on their own accord; today he wears a black button down shirt over black pants. His fresh look from this morning at the hospital is replaced by a rougher one and I wonder if it's this heavy case that has transformed him or did he only bother dressing up earlier for Doctor Amima?
Fishy.
"Hana?" The man called Salman turns to me from the doorway. I do not stand from my seat to acknowledge their presence — I owe this man no such politeness, especially in the way his brows have arched and lips have curved into a vivacious smile. "You must be Ahmad's stunning niece—" the one that gave a show at the party?
I'm so much more than that actually.
I look him up and down. He's smart and tall, clad in a tuxedo, expensive wrist watch and shoes polished to such perfection I could see my reflection in them. Not just the shoes, his bald head glistens in the dim lights of my Mamu's office and his well-maintained shave traces the charming smile he flashes me. I reach for my nose, his cologne tickles my nostrils, making me want to sneeze. He looks to be in his early forties, I can bet all my grades his fiancé is not a day older than twenty five and a gold digger at that too. I hope she bankrupts him.
"My misfortune." His smile stretches far and wide. "That we couldn't meet at the party." He extends a hand to me, I cross my arms over my chest.
"Keep your hand to yourself, Salman," Mamu speaks in a low gruff voice. "And show yourself out of my office before I have Abdul-Shakoor throw you out."
"You treat me with much discourtesy, Ahmad. One day I may just get offended."
"Do me that favour today only, won't you?"
The bald man straightens his tie. His eyes glide over me luxuriously even though my figure is obscured under my chadar. He opens his mouth but before a word can slip out, Mamu steps forward, causing him to take several back and successfully out the door. Mamu slams the door shut in his face as he sharply turns to me. "How many times must I tell you not to come here?"
"You're either here or at the hospital these days."
"I've had interrogations there."
"With potential culprits or beautiful doctors?"
He gives me a blank stare. "Let your Dadi be the matchmaker and let Hanaan inherit it afterwards, it certainly does not suit you."
He moves over and takes his power seat across the desk from me, undoing his sleeve buttons and rolling them up. He calls Abdul-Shakoor on the intercom to bring him a cup of chai. Nothing for me? Very well then.
I bite my lower lip, holding back my smile. "Dadi told us about Doctor Amima."
"Us?"
"Nashwa, me, Taha and Yahya."
"I wonder how the topic came up."
"Doctor Amima and I had an encounter today. Taha Muhummad was impressed with her, too impressed." Mamu's eyes narrow. "He and Yahya tried getting into the archives to get information on her. He wanted to know if she's single."
Mamu scoffs. "Let him try."
I marvel at his confidence. "Dadi said the same thing you know; she told him Doctor Amima would never marry him because her heart is devoted to you. Is that true?"
"Surely with everything going on, you're not planning a wedding?"
"No better occasion to wear a lehenga, I haven't worn one since I was six maybe?"
Because of my weight...
He shakes his head and takes his cup of chai from Abdul-Shakoor. "I do not intend to marry, Hana."
"Even if you long to?"
"Even if it ever comes to that."
So he won't admit his feelings.
I watch the steam rising from his chai, the white wisps dancing in the cold air before unifying as one into it. Funny how life plays us all the same. It makes us dance like that, in madness and mayhem before taking us as part of its darkness. Mamu has already darkened, I wonder how long till I completely do so too.
But do I want to darken? Do I want to become the person I became today? Saying all those harsh things at Taha Muhammad more than that which he deserved?
I don't.
I want to marry when I long to. I want to be able to catch the silver lining and not just focus on the storm clouds. I do not wish to be so lonely even when I have everyone around me. I don't want to carry all the burden on me alone. I want to keep my family together without feeling the need to push them away so they may pull me back into them. I want to heal ...
"You okay?"
I break from my reverie and nod.
His eyes are filled with caution when he speaks, "Are you here to ask me about those voice notes?"
I shake my head. "I didn't want anyone else to listen to them. I let you have them so I could slip to the kitchen, find Dadi's sleeping pills and down some."
"I figured that."
"You didn't stop me?"
His eyes are a campfire on a faraway hilltop. "When pain breaks through the crevices of our soul and flows with the might of a gushing river — all we can do is let it flow and hope it takes us to a better place."
"So you want me to become an addict?"
"No." He gives me a blank stare as he sips on his chai. "I want you to pave your own way; decide for yourself if forgiving Hanaan is what's best for you."
