by S. Nahar
“Damon!”
I snapped back to reality. “What?” I asked innocently as if I did nothing wrong.
Amira glared at me with her eyes pointing like daggers and lips pressed. Even her facial expressions brought joy to my usually dull, gray life. Every second, every minute, every hour with Amira was a burst of colors, a new world that I had to discover.
“Is there ever a day where you don’t glare at me?” I laughed.
“Keep dreaming, jerk,” she huffed.
“Are you seriously mad?”
No response.
“Amira?”
Silence.
“Come on, Amira. Don’t be so childish,” I teased.
She just leaned her head onto the palm of her hand as she looked at me with a smug look.
“Okay, you win. I’m sorry for not listening,” I sighed.
Amira brightened immediately, flashing me her pearly teeth. “It’s all good.”
This time I was the one glaring at her.
“Now, Damon, is there ever a day where you don’t glare at me?” she mocked.
“Damn you,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Damon! Profanity!” she exclaimed.
I rolled my eyes at her. “We’re in high school,” I said, as I gave her a blank stare.
“Still profanity,” she argued.
“You say shut up all the time. Isn’t that profanity?” I asked amused at her argument.
“No. That’s child profanity. Those are allowed.”
I laughed and some of my other classmates that came early turned to look at us like we had lost our minds from our contagious laughter. “You’re weird,” I grinned.
“And you’re insufferable,” she smirked.
“Oh, big words. I’m so scared,” I said sarcastically.
“I would be if I were you. Never go against a linguistic person.”
“And I’m not linguistic?” I asked with raised eyebrows.
“Aw, you, poor soul. I know you wish you had my skills, but we all can’t get what we wish for.”
I leaned in close to her until we were inches apart, my voice dropping very low for her ears only. “The only thing I wish for, Amira, is you,” I whispered.
She tensed. I could sense the inner battle in her from the way her hands shook, the way her eyes widened in disbelief, and the guilty bite of her lips.
“Why do you get so tense every time I’m close?” I asked.
“I’m not used to guys being so close to me,” she answered.
“Oh, well you better get used to it, sweetheart. I’m starting to crave for you,” I replied, keeping my voice low and husky.
A barely noticeable shade of light pink stained her cheek. Amira sighed. “I’m sorry, Damon, but we can’t be anything to each other. You’re going to get hurt.”
“Look me in the eye, and tell me you don’t want me,” I dared. I refuse to let her get away from me.
“Damon,” she started.
“Do it,” I demanded.
“I can’t,” she sighed defeated.
I smirked. “Stop fighting this, Amira. We can still be together. Please, be with me,” I pleaded, as I grabbed her hand.
She shook her head and looked at me with a pained expression. “I have to fight it, Damon. I don’t have a choice.”
“We all have choices, Amira. What’s your choice?”
“You don’t understand,” she gasped.
“Then make me understand!”
With a quiet, shaking voice she said, “We have choices in life, but those choices can do worse if we don’t follow what is right. I don’t have a choice if I know what the right choice is.”
“Amira,” I whispered.
She was in pain. My sweet, pretty girl was in so much pain and I couldn’t help her. I had never felt so helpless in my life. In that moment, I realized that Amira was hiding more than I ever thought.
She hid her emotion and I felt terrible for doing it to her.
“Do you like me?” I asked, as I tilted my head.
She mutely nodded her head.
The realization hit me harder than I thought.
Chapter 24
Puppy Love
Damon Winters
At lunch, I could barely focus on the conversations around me. Amira once again consumed my mind. She liked me, but she couldn’t be with me. I didn’t know what would hurt more, her not liking me or her not being with me when she liked me.
We were trapped in an endless cycle of pain, neither of us knowing which way to go. I was pushy in my advances, and was always rejected by Amira, a girl who prided herself in her beliefs. Most guys would have been repulsed, but her piety brought me closer to an inner comfort I never realized had existed.
The space around me was a distant buzz as I softly gazed at her. She looked down at her journal and started writing. That notebook was what she always wrote in. I could sense that there was something special about that journal.
I knew it wasn’t a diary because I read a page from it, and it didn’t read out as a typical teenage diary. No, Amira’s journal was as complex as she was, filled with poetry and musings about snippets of her daily life. She was secretive in every way possible.
Amira bit her lip, and my eyes followed her every movement. I was finding it harder to control my urges for her. How could someone be so close to me, yet so out of reach?
After lunch, I ran to catch up with her, suddenly trying to find any excuse to start a conversation. My distracted mind made me blind to the girl in front of me, who I accidentally crashed into, making her drop all her stuff.
“Shit,” I muttered, reaching down to help her pick up her stuff.
“Watch your profanity, stupid,” a velvet-like voice scolded.
I looked up from my crouched position, and couldn’t stop the smile from forming onto my lips. “Well, well, if it isn’t my little beauty,” I grinned.
Amira rolled her eyes. “Well, well if it isn’t the little jerk.”
I scoffed. “Little? Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m several inches taller than you.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“For a girl you sure know how to hurt a guy’s ego,” I winced.
