“So, um, knafeh?” I said meekly, trying to draw her back to me.
She blinked. “Ah, yes. Knafeh. I got you all the ingredients you’ll need.”
“I’ll make it as soon as I’m done with this.” I smiled. “Why knafeh, though?”
Mama’s lips hid a secret. “Because you’re so good at it and I believe in fate.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She got up and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Nothing, hayati. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Kenan runs a hand over his hair, and my eyes snap back to him, my heart beating painfully against my rib cage.
“I’m right, are—aren’t I?” I stutter, feeling hot in my thin sweater and lab coat. Kenan looks away, cracking his knuckles. “The marriage proposal. The one our mothers set up!”
He grimaces and glances back at me. “When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound very romantic.”
The air feels knocked out of me, and I sink back onto the mattress, hugging my legs. Oh, Layla is going to have a field day with this! I’m hiding in the house of the boy I might have married.
Might.
What a word. It holds infinite possibilities of a life that could have been. So many options stacked one on top of the other, like cards waiting for a player to pick and choose. To try their luck. I see fragments of a life wheremighthappened. Our souls fit together perfectly from our first conversation. The rest of our visits bloom. I count down the seconds until we sayI do. We buy a beautiful house in the country, dance in the dusk, travel the world, raise a family, discover new ways to fall for each other every single day. I become a renowned pharmacologist, and he becomes a famous animator. We live a long life together, partners in crime, until our souls meet their Creator.
But that is not reality.
Our future is bleak. A half-destroyed apartment, with his little sister fighting for her life. Our life is the stabs of hunger, frozen limbs, orphaned siblings, bloodied hands, old shrapnel, fear of tomorrow, silent tears, and fresh wounds. Our future has been ripped from our hands.
Somewhere far away, I hear freedom’s familiar tune. Or maybe it’s Khawf humming it to himself.
Kenan fiddles with his fingers. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know if you’d remember.” He blows out a puff of air. “How creepy would I have sounded if I’d said, ‘Hey, our mothers set us up on a social visit about our future marriage. That’s where you know me from’?”
I rub my eyes and laugh to myself silently. He must feel self-conscious and gawky, which is helping a lot.
“It’s fine. I get it.” I grin.
He eyes me warily. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because it’s the last thing I would have thought of.” I keep giggling until it’s grown into full-blown laughter. His smile grows wider until his laugh joins mine. Every time we look at each other, we double up with mirth. The Arab proverb has never been truer: The worst of outcomes is what is most hilarious.
Khawf smokes his cigarette and retreats to a corner of the room, seemingly satisfied with the result.
We settle down, chuckling quietly.
“Well, that is one hell of an icebreaker,” I say.
“If I’d known this would happen, I would have come clean sooner.”
Suddenly Lama wakes up, choking out “water,” and the mood instantly changes. Kenan jumps to his feet and fetches a jug. I wipe her brow again and am pleased when I find she has continued to sweat.
“She sweated through her whole shirt.” I smile.
“And that’s good?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, helping her drink.
“It’s excellent. Lama, drink some more water, please.” She obliges. “This is a good sign. It means her body is healing. You can see her breath is steady, and there’s no pus around the wounds. Alhamdulillah. She’s making progress. Keep her warm and make her drink a lot of water.”
Kenan’s eyes brim with tears again. He clearly thought he was going to lose her and had steeled himself to accept the fact she might not open her eyes.
