I see Layla in him. I see her fear every time I evade the topic of fleeing.
Oh God. Oh God! If anything were to happen to me, she’d be destroyed. She’d be worse than dead.
My hands shake, and I cover my face, commanding myself to take a deep breath. Is this how I sound to her? So stubborn I can’t see the way my actions are devastating those around me? Honorable as they may be, it doesn’t lessen their destruction.
I have to leave. I have to take Layla and leave, or she won’t survive this. Not the pregnancy, but me. She won’t survive my death. And I won’t survive hers.
If Layla died, my last family member—my sister—I would become a husk of a person. We came too close back in October. What would I do if she was gone? Khawf’s low chuckle draws my eyes to him, and he shakes his head, smiling humorously.
“Now you see,” he says.
I bang a fist against my forehead, cursing myself at my stupidity and naivety. Khawf was right. What price wouldn’t I pay for Layla’s safety?
I have to leave.
The decision blooms an ache inside my heart and the backs of my eyes burn with tears that refuse to fall.Howdid I not see it? I look up once again to see Khawf standing behind Kenan, leaning against the wall, wearing a satisfied grin.
He winks. “Now all that’s left is to grovel to Am.”
My head feels dizzy.
He straightens up, dusting off his glossy suit jacket. “And true to my word, I’ll leave you alone now. But I’ll see you later.”
When I blink, he’s gone.
My gaze falls, and Kenan is staring at me uncertainly, twiddling his fingers.
“Uh, Salama,” he says, treating each word as if it were a delicate vase he was holding in his hands. “Is everything all right?”
I start. Not at the words but at his tone. “Yes,” I answer a bit too fast. “Why?”
He scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know. You were looking behind me as if the devil himself were standing there, and I’m too scared to turn around and check myself.”
His voice comes out easy, his lips turned into a tentative, joking smile.
I smile back but it feels forced. “I’m great, thank you.” It’s the best I can do right now.
Kenan’s confusion settles in, and I realize I must have been silent for a while. And my smiling right after such a long silence must be nothing short of unnerving.
I clear my throat. “Although I disagree with you. On staying here, that is.”
He considers me for a second before saying, “Aren’t you a pharmacist at the hospital bandaging the wounded whoareprotesting?”
“That has nothing to do with anything. I’m upholding my Hippocratic oath. You’re putting yourselfandyour siblings in the crossfire.”
He shrugs. “I guess I love Syria so much that the consequences don’t matter.”
Something snaps inside me. “And by telling you to leave,Idon’t?”
He becomes alarmed. “No! No, that isn’t what I meant at all! I… Salama, this is myhome. For my entire life—my whole nineteen years—I’ve known no other. I’d be cutting out my heart by leaving. This land is me and I am her. My history, my ancestors, my family. We’re allhere.”
His fierce resolution reminds me of Hamza and the spirited speeches he’d give when he came back from the protests with Baba. He would have definitely liked Kenan. The thought makes my stomach constrict.
I shake my head, focusing on the promise I made Hamza. Focusing on Layla’s happiness when I tell her I was wrong and I’m sorry. That I’ll save her and myself. Even though I know Kenan is right.
When I leave, it won’t be easy. It’s going to shred my heart to ribbons and all the pieces will be scattered along Syria’s shore, with the cries of my people haunting me till the day I die.
IWAKE UP WITH A JOLT,AND MY HANDS FLY TO MYhijab. It had gotten tangled and nearly fallen off during the night. I hold a hand against my head, trying to remember what’s going on. Kenan woke me up for Fajr prayer, and then I instantly fell back asleep.
