A heavy, solid hand rests on my shoulder. So different from Layla’s touch, which feels more like a cloud whispering along my hands. I blink through tear-stained eyes and turn around and see Kenan’s sorrowful stare.
“Salama,” he whispers. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I look around. The living room is dull and the colors murky. The Arabian rug beside the couch has a thick layer of dust on top. A cold aura hangs in the air; it gives the place an abandoned feel. It reminds me of how it was when Kenan walked me home after Lama’s surgery. This does not look like the home that Layla and Hamza put pieces of their souls into. This is not how I’ve been seeing it these past months. That place was softer and brighter with Layla’s touch.
And I realize I haven’t said anything for some time. The shock has forced me to retreat to where Layla exists. In my mind.
Kenan draws me to him, and I let him wrap his arms around my shoulders, my back to his chest. He becomes my solid wall to lean on, and my muscles loosen.
“Salama,” Layla says softly, and the world becomes brighter again.
She stands in front of me, cradling my cheeks, but her touch is barely there. I can hardly feel it now.
“It’s not your fault,” she says.
I swallow hard.
“Hamza would never want you to blame yourself. I don’t blame you. No one does.” Her expression is fierce.
I nod.
Satisfied with my answer, she takes a deep breath, and when I blink, she’s gone.
Kenan’s hold on me slackens, but I immediately grab his hands before turning into his embrace, hugging him tightly. I bury my face in his sweater, inhaling his lemon scent.
“You’re real, right?” I finally whisper. “Please be real.”
He lifts my head up and the stars are still in his eyes.
“I’m real,” he says firmly. He takes my hand and presses it against his chest. His heartbeat pushes against his ribs and the vibrations jump along my skin. I close my eyes for a few seconds, relishing the feel of it. I don’t think I can ever let him go.
I nod and press my lips together to stop myself from crying when I see Lama and Yusuf peeking from behind the wall.
Kenan notices them as well and his face changes. He beckons them over before crouching to his knees to hug them. All the while he doesn’t let go of my hand, which makes for an awkward hug, but he’s determined not to let go.
“Where’s Layla?” Lama asks, looking around with a curiosity that turns to apprehension when she sees my red eyes.
Kenan grimaces and he looks at me. I nod once.
“Layla’s in Heaven,” Kenan says gently.
Lama frowns. “But you said we will live with SalamaandLayla.”
Kenan looks away, not knowing how to find the exact words to explain it to her. But Yusuf’s eyes suddenly widen with the realization and his gaze darts to me. Emotions flicker on his face.
In the quiet space between us, he sees me. Not as the girl with nerves of steel who saved his sister. Or the girl who fell for his brother and took him away. He sees himself in me as I saw myself in him.
Kenan finds the words carefully and Lama listens, but I don’t.
I’m looking at the window where the curtains flutter with a light breeze and a single ray of sunlight passes through, dropping on the Arabian rug.
ILAY ON THE COUCH,INLAYLA’S SPOT,FOR MOSTof the evening. Kenan asked if I wanted privacy, but I don’t. Not now. I’ve been alone for the past five months and the thought of it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand with horror. Alone. I talked to thin air. I laughed with thin air. I cried with thin air. Now I fill up my eyes and ears with real, breathing people.
Lama and Yusuf have a simple dinner of canned tuna, and I almost smack myself at my naivete. Layla never ate with me; I always assumed she ate when I was at the hospital. That should have tipped me off. All her touches, her mannerisms, were echoes of ones in my strongest memories of her. Everything about her was my memories magnified until she became solid.
My heart is at ease, knowing she’s in Heaven. My regret is that I wasn’t there in her final moments.
I remember the last day I had with her. The real her.
