by Hana Sheik
Amal still couldn’t believe she’d forgotten such an important detail. She hadn’t loathed her amnesia more than she had in that moment. It had left her blindly navigating a field full of hidden emotional landmines. If she so much as stepped over a trigger—bam! She would lose Mansur to whatever battle he was clearly fighting internally.
She’d seen how he had left her in a hurry yesterday. Without his having to explicitly say so, it had been obvious he was stressed from having to decide whether he should meet with his half-siblings and stepmother.
A part of her was curious as to whether he’d settled on a decision. But she wasn’t going to ask and pick at those scabbing wounds on him. Just like she avoided mentioning him to Mama Halima, she would tread cautiously where his other family was concerned.
“I’ll have to call more often.” He grasped his knees and tipped his head toward her once more. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Amal flashed a smile, feeling a little more heartened now. “I can’t blame you if you don’t. You’re busy. I barely find time to catch up with Bashir and Abdulkadir. It’s hard for us to find a time where we’re all free.”
“They’ve grown up,” Mansur remarked, a small grin pulling at his lips. “I remember when they’d follow us everywhere. Follow you, actually. They worshipped their big sister.”
“Only because I found the best trees to climb and the best games to play.”
He smiled wider. “Right...how could I forget?”
“I’m recalling more of my childhood, and it’s nice. I feel less of a disconnect, and it gives me hope that I’ll fully regain what I’ve lost.”
“Is that how you view it? As a loss?”
“By definition amnesia is a loss—of memories.”
It wasn’t what he’d meant, though, and Amal knew that. She realized her deflection tactic wouldn’t work when he stared, waiting for a better answer.
Giving in, she said, “It feels like I’ve lost a part of myself, yes.”
And she didn’t think that was an exaggeration either. She had lost several pieces of herself. Her memories were bundled with her personality. She didn’t know if she was making the same mistakes, and if she was less of herself for doing it.
“And if you can’t regain all your memories? What then?” he asked.
She rolled her shoulders. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Guess we both have decisions to make,” he surmised.
Amal saw an opening and went for it, her intrigue overpowering her. That and the fact she’d done enough squirming in the hot seat. She figured it was his turn.
“Have you made yours yet?”
“No,” he said. “Though I’m considering driving out to survey the land.”
“You haven’t seen it yet?” she asked, sucking in her lips when he appraised her quietly. She dredged up the courage to say, “I thought you were going to sell it. I assumed you’d seen it.”
“I’ve had surveyors take measurements and photos. Everything I’d need for a sale once the deed is in my name. But of course, there’s the clause I’ll have to fulfill if I wish to claim my inheritance.”
She thought over what he’d said. “Will it make a difference if you see the land?”
“I’m not confident it will. It might.” He pushed back, sitting upright once more. His movements were fluid and graceful. No one would believe he was troubled by his decision, even when he gave it voice. “I’m only hoping that one way or another I’ll settle on a decision.”
“And be able to live with it?” she said, filling in what he hadn’t expressed but what his statement implied.
She understood more perfectly than most, being in the situation she was in. Coming to Addis Ababa had been a tough decision for her—albeit one she’d made quickly, thanks to Mansur. She wasn’t certain she’d remain thankful once the doctor joined them and completed the consultation, but Amal couldn’t see herself blaming him for inspiring her to join him on his journey.
She’d come because she’d wanted to. She’d had to, for her peace of mind.
“I was thinking maybe you’d like to come with me?” He folded his arms, and there was a gruffness in his voice as he continued, “I’ll leave after we’re done here, but if you’d like me to drop you off at the hotel I can arrange for that.”
He wanted her to go along? Amal had trouble wrapping her head around his request. She saw he was in earnest, though. All she had to do was agree and they’d be leaving the hospital together, heading out on a new adventure to see his inheritance.
“Okay,” she said, not needing to think too long on it after the initial shock had worn off. “Why not? I’d like to see more of the city.”
“Actually, it’s not in Addis,” he informed her.
“That’s fine.”
She beamed then, as the reality set in that she would be spending the remainder of the day with him. True, Mansur made her nervous. He unsettled her with his commanding gaze and his frank manner of speech, and yet she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a thrill in her heady attraction to him. She felt like she’d swallowed bubbles and they were popping non-stop inside of her. She felt as if she could walk on air when he gave her a rare smile or a laugh. It was an exhilarating experience in and of itself.
“Then it’s settled,” he said smoothly, smiling. “We’re going on a road trip.”
“I know it’s not a trip for fun, and that this is crucial to your decision-making, but I can’t help but be excited,” she admitted shyly.
“Amal...”
Mansur was staring at her, his focus so painfully sharp it felt like he touched her. He’d done it before, when he’d first seen her at his mother’s home. But back then it had been like he was looking at a stranger. He hadn’t expected to see her in that moment.
This time it’s different.
He looked at her like he was truly seeing her. Like when they’d almost kissed earlier.
“Amal,” he said again, “I don’t want you locking up that excitement on my behalf.”
“I won’t.”
“Good,” he rasped.