Best for me? Should that be the only criteria?
"What if I make the wrong decision?"
"Pray now—" his voice is thick, like tar "—that you find a way to come back."
My heart aches for him. The dark circles under his eyes, his unkempt hair, the shave growing darker, the hollowness of his cheeks. Has he been eating well? Sleeping well? Thinking and feeling well? He takes off his heavy wrist watch and places it on the table between us.
"Do you ever wish to find a way back, Mamu?"
"Always."
"Do you ever try?"
His eyes are fixed on me but they are not looking at me. "The world may not be the same. Turning around may be another mistake. A more lethal one at that."
So many meanings ... is he talking about his way of living ... his relationship with Nashwa ... his past present and future in literal ... a way to turn the clock around and bring back his beloved, now dead, wife?
"Tell me," I murmur. "Why didn't you let Nashwa drive herself home today?"
"I already told you."
"That reason was for her. Don't lie to me, Mamu."
A ghost of a smile traces his lips. "Maybe I'm not so heartless. Maybe I do care about her now that Waheed is on the loose ... maybe I do not wish to lose her as Hanaan lost you. Regret is a consuming emotion, Hana. I barely stand against the regret of losing Zarminah. I am too frail to bear another loss upon my heart, the blood on my hands."
"Is that why you push her away or why you want to keep her close now?"
"It's hard to tell."
Silence falls between us, so thick, it suffocates us both in this myriad of overwhelming emotions. He believes it too; Hanaan has lost me. What does that mean for me? That there's no need for my forgiveness now? Just as a dead person does not require it anymore? But what about the one left alive? Like Ahmad Mamu in his own tragedy and myself in mine?
"What regret consumes you, Mamu?"
He shakes his head. "If I were one to tell, Hana, I would have told your mother years ago when she pleaded with me to open up and share my grief with her."
"I don't want you to open up, you ought to do that with Nashwa first, not me." His eyes shoot up to meet mine. "All I want to know is, was she raped that night? Or was it her mother?"
"Hana ..."
"Mama and Baba told me titbits of what they know from you. Every time Nashwa throws a fit about her forsaken existence, it makes me wonder if she knows or suspects ... and honestly—" it is so difficult to look him in the eye with my heart trembling so wildly. "It kills me to ponder over the possibility too."
He rakes a hand through his hair. "That night remains in my memory only."
"Nashwa was three. She could remember snippets, see them in her nightmares. No wonder she looks at you with so much fury in her eyes. She's eighteen, Mamu, and her Haala Mami is no less a drama queen than herself. She told Nashwa her mother was a furious woman who took no one's shit and punched them back immediately."
His eyes widen. "Zarminah's composure could never be tarnished."
"But Nashwa knows nothing of that. And no one's brave enough to tell her because they all fear that night. A night that remains in your memory only."
He looks away, unyielding.
"Don't get me wrong," I speak, urging for Allah to grant me strength, grant me the ability to put some sense into him. "I didn't come here to awaken your inner father, you've missed too many moments in Nashwa's life, there's no point in coming back when she wouldn't even know how to look at you as a father anymore."
I draw in a breath, entwining my fingers together into a firm lock for my heart to mirror.
"You lack that element of fatherhood in you because you were never there to cheer for her when she led our school team to the city basketball tournament finals. You weren't there to lift her spirits when she lost that final match. You weren't there to see her become an elder sister when she held baby Zaid in her arms, shedding tears in delight when he held her finger in his little fist. You weren't there when she won her first declamation and the entire audience applauded for her in a daze and she struggled to breathe in her own bewilderment."
His eyes stare at me, so very empty.
"You do not deserve to be there, Mamu, when she falls in love someday and she's so crazy about the guy she doesn't see his scary flaws. You don't deserve to be the one to interrogate the man she plans to marry, that's right, Haala Mami will do that for her as she's done so much more."
How is he still so unmoved?
"You don't deserve to be there when she mutters with a trembling heart qubool hay and you don't deserve to be there when she's sticky with sweat, holding her first born child in her arms and stars in her eyes after winning the toughest battle of her life. But God forbid if her husband ever turned abusive, she wouldn't know what's the right way a girl should be treated because she never had a father to treat her that way."
"Are you done?"
"I'm not!" His eyes widen in surprise. "I'm not done because do you even know how she boasts about herself? She doesn't say I'm Nashwa, she says I'm Nashwa Ahmad! She takes pride in her whole name and she's even more stubborn than you because she knows how to thrive despite your absence, she knows how to keep people in their place despite never having a father to teach her to do so because she's a survivor and she did not come this far just to come this far."
