They say even rejections are a form of blessing from His Infinite Mercy to struggling slaves. When Ayaan discovered he'd blown his chance at Saint Laurent by a minor mix up of deadlines, this is what he repeated to himself on end.
He refreshed and refreshed his inbox until it was crystal clear to him the whole overshot was his own fault and had no interference from any technological error. The only interference came from somewhere he'd handed his heart for healing.
Although part of him believed this was an answer to his continuous prayers, another part wondered why he couldn't just have both; his girl and some relief for his father's pocket. As all humans are inclined to, Ayaan was currently faced with a dilemma of tough choices.
The drafts blowing through his window was starting to lose some of its biting coldness with spring just a week or two away from painting the world with a lovely palatte of colours. He loved spring in Tenesk because it had such a lot of nature to gape at without blinking. He could drink in the beauty forever if he had that long. Ironically, he had to leave in the first week of spring which was too early for the first full blooms to nod through his bedroom window. After two long years of living in a concrete garden called Crest Falls, he was looking forward to spending a few happy weeks in mother nature's lap, perhaps longer if he found a good Law School. As it happened though, his enjoyment was destined elsewhere.
Spring made her a little crazy every year. No matter how similar each of those episodes looked to her parents, a strange fascination seized Sidra every time she saw the little buds poke through the ground thawed by a merciless winter. Today, she was prancing around the house making herself a candid nuisance to her exasperated family who pretended to hate her energy, but secretly thanked Allah for lifting her spirits.
She bounded between balcony and backyard, counting the blossoms and saplings growing under the bushes, by the picket fence and in her decorated pots neatly arranged by the balcony railing. Often times, she forced her brother to join her in her quest to find every single baby plant that dotted the land around them.
Unable to put up with anymore of her crazy flower talk, Hamza purposely left out the obvious plants just to make her send him away. His plan worked and he happily resumed painting in his room.
While Sidra prayed Asr in the solitude of her room, her mother entered to survey the clutter of notebooks strewn carelessly on the bed. She arranged them neatly on the study table and set about adjusting the bedspread with a practised hand. Only in early spring did one get to witness the otherwise immaculately clean room appear akin to a hurricane wreck.
"When you get married, I hope your husband is sane during spring," she commented to her daughter who hastily folded the prayer mat to take over the cleaning.
"I hope he enjoys this as much as I do. We will clean the place beforehand."
"I doubt that two of your type will live properly under a roof without the house becoming a garbage land in a week."
"That's harsh. I clean excellently, every one knows that. I just take extra time when it's pretty out there."
"Mhmm," Amanah reached for the curtain but Sidra pushed herself between it and her mother, successfully steering Amanah to a chair.
"What doth this fair lady want in the dwellings of a peasant?"
"About the proposal. Did you pray?"
"Twice. But I don't feel anything about it."
"You're telling me the truth, right? You actually prayed?"
"Wallah, I did. But this doesn't make me feel anything either."
"Okay. How's the library?"
A knowing spark ignited in her eyes as she observed her mother. "This is about that, isn't it? One year anniversary. You want to know how I'm holding up."
"Yes," she admitted.
"I'm fine. Alhamdulillah. We open tomorrow, so I wanted to do all my mad work today."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
"Hmmm..."
In fact, she was not holding up well. When left alone, the fragmented memories tortured her to within an inch of tears. Several nights she'd woken up from hyperrealistic nightmares that she was sure were actually happening. But when around the others, she felt obliged to appear happy and healed. It took a lot of courage and made her feel like a hypocrite at times, but she couldn't find it in herself to confide in anyone. Her mother was the perfect listener, but even from her, Sidra shyed away because..... because she couldn't bring herself to talk about it openly.
Her only solace was in the Tahajjud Salah when she could let out the tears without fear of anyone walking in on her weak moment. She wondered several times if talking to Hafsa would be better as they had both been through it together. It kind of felt right, because they'd understand the silences when words wouldn't come, but the person she felt closest to was not an option in her list. Ayaan was the one who pulled a baggage extremely similar to hers. If anything, he would understand her with his natural empathy she'd glimpsed in the past and the undeniable bond that tied them together. And the last she'd seen of him over two and half months ago, he was driving away from her on a starless night toward a prospective college life, where he'd be far enough from the city of nightmares. She was rooted to the place with no ticket out of town.
She didn't worry about him personally except on nights she had nightmares about his 'death', right after which the moon would find her weeping in Sujood, asking Allah to keep him safe wherever he was and whatever he was upto. Having seen him go to the very brink of death, she knew her heart wouldn't be able to bear it if anything happened to that good soul whom she much admired despite a spark or two of jealousy in their initial acquaintance. Thinking about him only made her realise how little people knew about others' lives except what the subjects chose to share. She grudged him his easy nature and popularity unaware of his strained family ties while she had a gem of a family who never left her. During her bad episode, it was her family that gave her faith in life again and kept her tethered to the possibility of improvement and a bright future where dreams could come true. But Ayaan, she knew through Sara, suffered alone and didn't have anyone to turn to for help. Sara herself had admitted that neither she nor her father knew how to help him out except by leaving the incident verboten.
Now though, she wondered if he was any better than she was.
The bus jerked to a halt outside Terminal 6, making Ayaan bump his sleepy head against the headrest in front of him. He apologised to the man he'd suddenly upset with the headbutt and offered to help him with his luggage.
Having just been roused from a nightmare, the buddying up was more to his benefit than to the man's because he suddenly felt the need to have someone next to him. Returning to Crest did partially feel like returning home, but the date was engraved in his mind like a branded iron that sizzled on his skin. Ayaan deliberately avoided reminding his father what a terrible mistake the old man made when booking a bus. A part of him knew Sidra's family would never be so inconsiderate.
That's why he admired them.
They knew each other so well, that all it took was one facial tic to tell them it was time to drop some topic on the spot. He'd been over to meet her parents a couple times, during all which she stayed up in her room, and still saw what a beautiful family they made. It was happy home filled with laughter and good memories that shone a light even in their dark times; a reminder that every phase of the moon will change. He tried to imagine his home so happy, always giving up only when he couldn't picture his mother's healthy presence that was so rudely snatched from him at an early age. He reminded himself that Allah made no mistake and questioning His Qadr was a form of shirk. Still, a secret yearning for his mother intensified in his heart.
He shook off the thought by helping the man haul his bag down the steps of the bus. They walked together upto the glass doors of Orham District Interstate Exchange, where they parted and Ayaan continued on his way to find his waiting ride.
Kevin had cropped his hair extremely very short in contrast to the long afro locks he used to sport before Ayaan left. Musa was largely the same except perhaps his more muscular arms easily visible under the loose fabric of his shirt. Dawn was yet to break, but their faces shone as they started waving at him like excited children eager to see their parents return.
"Been lifting much?" Ayaan asked with a smile before enveloping his friend in a warm hug under the eery glow of the street lamp. "Assalamu alaikum bro."
"Wa alaikum-us-salaam. I've watched a good friend," he replied with a smile.
Next Ayaan faked a gut punch to Kevin before grabbing him around the neck and wrapping him too in a hug.
"You look like a Navy Seal, bro! Missed your banter."
"Coincidentally I'm looking into enlisting."
Ayaan shot a panicked look at Musa, who confirmed the claim with a sombre shake of his head like not now.