“Please, I was just warming up the insults. Don’t be such a wuss.”
I pouted.
“Damon,” Amira said in warning.
I gave her my puppy dog face, which she merely stared at, clearly not amused.
“Puppy dog faces don’t work on me,” she taunted. “Try again.”
“Damn you,” I mumbled under my breath.
Amira sent me a coy smile, sly and elegant like she found my scowling more entertaining than anything else. I scoffed; feigning hurt as I glanced away from her.
“Damon,” she tried, “Stop being such a child about this.”
“I feel bullied. I want to file bullying and harassment reports now,” I said with a hint of humor in my tone. “You wound me, Amira.”
Amira walked ahead of me, laughing softly to herself as she left me trailing after her. It was like she had me on a leash, dragging me wherever she went. All the worries, stress and heartaches disappeared the second I heard her lilting voice; the minute I heard her breathtaking laugh.
“Wait for me!” I called, running to her side. “Why do you insist on insulting me on a daily basis?”
She shrugged and kept walking. I walked in pace with her, and looked down at where her hand and mine almost touched. All I had to do was move my hand a little more. I shifted my fingers to grab her soft hands. My fingers lightly brushed against hers. Amira looked up at me as she stopped walking, and I paused with her.
Those eyes, that captivated me since I first met her, stared at my deep emerald colored ones. The corners of her mouth tugged upwards into her beautiful smile that always knocked the breath out of my lungs. I took this moment to firmly grab her hand without hesitation, blocking my actions.
“Damon,” she breathed, shaking her head in remorse.
“Please,” I begged. I didn’t want to let her go. A flash of the past burned the back of my mind, and I genuinely believed that letting Amira go would lead to that same feeling of emptiness and despair.
She was my best friend. I couldn’t lose her over a couple of silly feelings.
I pulled her towards me, and she crashed into my chest. Something seemed to click in Amira’s brain and she tried to pull away from me. My hold on her tightened, having her so close to me felt so very right.
“Damon, I can’t. I’m sorry,” she said with such sadness in her voice that I had to loosen my grip, not wanting to force her into anything.
“Just a few more seconds?” I tried to reason with her. Her hands rested on my chest, a feather like touch that made the skin underneath ignite even though we were covered in clothing. My hands fell down to her waist, loving the sensations it felt.
“No, Damon. I can’t do what you want me to do. It’s against Islam, and everything I’ve always believed in. I’m truly sorry but I can’t,” she stated firmly and successfully pushed me away.
To say I wasn’t pissed was an understatement. There was so much I wanted to do with Amira, but she was a Muslim. Never in my life did I think I would fall for a girl who was so devoted to God. It was a trait I admired. The amount of self-control Amira had always seemed to surprise me.
“It’s fine.”
She seemed hesitant, staring at me uneasily. “I…”
“Yes?” I asked eagerly.
She shook her head with a nervous smile. “It’s… nothing.”
“You know you can tell me about anything.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So,” I drawled, leaning closer. “What’s bothering you?”
She exhaled deeply. “This isn’t right, Damon. I don’t want to start something.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I want to be just friends. I have boundaries in Islam. This hijab is a testament to my beliefs. I can’t be like all those other girls, Damon.”
As I opened my mouth to argue that I didn’t care if she couldn’t be like other teens, a familiar girl with brunette curls accidently bumped into Amira, causing her to drop her binder and her other materials fell out of her hands.
“I’m so sorry,” the girl said.
Oh, I remember now! That was the girl from the party. Kaylie.
“No, it’s fine,” Amira reassured and smiled at Kaylie.
Kaylie walked off, giving me a longing glance. Amira seemed to have noticed, her cheeks flushing with silent anger. I didn’t want Kaylie, but I did like how jealous Amira could get. If the roles were reversed, I would have punched any guy who gave Amira a wistful glance.
Amira picked the last of her things. “Come on, we’ll be late if we don’t go now,” she told me as she walked off.
I was going to follow her, but something got my eye. Amira was scurrying away in an attempt not ruin her attendance record, and left her journal laid limply on the ground. I picked it up, staring at it as if it was the most valuable thing on Earth, and in a way it was.
I held the journal tightly as I thought about what to do with it. Surely Amira would be pissed as hell if I read it, but at the same time I wanted to see what secrets it held inside to make me understand Amira better. Suddenly, I got a text.
Mom: Come to the front office. I just talked to the attendance lady and we’re going home early. Be quick. Your father and I need to tell you and your brothers something important.
Amira’s journal could wait.
Chapter 25
Drainage of Years
Amira Sarker
Damon unexpectedly left. I felt a tug on my heart throughout the whole day. As much as I would hate to admit it, I missed Damon but I couldn’t like him though. If I started admitting my feelings for Damon, they would only get stronger. I couldn’t take that risk.
I knew Damon would never understand how I felt. He wouldn’t understand my decision of choosing my religion over him. As much as my mind and body wanted to leap into Damon’s arms and kiss him senseless, I knew I couldn’t.
