I nod and she lets go. “I won’t be late.”
She smiles. “I know.”
I glance at the sea painting, taking strength from the feeling it gives me, and walk back toward the door. I pass my reflection in the mirror hanging in the corridor and sigh. In mymightlife, I’d be dressed in my favorite dark blue jeans, a soft rose-colored blouse with a matching fleece coat, and ankle boots. My hijab would be ironed and spilling across my shoulders like a waterfall. A casual outfit Layla and I had ready in case a spontaneous date ever happened.
But in the mirror stares back a girl wearing an old pair of washed-out jeans and a black sweater with fraying edges. She’s sad and skeleton-like, her eyes dim with despair and hunger.
I look away and walk out of the house, closing the door behind me.
Kenan is leaning against the wall, looking up at the sky, his jawline more pronounced. “Let’s go?” he asks.
“Where to?”
He pushes himself off the wall, eyes gleaming with a secret. The clouds have parted, allowing the sun’s last tangerine rays to peek through the holes in the hollowed buildings of my apocalyptic city.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, and walks in the opposite direction of the hospital.
I hurry after him. “Surprise?”
He smiles. “You don’t like surprises?”
“I… I don’t know.”
He stops for a second, giving me a confused look. “You don’t know?”
I shrug. “I used to like them. Now they make me anxious, I guess.”
He nods solemnly. “That’s fair. This will be a good one. I hope.” Then he adds, “But… if you want, I can tell you.”
My heart glows. “No, that’s okay.”
We pass by a mosque still standing strong after everything that’s happened. A huge corner is missing from a blast, the green carpet inside muddied.DOWN WITH THE GOVERNMENT!is spray-painted across one of the walls.
Puddles of murky rainwater are everywhere. A couple of children zoom past us, their shoes worn and their cheeks thin. I want to call after them to put on something warmer because it’s still February.
Some men stand in front of a supermarket on the other side of the street, deep in conversation, while other people walk about, carrying groceries or in a hurry to be somewhere. I know this area, and if we take the upcoming right, my home—my old home—would be a five-minute walk away. I’ve only been back once, when I tried to salvage what I could from the rubble.
But Kenan doesn’t turn right. He walks straight ahead and then takes a left turn into a narrow alleyway. The road is uneven here; one building’s floors have collapsed on top of each other like upset dominoes.
“Here!” he finally says, and ducks inside a building. Its dusty red doors have been torn from their hinges and lie cracked on the floor. I hesitate for a second before following. He’s climbing a set of ceramic stairs. His legs are longer than mine, and he’s at least five steps ahead of me.
“Yalla!” he calls, an entire level above me. “To the roof!”
I glance upward and can estimate there’s more than five floors to go.
“I’m trying!” I shout back.
After what feels like decades, I make it to the roof, where Kenan’s already standing outside. Despite the cold, I’m sweating and out of breath. I stumble out the doorway, feeling my heart pumping against my throat.
“What’s this place?” I manage to huff out.
Kenan smiles. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered by climbing eight flights of stairs. “This is my old home. I used to come to the roof after school and do my homework.”
I look around. It’s a simple, standard building roof, and the floor is bare save for three broken satellites swept to the side. The view is Old Homs and the sunset. There are no other buildings obscuring it, and I’m able to witness the sun begin her descent on the horizon.
Kenan swings his legs over the edge and I stifle a cry of warning. Slowly, I come up beside him and gingerly near the edge but don’t swing my legs over.
He turns toward me, his smile serene. “When was the last time you saw the sunset, Salama? Properly saw it.”