The doctor entered, and she was moving like a woman determined to conquer what had to be a long day and a lengthy schedule. Somewhere on that clipboard she carried were the results of Amal’s MRI scan.
“Ms. Khalid,” she said by way of greeting, and dipped her chin to Mansur. “I have to ask again: are you all right with your visitor sitting in on your consultation?”
“Yes,” Amal replied, sparing Mansur a smile. “I’d like for my friend to stay.”
Amal didn’t know where that had come from, but Mansur’s eyes widened with unconcealed surprise. He didn’t correct her, but turned his gaze to the doctor. Amal did the same, though she was worried about what he thought.
She forced herself to pay attention to what the doctor had to say, even though her mind would’ve strayed to Mansur.
Did he not agree?
Could they not be friends?
They had been once, long ago, as children. He didn’t have to know about her attraction to him, and they didn’t have to talk about why he looked like he wanted to kiss her, too. Because suddenly there was something she wanted more than a kiss.
His friendship.
She hadn’t been open about her fears surrounding her amnesia with anyone but him. For the first time since waking up in the hospital, confused and unsure about her identity, she was dead set on retaining the small and fragile peace she’d gotten while sharing her feelings and thoughts with him.
Whatever happened, she wanted him to know that they could be friends.
CHAPTER SIX
AN HOUR LATER they were on the road, heading away from the hospital and the bustling metropolis of Addis Ababa. As promised, Mansur was driving them to view the land he was due to inherit under the terms of his father’s will.
Amal wished she could enjoy the sights blurring past as he revved the fancy sports car, but she was lost in her thoughts. A part of her still hadn’t left the hospital. Like a nightmare, she was stuck in that expensively furnished room, with the doctor before her and Mansur at her side, listening to her bleak prognosis for the amnesia.
“I’m sorry, but there’s not much more we can do,” the doctor had said. “I will suggest that psychotherapy, specifically cognitive behavioral therapy, could be of help. We do have a few psychiatrists on staff. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in, Ms. Khalid?”
She hadn’t given an answer, and Mansur had done the talking, asking for time to consider the option and herding her out of the hospital.
She appreciated what he’d done. If she’d remained in that hospital room for one more minute—well, she wasn’t sure she’d be coping as decently as she was at the moment. And that was saying a lot, considering how numb she felt.
“Amal?”
She was spooked by the sound of her name. She hadn’t forgotten Mansur was with her, but her reaction was a testament to how deeply she’d slipped into her depressed mind.
Pasting on a smile, she said, “I can’t believe we’re not out of the city yet. Addis is far larger than Hargeisa.”
“By several square miles,” Mansur said, his eyes straying from the road every so often. He had his hands loosely on the steering wheel, his posture relaxed, but his face was all hard angles and no-nonsense. “We can postpone the trip. I don’t mind pushing it back a day or two.”
“I feel fine,” she said, realizing what he was hinting at.
“No, you’re not.” Before she could argue, he said, “And that’s okay. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to come with me. If you need time—the rest of the day—that’s all right with me.”
Amal sat in a stupor, the ultra-comfy leather car seat soaking up her tension as she weakened under the weight of it. His concern had her eyes prickling with familiar heat. A display of waterworks was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid—which was why she was thankful for Mansur’s deft thinking in whisking her out of the hospital and away from the presence of the second doctor bearing unpleasant news about her amnesia.
Why is he being so nice?
As if it wasn’t only a day before that he’d told his mother he couldn’t help them.
Couldn’t help you, you mean, she corrected, lamenting. He can’t reverse the amnesia. No one can.
Finally, she managed to get her tongue off the roof of her mouth. “It’s a lot to take in. I think I set my expectations higher than I should have.”
“Do you regret coming? Because you shouldn’t.”
His hands moved up the steering wheel, his fingers no longer lax in their grip. He revved the engine, too, making the car grumble as he switched lanes and gunned it past several cars.
The freeway here was as lawless as the traffic in Somaliland. Hargeisa had one traffic light, and navigating the roads was the stuff of a traffic engineer’s nightmares. But for someone who didn’t regularly drive in no-holds-barred traffic, Mansur grasped the wheel like a race car pro.
“You took a chance. It might not have panned out the way you hoped, but there has to be some comfort from hearing what the neurosurgeon had to say.”
He spoke with his eyes focused on the road. Though he didn’t need to be looking at her for his words to touch her. Mansur’s sonorous voice reverberated inside the car, the space in the luxury vehicle feeling so much smaller suddenly.
“And she did mention there being proven research into the psychotherapy she suggested. It could be of help to you.”
Amal shook her head, plunging further into a bottomless pool of despair. “Something tells me cognitive behavioral therapy won’t be readily found in Hargeisa.”
Mental health wasn’t a topic broached in Somaliland—or Somalia. Everyone knew it existed; they just avoided labeling it for fear of ostracization. And those who did suffer mentally and emotionally were hidden by their loved ones and ignored by the rest of society. Even the doctor in Somaliland had looked at her like she was plagued by demons and not suffering the effect of a head injury and brain trauma.
