I SEE MY BUILDING’S RUINS IN FRONT OF ME AND wonder at the irony. Taking refuge in the place that killed Mama. I try not to stumble on the debris and boulders strewn carelessly on the ground. I can’t help but step on broken furniture and the memories of the people who lived here with me. There’s no safe place to tread.
“Right here.” I point at the top of a small hill of concrete and brick.
Kenan climbs in and I follow him, feeling the sharp edges of stones digging into my sneakers. I push through the pain to reach him, trying not to cut myself on the glass lying everywhere. Down and concealed from view is our hiding spot. A huge closet obscures it. It’s like the eye of the storm, a center surviving the catastrophe. As if the whole building, with its memories of the generations who once lived in it, decided to make a home
for us tonight.
We jump, landing heavily.
The moon shines down, a blessing, so we know where to sit without something poking us in the sides. Kenan sweeps the ground a bit with his shoe and sits down, leaning against a broken wall, his breath ragged. I could kick myself. I was so absorbed with my own problems I didn’t stop to think how he might be doing. Sweat pools on his forehead, and he rests his head against the stone, eyes closed.
“Hey,” I say tentatively. “Everything okay?”
He wipes a hand across his face and manages a smile that doesn’t look as bright as usual.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry about it. Just catching my breath.”
I move over to him. “Can I have your phone?”
He nods, handing it over, and I open its light and shine it on his face.
“What?” he asks.
“Making sure you’re all right.”
He nods and stares straight into the light. His pupils constrict, assuring me there’s no cellular death taking place in his brain.
“Everything looks good,” I say after a few seconds. My gaze slides from his eyes to his lips and back again just as fast. He does the same, though he lingers far longer than I did, and my heart thunders in my ears.
Salama, I don’t ever want to— I wonder how his sentence was going to end.
He shifts a bit, raising his hand, and it’s centimeters away from my cheek before it falls beside him.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” I whisper back, giving him the phone. I move to sit on his other side.
Kenan rests his head against the slab once again. I rub my neck and look up at the sky. If we weren’t in such a dire situation, this place would be beautiful. The blackness stretches out in front of us, with the moon casting his silvery glimmer, dimming the light of the stars nearby. It’s the same sky other people see in their countries. But while we watch it here, hiding, not knowing if our next breath is our last, others sleep safely in their beds,
bidding the moon a peaceful good night.
Khawf emerges from the shadows.
He smiles. “Just here to watch.” He mimics a key locking his lips and leans against the wall. “Though the silence is boring.”
I take a deep breath and turn to Kenan. “I want to believe it’s worth it,” I say. “The revolution, I mean. But I’m scared.”
“I think it will be.” Kenan smiles softly. “Empires have collapsed throughout history. They rise, they build, and they fall. Nothing lasts forever. Not even our pain.”
“Now that’s a silver lining,” I whisper.
He looks away, and I see shyness in his features.
“So you’re still uploading videos to YouTube?”
“Yes.” He opens his phone; the harsh light illuminates half his face.
“I thought,” I begin, treading carefully. “Now that you’ve decided to leave, you’d play it a bit safer and maybe not record the protests anymore?”
Khawf grimaces. “Straight to the point, huh, Salama?”
Kenan sets his phone down and looks at me. “What?”
“I mean—”
“Salama, I’ve already made the decision to leave. Can’t I at least have something that’ll make me feel less guilty until then?”
“Not if it’s going to increase the chances of your arrest.”
“Why can’t you support me in this one thing?” he asks, exasperated.
“Because it’s not just about you. You’re dragging your siblings into this.
You’re being selfish.”
“I don’t think it’s any of your business.” His voice grows colder by the second.
“Well, it’s a free country now, isn’t it, Kenan? I can say whatever the hell I like!” I snap.
He groans and his eyes flash with annoyance. “Why do you care? This is my life, my family, and my business, Salama. Why don’t you commend the fact I’m trying to make a difference, even if it’s a small one?”
I stare at him, shock trickling down my spine like icy water.
“Your life,” I repeat quietly. I want to strangle him. “Your life?”
I stand, my hands shivering. I ball them against my chest, and the shock melts into a fiery frustration. I’ve had enough of this. Everyone I love is either dead, being tortured, or on their way to one of these situations.
“Salama,” he begins warily.
I want to laugh. “Your. Life.”
I drag a hand down my face, walking in a circle, letting the words build up in my throat before turning toward him.
“How dare you?” I whisper, now shaking with anger. “Are you seriously going to sit there and pretend if anything happened to you it wouldn’t affect me?”
His lips part. “The military won’t trace my actions back to—”
I let out a short laugh. “You think that’s what I care about?”
He looks bewildered, frightened even.
“You can’t do this.” The words spill out of me like a broken dam, each one tripping over the other. “You can’t record the protests anymore because I swear to God, Kenan, if you get arrested—if you die, I will never forgive you!”
His eyes brim with tears. “Don’t say that.”
I fall to my knees in front of him. I breathe in gasps, my desperation hindering my lungs. “I won’t forgive you, Kenan. You can’t come into my
life and show me the colors and tell me about your dreams and just risk it all when we’re six days from leaving!”
“Because I might be arrested?” His voice breaks.
“Because you made me fall in love with you!” I retort, my heart beating harshly.
My eyes burn with tears that streak down my overheated cheeks. His overflow as well, like two rivers dripping from his chin, and he covers them with his arm, his lower lip trembling.
I refuse to look away, to have any answer from him that isn’t what I need to hear.
I whisper, “You can’t do this to me. My heart won’t take it.”
He lowers his arm, eyes shining. “I love you too.”
