“I’ll find Am tomorrow,” I say. “He left early.”
He bites his lip. “What if it’s too late? What if all the seats are taken?”
I shake my head. “Money buys everything, Kenan. And if it doesn’t, I’ll smuggle you on the boat if it’s the last thing I do.”
He stares at me, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. If my feelings for him are bared so freely on my face I don’t need to say the words.
In his eyes, something changes. He doesn’t smooth his expression; he lets me glimpse every thought he’s had about me since the day we met. They’re in the crease between his eyebrows, in the gentle lift of his lips, in the longing in his eyes.
I clear my throat. “You should go back to Lama.”
I thought it would be enough to break the spell over us, but Kenan smiles, leaning closer, and my breath catches, the scent of lemons enveloping my nose. “Is it okay if I skip walking you home today?”
I nod.
“But may I tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
Satisfied with my answer, he stands and heads toward the hospital, but before he disappears inside, I ask without thinking, “How come you smell like lemons all the time?”
He pauses and turns around slowly, surprised. “It’s Baba’s cologne.”
IT’S LAYLA’S IDEA TO USE LEMONS TO FIGHT SEASICKNESSwhen we’re on the boat.
“Of course,” I say. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
She laughs, glancing at the three sets of clothes she’s deciding between. “That’s because I’m not the one experiencing the blossom of love. Now more than ever, it seems, with Kenan joining us.”
I ignore her and go over the checklist, aware of the bulkiness in my pocket where Kenan’s drawing sits. A heavy coat. Passport and school certificate. At the beginning of the uprising, I started carrying my passport everywhere in case anything happened or we had to flee at the last second.
I count the other necessities. Eight cans of tuna and three cans of beans. One strip of Panadol. A couple of bandages. Four water bottles.
“You don’t have to say anything for me to know.” Layla flops on the couch after finally settling on a navy-blue dress and thick wool stockings. “You were never able to hide secrets from me. Perks of knowing you all my life.”
My fingers tighten over the snugly rolled dollars as Samar’s frail, bloodied body flashes in front of my eyes. I command myself not to vomit, even though I haven’t eaten more than five spoonfuls of lentil soup. “Is there anything else we’re missing?” I ask, and I focus on the fact that Kenan will be on that boat with me.
She lets out a sigh and nods toward a USB stick sitting beside me on the floor.
I pick it up.
“It has our family photos. We’ll have Hamza with us there. And our parents too.”
A lump lodges in my throat. “When did you do this?”
She shakes her head. “Hamza did. The first week of the revolution.”
I press a hand over my mouth and look away, tears burning my eyes.
What are they doing to you, Hamza?
“He knew this was going to happen,” Layla whispers. “Or at the very least, he suspected.”
“He was always the smart one,” I whisper back.
I glance at Layla. Tears decorate her eyes like sapphires. She holds out her hands and I take them.
“Alhamdulillah,” she says. “With whatever happens to us, to him, I will cling to our faith.”