Girls support girls. Thank you, Nashwa!
My chest rises and falls heavily as blood rushes through my ears. "She does not need you at all. But trust me—" I look him up and down "—you still need her. And you'll realise it soon because you're in for a crash sooner than you expect. When your lungs are screaming for oxygen but you only draw in air not breath and she's too far away to give you the redemption you so badly need, you will call out for her." I shake my head. "But you will not have her."
"If this is about Salman and my court cases..."
I don't have it in me to look at him. I'm disappointed? I'm crestfallen. How can someone be so dead?
He falls back silently into his own seat and I can't hear if he's saying something because so many things are suddenly making sense.
Drawing in air, not breath ...
Hanaan.
She's sorry for what she did. Sorry doesn't fix me unless I want to be fixed. And I want to because while I'm fighting her, I can't see how the rest of the world is attacking me. Realisation hits like a blow, a sudden thrash of cold air against my face, making me fall back into my seat.
What did Taha say to Yahya this afternoon?
I have a lunch date actually.
What did he say to me?
Thanks for the lunch.
"You're losing colour, Hana."
My heart picks up pace, beating against my rib cage.
Needed to give a girl my number so I made good use of it.
But he found Nashwa's Instagram on Hanaan's account of me already, they were already in touch, he didn't need to give her his number written in the middle of her notebook so discreetly.
"Hana ..."
I take the glass of water he extends not knowing where it came from. That asshole is playing mind games with me.
I clear my throat. "What's Taha's story?"
Mamu straightens, rubbing the spot between his brows. "Taha?"
"Taha Muhammad. Yahya Afaaq's twin brother."
"I know who Taha is." He rubs his head with his palm before pulling open his drawer and gulping down two pills without water. "What about him?"
"That's what I'm asking. What does he want from you?"
"That's between him and me, Hana, and I'll sort it out myself."
"Is he involved in some illegal activity? Does he want to know your drug dealer's info for his own stash of cocaine or marijuana?"
Mamu gives me a flat look. "I don't do drugs. Neither does he."
"You sound so sure of him."
"I have known him since he was eighteen although he has not known me so long."
"What does he want then?"
"Why are you so interested?"
I shrug. "He looks like a good match for Nashwa."
Mamu rolls his eyes. "Matchmaking really does not suit you well, Hana."
"Would jealousy suit me better?"
His eyes widen and I hold my bird wing flapping heart steady in my ribcage. Oh em gee, Hana. Going so far just for answers? Mamu shakes his head, watching me warily. "Taha is only instability, Hana. Best you settle with Amima's nephew—"
"How adorable." To my own surprise, I smile angelically. All this bravado, Nashwa would give her Girl Power crown to me. "My uncle and his aunt unified as one and then him and me. What makes you so sure Zayaan is better than Taha?"
"Because—" he clasps his hands before him. "Taha is on a quest for answers himself. And when that happens, one does not settle without undead regrets."
Like yourself?
"Taha is not into any criminal activity, he's morally guided there and quick to wet his pants when it comes to violence. He wants to know his identity, his birth facts and for that he usually does get himself caught trying to get into private property or break into a hospital's archive room."
"His birth facts?"
Mamu nods. "Taha is not Afaaq Sahab's son. That is why his surname is Muhummad and not Afaaq."
"But Taha and Yahya are twins."
"They are. They were born on the same day in the same hospital that blew up before the sun set. Many people died that day and Afaaq Sahab thought his son was one of them too so he took the crying baby from a curled up nurse's arms and gave it to his wife who had given birth after so many years. Afaaq Sahab could not lose his wife after losing his son too."
Mamu rubs the spot between his brows. "Two days later, by a miracle, another nurse contacted him and informed him his son had survived and was rescued safe and sound. When Afaaq Sahab related all this to his wife who had fed Taha as her own, she had difficulty accepting her real son and letting go of the one she currently held in her arms. She kept both of them. Taha and Yahya. Allah blessed her with a daughter a few years later."
"Taha's parents—?"
Mamu shakes his head. "Afaaq Sahab kept looking for his parents, any records in the hospital, any information in the newspaper had they survived but he found no trace. He inquired at the hospital too but he came up with nothing. The nurse that delivered Yahya to him said only five children had been born that day and out of five, only three had survived and returned safely to their parents, two had been buried. Taha's existence was simply denied."
