“You’re impossible,” I breathe, pressing my hands to my cheeks.
Kenan bites his lip and says, “I thought you’d say something like that. Salama, you and I live our lives second by second. We might live to ride that boat to Syracuse. We might settle in Munich. We might learn German, paint our apartment in vibrant shades of color we haven’t seen in Homs in a long time, and build a life. Anamazinglife. You’d become a pharmacist all the hospitals would trip over themselves to hire, and I’d draw our stories. We’d have our own adventures.” He looks away bashfully, stumbling on his words. “We’d write a book. Together. But… we also might not survive these six days. We might be buried here.Anythingcan happen, and I don’t want to wait anymore. No one knows the future. But I know howIfeel. I know howyoufeel. So let’s find our happiness here in Homs. Let’s get married inourcountry. Let’s make a home here before we make one somewhere else.”
His words illustrate a universe ofwhat ifs,mights,andmaybesthat feel possible. I want this universe so badly I feel its fire burning through me.
He holds the ring up and with hesitant eyes and blushing cheeks asks, “Salama, will you marry me?”
I stare at him. With every other situation in my life, I dissect all outcomes to the bone before deciding. But with this? The decision is as easy as breathing. It feels like how peace probably does.
But even breathing can be painful sometimes, and if I say yes, Kenan and his siblings will be a part of my heart forever.
It will become real.
I stare at the ring and find that I don’t care about whatever uncertainties lie in our future. All I know is that I love him and that even in the darkness surrounding us, he’s been my joy. In the midst of all the death, he made me want to live.
The answer slips easily from my lips.
“Yes,” I whisper, wiping my tears away, feeling my heart glow.“Yes.”
THE SUN’S RAYS ON MY FACE JOLT ME AWAKE AND ITtakes me a second to realize I’m not at home. A bird flies above me, its silhouette streaking through the pale blue sky. My gaze follows it.
That’s right. I am home.
Beside me, Kenan stirs in his sleep, and I glance at him. His chest rises and falls steadily, comforting me. He winces and I hope it’s because the ground is unkind to his back and not due to nightmares. His hair is longer than when I met him, and his scruff is more pronounced. I wonder how it would feel to run my fingers through his hair.
My nerves spark when I remember last night. I take the ring out of my pocket and hold it high, admiring it in the light. I didn’t want to wear it in the darkness where I couldn’t see how it glitters on my finger. It’s rose gold, encrusted in the middle with a line of white gold, perfectly modeled to resemble tiny diamonds. It’s beautiful and simple and what I’d have picked out if I had been in the shop.
“It was my mother’s,” Kenan says, and I jump.
He sits up as well. His eyes are bright and a morning blush blooms on his cheeks.
The ring suddenly feels heavy in my palm. “It’s so beautiful,” I whisper. “I… I don’t know what else to say.”
He smiles sadly. “You don’t have to say anything.”
I shake my head. “I’m so sorry about your parents. I—I would love to have known your mother.”
He fiddles with his fingers. “She never really understood why I decided to become an animator instead of studying medicine, but she supported me anyway. And even then, she knew me so well. Just from seeing you at your brother’s wedding, she knew we’d be perfect for each other.” His eyes gloss over for a second, then he shakes his head. “She would have loved for you to have her ring.”
“I’m honored to wear it.” I try to slip it on my finger, hoping it will fit. But it doesn’t. My fingers are made of skin and bone, and it hangs loosely.
“Too big?”
“Yeah.” I sigh and then remember my necklace. I pull it from under my collar. “I have this. My parents gave it to me when I graduated.”
He peers at it. “Fits perfectly with the ring.”
I thread the chain through the ring and it glitters prettily. “What do you think?”
“Beautiful.” But he isn’t looking at the necklace.
I blush and tuck it away under my sweater.
He scratches the back of his neck. “We have a week left and I know I said I wanted to get married in Syria, but I didn’t ask if you—”
“I want…,” I cut in. “I want one of my last actions in Syria to be this. Something good.”
He beams.