Deep in my heart it felt wrong. In my heart, I felt the remembrance of Allah, knowing that my ongoing courtship with Damon in such circumstances only left me more vulnerable to a broken heart. I shouldn’t have even talked to Damon secretly, but somehow Shaytan (Satan) got a hold of me. He kept on whispering and now I was in too deep, unless I stopped everything now.
The whispers taunted my mind like a damaged record player, whining from overuse, and laughing at my foolish mistake.
I mentally groaned. Damon relied on our friendship as much as I did. He trusted me with secrets and feelings he’d die before admitting to anyone else. My insides suddenly felt like fire. My heart burned against my chest as I felt the constriction of pain in this life. It was like a warning.
I shook the feeling off. I’m Amira Sarker. I can handle this. I can make Damon move on and still be intact with my faith. Everything is going to work out, I reassured myself.
These days, I wasn’t so sure anymore, but I knew that I had to try. I had to keep Allah as my priority, my deen (religion) as my focus. This life was temporary, a speck of dust compared to the endless amounts of joy in Jannah (Paradise).
Surely, those who struggle in this life were given the greatest blessings afterwards. I just had to keep my head on and my hormones away from logistics.
***
I took a bus straight to the hospital. Nanu’s condition was getting worse. His once colorful eyes were now dull and blank, swirling with masked pain.
The man I saw five years ago was happy and optimistic. The man on the bed was depressed and ill, his condition overtaking his entire life, and leaving him in the wake of something worse. How could five years do this much to a person both emotionally and physically?
It made me wonder. Could this happen to me after letting Damon go? As I walked into the hospital, I searched my bag for my journal. I felt nothing, panic suddenly arising.
My eyes widened as I paused my steps, and frantically looked in my bag. Oh Allah, where could that journal be? I wrote in that journal since I was in third grade. It meant a lot to me and reminded me what I learned about life in the past. That journal was my life written in ink and numerous linguistic puzzles; I couldn’t just lose it.
I took deep breaths to calm myself. I probably left it at school. I’ll find it tomorrow.
Nanu’s coughing form filled my senses, and the journal was forgotten, my heart was impatient against the rise and fall of my chest and the worry that settled behind my eyelids. I blinked back the tears.
He was going to be okay. Allah will take care of him.
The sight in front of me made my heart clench in an uncomfortable way. Nanu had IVs pierced into his arms. He had dark bags under his eyes as if he didn’t sleep well for days. His lips were dry, cracking a little with dried blood resting against dead skin.
The feature that struck me the most was his eyes. They looked lifeless, hollow, empty. When his eyes met mine, a gasp escaped my lips, my lips trembling at the frail man that rested on a bed that wasn’t his own but at the hospital’s.
Thoughts about Damon flew from my mind; my eyes were blurring as I watched my grandfather smile tightly at me, never minding his own misery at being imprisoned in a hospital bleeding through. His pain mirrored mine.
I walked towards him, gently grasping his hand in mine, and holding it between my palms. Nanu jolted a little before relaxing under my touch once he noticed how badly I had to reassure myself that he was still alive and well.
Mum told me this morning that Nanu was going to get surgery due to his broken hip bone. The doctors said he had a blood clot forming.
A few months ago, Nanu rode his bike in Bangladesh, and fell on his hip. He didn’t get it checked for a long time until now. He had so many health problems that I wasn’t even surprised he needed surgery for it along with the numerous amount of pills he was given.
Even tho
ugh I expected this to happen, it still hurts to see him like that.
Sighing, I took a seat on the chair beside the bed, letting the hand go. Silently, my grandfather watched me with knowing eyes, meticulously following the movements of my limbs.
It wasn’t just him I was worried about though.
Too many things were happening at once. Sometimes, the stress of life was just too much, forcing irrational thoughts to form into webs of problems. There was never a solution because all humans really cared to think about were endless problems until a mountain of them formed.
I had Damon to worry about, how to break his heart in a way that wasn’t harsh. My grandfather was struggling to recover on his hospital bed, worried for his family that he left in Bangladesh just for the treatment, and I found myself chasing after my spirituality.
That was something I could never lose, my religion. Without Allah, I was nothing. I had no purpose. I needed Allah more than I needed love in my life because Allah was the one who guaranteed that love.
My thoughts paused as Nanu tried to sit up. I scrambled to my feet to help him, resting my hand on his back as he hissed in pain from the searing torment of his hip bone. Glancing at the pillows, I grabbed a couple to rest the injured part of his body on, which he graciously accepted.
“What will the doctors do to me?” he whispered.
“They will take good care of you In Shaa Allah. You’re going to be okay,” I reassured, embracing him in a small hug.
Nanu’s raspy voice spoke again, cutting into the perfunctory noises that filtered through the hospital halls from computer beeps to the click of a nurse’s shoes. A couple of murmurs surrounded adjacent areas, but my grandfather’s voice managed to mask all that.
“You know,” he began with a faraway look in his coal-like eyes. “When your mother was your age, she used to always worry about everyone whether it be her siblings or your grandmother and I. She would worry about everyone and their well-being.”
I stayed silent, intrigued by the story. My mother clearly hadn’t changed.