I crack a genuine smile. “Alhamdulillah our humor is alive and well.”
“It’ll take more than that to break us.” She winks before hurrying over to a crying child.
I watch her go, her words striking a chord. When I look into my heart, I expect to find it in shambles courtesy of Khawf’s words and the military’s actions, but I don’t. Perhaps that was the case at the beginning, but now there’s a candle lit in the darkness, illuminating my path. It promises a life.
“Congratulations, Salama,” Am says from behind me, and I jump. He’s wearing a worn-out brown jacket and there’s the shadow of stubble on his face.
“Thank you,” I say, but it tastes like sawdust in my mouth.
“Does the happy groom know about your broken moral compass?” His smile is anything but kind.
I go still. “Are you threatening me?”
He raises his hands. “God, no! We have an agreement. But I do think I’m within my rights to scare you after you nearly destroyed my life.”
He holds out his hand, and I fish for the Panadol tablet in my pocket, then drop it in his palm. But before he walks away, I find the courage to say, “How’s Samar?”
He stops, his back rigid, and pivots toward me. His eyes have gone murky brown with displeasure.
“I thought I told you this was a business—”
“I don’t care,” I interrupt. Acid roils in my stomach, but I power through. “I may have done something horrible, but I still have a conscience.”
A vein pulses on his forehead, then he answers slowly, “She’s fine. Sutures are removed. No infection.”
I let out a relieved sigh from deep within my gut, the acid’s strength subduing.
“She has a scar,” Am says. “That way we’ll always remember you and yourconscience.”
He walks away and my stomach resumes digesting itself before I dash to retch into the sink.
Kenan and his siblings are standing in front of the hospital steps when I walk out at the end of my shift. Yusuf has a beat-up Spider-Man backpack and he’s pawing the pebbles with his shoe, while Kenan holds Lama’s hand, her pink Barbie backpack frayed at the edges. Kenan’s bag is black.
My heart expands when I see them, and I hurry down the steps.
“Hey,” I say, and Kenan smiles at me. “Long time no see.”
I step to his side to brush Lama’s light brown hair. “I missed you.”
She beams, swinging the hand that’s holding Kenan’s.
I turn to Yusuf, who’s still staring at the ground. “I missed you too, Yusuf.”
He refuses to look at me, and another pebble clatters against the steps. I look at Kenan, confused. He’d been in a lighter mood after the ceremony; I had thought he would carry it with him throughout the day.
Kenan shakes his head sadly and in a low voice says, “He’s upset we left our apartment. Too much change happening today.”
“Oh.”
Kenan reaches over with his free hand and ruffles his brother’s hair. Yusuf swats at his hand but there’s no mistaking the concealed delight in his eyes—he’s happy his older brother is giving him attention.
“You’re fine?” he asks, and Yusuf shrugs.
Kenan sighs, turns to me, and picks Lama up. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Our neighborhood has become one of the hardest spots to defend after the chemical attack. I don’t think we could have stayed much longer.”
I press a hand against my mouth, shocked. My eyes travel to the pale orange skies and I search for the planes. “Let’s go.”
Lama’s chatter fills up the silence as we make our way back; it looks like she has gotten over her shyness. I walk to her side and she looks at me. Despite being a shade darker, her eyes hold the same intensity Kenan’s do.