What does that mean?
By now the tips of my fingers have lost feeling, the room is too cold.
"Afaaq Sahab stopped then. He knew it was best to keep Taha and not inquire more. He pulled some strings and had the records changed to say his wife delivered twins so no one would come hunting him in the future. After all, the nurse he took Taha from had bullet holes in her back, not shrapnel. The nurse died on the spot after giving Afaaq Sahab a single name: Mehar Un Nisa. He couldn't even ask if it was her name or the child's mother's. That is all we know of the case and all this Taha knows too."
"Why haven't you looked into this?"
"Because, Hana." He rubs his forehead again. "I'm not an investigator, I'm not a policeman, I am a lawyer. This could be a big case, he could be a gang mafia's son or an overseas' military agent's legacy or a politician's illegal child or a prostitute's regret."
I shiver. Are you judging me entirely on my birth? The things we say having no idea where and how it hits the other person. Everyone is fighting a battle even if they don't talk about it and in the ugliness of my battle, I let myself become just as ugly.
Oh, Allah.
"I don't know anything he doesn't already so if he's asking me to go forward and put my focus into his case, I'm sorry, I refuse to do that."
"Why?"
Mamu's eyes are forlorn. "You should know, Hana."
The flickering flames in his eyes are struggling against a harsh windstorm. I realise, with a pang in my chest, he is terrified. Of seeking answers. Because while Taha Muhammad's case may have some, his might not have any definite answers and it would kill him all over again ...
Mamu exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair again. "Taha's case is one that catches my intrigue, it could hold for me all that I have yearned for in my youth; the thrill, the chase, the lies and the secrets and so many conspiracies. But ..." he trails away hopelessly.
"I can't do this to myself, Hana. I can't help him seek answers and not yearn for some myself even though I know there are no more answers; the three men that assaulted me, my three year old child and my wife were but random drunkards and nothing more."
He finds my eyes. "Nashwa was not raped. Zarminah used the very dagger her harasser had plunged into her to kill him and then the one who was undressing Nashwa. She fought off the one that was molesting me—" he shivers, sending an ice cold bucket of water over my own head.
"She daggered each of them numerous times while she herself bled away and I held Nashwa close to me, numb and so not a man. That was the only time I saw Zarminah's composure break away to reveal a furious woman. Otherwise, nothing in this world could tarnish the peace within her soul."
I am trembling all over in my Mamu's affliction. How do I breathe?
"I was unhinged in the car because the brakes were tampered with, I did not want you realising."
"What?"
"The night of the party." He clears his throat. "All those words I said to you, I really hope you did not let them scar your mind and engrave them into your soul because I was wrong."
The brakes were tampered with that night?
"You are soft and there is bravery in being soft, I realised that when I heard Hanaan admit her faults, let her regret be known in those voice notes. I don't like it when people trample over you, Hana, because if you are broken, if you are gone, I do not think most of us would still be standing here at all."
I laugh at that. "Really now?" The thorns in my throat rip my tongue. "I'm just Hana."
"When I returned from that night with my wife's casket—" his voice is thick. "I was buried with her under a hundred questions. Even Nashwa kept crying, asking me for her mother and God knows I couldn't believe it myself she had left me. You Hana, a little chubby toddler came running to me and just wrapped your arms around my legs, eyes twinkling, smiling, untarnished by the grief around you."
He laughs darkly.
"I used to take you in my arms and snuggle you to make Nashwa jealous as a child. You got attached to me and that's really where Nashwa's envy of you comes from, I put it into her as a baby, I apologize for that."
My eyes sting but a small smile plays upon my own lips. He used to tease Nashwa when she was a baby ...
"You didn't ask me questions, Hana, you held onto me and I held onto you until we both fell asleep in one another's arms. I'll admit, I've been selfish, I've held onto you because you tranquilise my soul, not like my Zarminah could, but in your own way. I do not want you to become like me, I want you to be you. As you are."
The affection in his eyes bites at my blackening heart. "I'm not such a good person, really."
His mouth curls into a smile. "What did Miss Amima scold you about?"
Miss Amima. I want to prod at that but I don't. My glance falls to the door by my far left and my brows furrow. Didn't Mamu slam it into Salman's face? And Abdul Shakoor always closes it after him. Why is it slightly parted now?