His voice comes out soft and quiet, but it’s all I hear. Even if there were a hurricane ripping through Homs, he’d be all I hear. Every taut muscle and nerve cell in me unwinds and I sink lower in the soil, feeling the little grass blades nudging me.
“Then do this for me,” I plead. “Please. Do this for me.”
I want to reach for him—to hold him—but I won’t. There’s no ring on my finger and we aren’t promised to each other.
He doesn’t reach for me either, even though it’s clear from his expression he wants nothing more. But he does lean forward until there’s no space for a flower stem to fall between us.
“Salama,” he breathes, and my heart trips, picks itself up, and trips again. Under the silvery moonlight, he looks magical—magnified by his kindness and beautiful soul. He doesn’t deserve the cruelty this world has to offer. “I won’t record.”
I clasp a hand over my mouth and brush away the relieved tears. “Thank
you.”
He smiles. “Don’t cry.”
“You’re crying too!”
A laugh escapes from him and I manage to beam, my facial muscles stretching stiffly. But the moment passes quickly when I look to Khawf to make sure he’s keeping his promise. He looks amused.
“Well, that worked out,” he chuckles.
Kenan’s gaze drops to my restless fingers. “Salama, may I ask you something?”
I wince slightly, anxious. “Sure.”
“I’ve noticed how jumpy you are sometimes,” he begins slowly. “Your eyes dart everywhere, as if you’re looking for someone. There was also, uh, what happened earlier. Are… you all right?”
There it is. It was going to happen eventually. I bite my tongue and Khawf laughs this time.
“Will you tell him, Salama?” he says. “Or are you scared he won’t love you anymore?”
I shudder and a sinking weight settles on my ribs, concaving them. My stomach is hollow with nerves. How do I tell him about Khawf? I want to.
That want started when he first showed me the sunset. Like a whisper at the back of my head.
I stare at the scars on my hands, tracing the silvery slashes.
“Salama?” Kenan says. Concern is wrapped in every syllable.
I look up at him and try to keep my breathing steady. I’m not ashamed of who I am and the struggles I go through. Khawf is an integral part of my life who has shaped so much of who I have become these past months. I won’t deny that it would feel like a punch to the gut if Kenan flinched away from me after I tell him. But if we’re to have our version of a real life together, I don’t want to start it with a lie.
“I, uh…,” I begin, then clear my throat. “No. I’m not all right.”
“What are you saying?” His tone is fearful. For me.
I sit back against my spot and reach for a little plant growing between the cracked concrete, twirl it between my fingers. I say the words quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid, exposing my secret. “Since last July, I’ve been having… visions. Hallucinations, I guess.”
I pause, staring at the plant’s baby leaves, but the only sound I hear is Khawf’s slow clapping. He looks impressed and there’s a glint of pride in his eyes.
I peek at Kenan under my eyelashes and catch the surprise in his expression.
“Visions?” he asks, and he glances a few feet from where Khawf stands.
“You mean you’re seeing things that…” He falters.
“Aren’t real,” I finish for him. “Mostly I see one person.”
Khawf straightens his back and dusts off his suit. “Oh my God, are you going to introduce me?”
I ignore Khawf and continue. “Khawf. He’s been in my life since Mama died. I fell pretty hard on my head that day and, I don’t know, maybe a head injury coupled with my PTSD has affected the relationship between my brain’s frontal lobe and sensory cortex, but I won’t be sure until I can get
checked.”
Kenan looks stunned. “Khawf?”
I nod, throwing the plant away, and force my tone to stay calm. “He shows me memories. My regrets.” I leave out the degree of trauma I feel after each one. He doesn’t have to know all the details. I take a deep breath.
“I’ve learned to live with it.” I exhale. “Now you know.”
I hug my knees to my chest, burying my head in my arms to hide my teary eyes, my heart shivering with what he’ll say. It’s taken me a long time to accept Khawf, and I have no idea if Kenan will be able to come to terms with it. If he’ll see me and not someone haunted by her mistakes.
Kenan doesn’t say anything for a while, and I let him have that. He needs to unravel the words I’ve just said, understand what they mean for him. For me. For us.
“Salama, look at me,” Kenan finally coaxes gently.
Reluctantly, I peer through the folds of my sleeves.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He smiles. “You’re my Sheeta.”
Joy reclaims my heart and I feel foolish, but I say it anyway: “You’re my Pazu.”
Kenan looks away, a shadow falling over his cheeks, and he presses a hand to his forehead. Then he twists toward me.
He looks nervous, but a different kind of nervous. “Salama, I want to do this right. Even if we don’t have our families fussing over us, chaperoning our dates and whatnot. Even if Khawf is around. And I don’t want to wait until we’re in Munich to do this. I don’t want to do it on a boat. I want to do it here. In our home.”
My internal temperature rises. “Do what?” I stutter.
He swallows hard and slips his hand into his pocket. When he opens his palm, a ring sparkles on it. “I want to marry you. If you’ll have me.”
“What?” Khawf snaps.
“What?” I exclaim, the air vanishing from my lungs.
He fights a grin. “Is that a good what or a bad what?”
My mouth falls open. “I—I didn’t think you’d do that here!”
“Proposing on the revolution’s anniversary?” His eyes twinkle. “I’ve been planning this for a week.”
“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. An amazing life. 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. Anything can happen, and I don’t want to wait anymore. No one knows the future. But I know how I feel. I know how you feel. So let’s find our happiness here in Homs. Let’s get married in our country. Let’s make a home here before we make one somewhere else.”
His words illustrate a universe of what ifs, mights, and maybes that 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.”