“I won’t find any help of that sort back home,” she sneered.
“Then take up the doctor’s offer and utilize the psychiatry department in the hospital.” He glanced askance at her as he made the suggestion.
“I’d have to stay longer in Addis,” Amal countered, not even bothering to muffle her sulky tone.
“If you’re worried about accommodation, the hotel suite is yours until you’re ready to leave the city and head home. It’ll come with a meal plan, too. And, as you’ve enjoyed the lunch there, you’ll know the hotel caters a host of delicious meals, both locally and internationally inspired.” Mansur nailed his sales pitch with a crooked smile.
She allowed him to dazzle her with his good looks and his generosity, even if she was still unclear why he was being so gentle with her. Again, she wondered whether his actions were a direct result of Mama Halima’s wishes. Amal wouldn’t put it past Mansur’s mother. She was small, but her maternal instincts were fierce. Halima cared for Amal and, despite his lack of visits, Mansur was still her son, and he was acting like it now. It wasn’t far-fetched to suspect that his change of attitude resulted from his mother’s prodding.
“Thanks,” she said, sweetening her tone because it wasn’t his fault at all. “Only I hadn’t planned to stay.”
“Much like me,” he echoed.
She nodded. “Like you, I figured that my visit to Addis would be short. That after I saw the doctor I’d be free to go home to Hargeisa.”
“And you still can—” he said, stopping short when he had to brake hard. He leaned on the horn for the truck that had cut them off so dangerously. Shaking his head, he growled, “I forgot how it’s car-eat-car in this part of the world.”
“But it is beautiful,” she remarked, gazing out at the sights she could spy as the freeway rode up an incline. “Is that the famous Meskel Square?”
She pointed toward a glimpse of bumper-to-bumper traffic at a barren crossroads. The freeway was congested with traffic, but it wasn’t anywhere as busy as Meskel Square. There had to be hundreds of cars there, narrowly swerving by each other. Her eyes were crossed from watching them.
“Yeah—and that’d be Addis Mercato. Famed for its coffee.” Mansur pointed out his window.
She leaned into his side, peering out for a peek at the open-air marketplace she’d read about in her hotel suite. She hadn’t only looked up Mansur on the Internet. Traveling out of Hargeisa for the first time had her curious, wanting to get to know more about the city she was temporarily in.
“You could stay,” he said, his voice nearer, lower and huskier.
Amal pulled back hastily, realizing how close she’d come to him. She carried his scent even after creating a space between them, his musky cologne tinged with a woodsy essence teasing her nose.
“What about your father’s land?” It would be his land if he decided to go through with meeting his blended family.
“Like I said, we could postpone.” He’d said “we”, like he intended to bring her along whether they went today or some other day.
Amal didn’t want him to stall on such an important decision. She understood that he wasn’t warming to the idea of meeting his father’s second wife, but the nameless and faceless woman was still Mansur’s stepmother—his ayo. In Somaliland it was normal for men to have multiple wives—up to four—and, unlike mental health problems, it wasn’t social death to have half-siblings in this manner.
Mansur was treating it unusually harshly. She had the sense that there was more to his hesitation and frustration when it came to his father and his second family, and more of his emotions invested in his perception of them than he might even realize.
They weren’t discussing him, though, and she was reminded of that when he drummed his fingers over the steering wheel and asked, “Why is it so important that you remember?”
“It’d be nice to know what I was like,” she replied, having had time to settle on an answer for that exact question.
She swallowed thickly, her breathing growing shallow and her body flushing with heat from rising stress. She scratched her fingernails up and down the pads of her palms, the nervous twitch similar to Mansur’s drumming fingers. It was nice to know she had company in her discomfort.
“I mean, I know what I was like as a kid now—but that changes as you grow, doesn’t it? I used to bite my nails to the quick—I recall that—but I haven’t had the urge to do it as an adult.”
“You’ll have to thank my mother for that.” Mansur’s profile couldn’t hide his small grin. “She got you off the habit—first with gloves and then, when that didn’t work, she resorted to a bitter-tasting nail polish and hid the polish remover where neither of us could find it. And I know it was bitter because you had me take a lick one day.” He broke off with a short but mirthful chuckle. “That was the last day I accepted a dare from you.”
Amal’s laughter bubbled out of her, first it was a giggle, and then she doubled over at the image of Mansur licking her fingernail and tasting the polish because she’d dared him. She laughed so hard the tears she’d kept at bay up to that point leaked out on their own. She wiped them away and laughed again, looking at him through the blur of her tears and discovering his grin had widened.
“It wasn’t funny, believe me.” He puckered his lips and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so bitter to this day.”
Amal heard him and she pealed into more laughter. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Clutching her now painful sides, she begged, “No more.”
“Surrendering, are you?” Mansur teased. “I guess we’ll call it even.”
She readily agreed, her giggles coming in smaller waves and fits now. And although the laughter had subsided, hoarseness from it lingered in her voice as she wiped at her eyes and said, “I think I’m starting to remember that incident.”