"I was going to hurt Hanaan in my own little way," I speak, lost in a trance. "Doctor Amima stopped me before I could regret it as you stopped me yesterday from barging into her room and giving her a good piece of my mind." As Taha Muhammad did today, pretending to withhold the video and making me realise afterwards. I turn to him now. "I've been rethinking it."
His smile is one full of admiration and it makes my heart rip to even smaller shreds. All those things, I said about his upbringing ... I'm not such a good person. I'm not. I've hurt someone, I have.
"Healing is not easy," he speaks in a low voice. "Especially alone. I want to cherish Zarminah's heroism rather than mourn her as a victim. But it takes strength to heal."
I nod in encouragement. Surely, now he'll talk to Nashwa too.
Everything is setting into place. Why is there still guilt pooling into my chest, making it so hard for me to relax, let out this breath I've been holding in?
Dadi's words come knocking by. Be vulnerable if you must to not hurt someone else. My wonderful, wonderful Dadi.
"Mamu."
"Mhmm."
"Taha..."
"He's instability, Hana."
My eyes dart to the door again. "I'm not interested in him, or even Zayaan." I bite my lip. "I'm scared if he'll mess me or my sisters like Waheed did because of what he wants from you."
Mamu's eyes narrow. "Waheed? Did Yahya say something?"
"Is there something to say?"
He shakes his head. "I might help Taha actually, you need not be scared."
"I'm not scared and you don't have to unless you truly want to. If you do decide to, help yourself first. Forgive yourself for that night, tell Nashwa everything so her soul can find rest and let yourself love those who love you despite your flare." It's my turn to look away. "I ... I unknowingly said some harsh words to Taha. I'd like you to tell him I'm sorry for that."
Mamu frowns. "He must have deserved them—"
"Some but not all. If he were a girl, I would apologize personally but because he's a boy I should keep my distance not because he's bound to be like Waheed but because it's how it should be. No unnecessary interactions with the opposite gender as our religion advises us. It's hard to understand but we shouldn't wait until fate takes it upon itself to teach us the ways of our deen because it does not teach with mercy."
I'm sorry for calling you out on your birth, Taha Muhammad. Even if I still fear your every move. And I'm so very scared because you and Nashwa get along well but you're messing things up and I don't want to give Nashwa a reason to hate me.
Please stay away from me.
The warmth in Mamu's smile makes me squirm. "You're growing through what you're going through."
"Oh my God!" I shoot him a nasty look. "Don't use that pick up line on me, I'm your niece."
"Pick up line?"
"Miss Amima. Not even Doctor Amima like the rest of us. How old are you?"
"Thirty nine."
"Eight years is not so much a gap, aren't you so very fortunate?"
He shakes his head. "Matchmaking, Hana, is really not for you."
I shrug. "It's your heart. You can give it to anyone you like."
Mamu smirks at that and mutters something like I'll keep it to myself but my attention is towards the door, where a shadow passes by and I know all too well whose it is.
He left me his number because I'm an overthinker, over fretter, anxious sober person. He knew I would go to my Mamu in fear of him getting involved with Nashwa and hurting her. He knew I would discuss him. He had it all planned.
Was our 'heartfelt' conversation and his hurt on my words genuine or was it also part of some plan?
I don't know. I can't know.
What I do know for sure is that he was right. I do have a warm heart and I do have a beautiful brain and no, I did not need him to make me realise that, he just put it into words for me and reminded me what I was risking in this ugly plight.
I play with the scrunchie on my wrist, the one I took off before visiting Hanaan today and relished in her suffering when she saw one on Nashwa's wrist, one on her own but not on mine. Regret is a consuming emotion but so is empathy and I will not shut out that part of me that makes me feel the pain of those around me.
I have to live by Dadi's words every day. I have to be kind, I have to be soft, I have to be vulnerable to not hurt someone else. And for this good, I should only expect return in the Hereafter. Give unconditionally but know my limits as well.
With my sister, I can afford a second chance...
A heavy weight has lifted off my shoulders but not the entire weight. If Nashwa still receives those colourful roses, if Mamu keeps having these headaches, if the brakes to his car keep failing and the water outside his office keeps dripping millimetres below a live wire, I will have all the reason to be worried.
thoughts on the boys?
also, come wearing your royal silks on friday. we're crowning someone for an epic showdown in the last chapter of part three before part four begins. bring your royal handkerchiefs as well for the heartfelt tears <3 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒽𝒾𝓁.