WHEN KENAN ARRIVES AT THE HOSPITAL, HIS SIBLINGS are right beside him.
Lama’s eyes are wide with wonder, while Yusuf’s expression is curious and unclouded by sadness, giving me a glimpse of how young he truly is.
“Hey,” Kenan says, his eyes brightening at the sight of me.
“Hey.” I smile, feeling giddy.
“Hey,” Lama says, and I tear my stare away from Kenan to look at the little girl clutching his side.
She looks stronger, life lifting her features.
“How are you, Lama?” I ask.
“Good,” she replies and then glances up at Kenan, who nods at her.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
Oh, ya albi. My heart.
I extend my hand and she takes it softly before I pull her into a hug.
“Thank you for being strong.”
Her face is pink with shyness and she lets go of me to hide her face in Kenan’s side. He bites back a laugh, but there are stars caught in his irises, and I can’t believe the absolute peace I’m experiencing here, at the hospital of all places.
I peek at Yusuf, who’s staring at the ground, seemingly determined to ignore me.
“Salam, Yusuf,” I say, raising a hand in a wave. He glances at me briefly before looking away, his hands in his pockets and slightly frowning.
I look at Kenan, scared I might have done something wrong, but he shakes his head.
“He’s a bit jealous.” He sighs. “Thinks things are about to change and you’re stealing me away from them.” Then in a louder voice he says, “But I told him things are changing for the better; we just have three extra people
as family now.”
Yusuf shrugs, still not making eye contact.
Kenan sighs again. “He’ll come around.”
“It’s okay. He and I will become best friends soon enough.”
I hear Dr. Ziad talking to a patient from the right side of the atrium.
“Let’s get married?” Kenan grins.
I blush. “I don’t have anything planned for today, so sure.”
We walk over to Dr. Ziad, who’s just finishing up with the patient. His hair is in disarray, and his shoulders are hunched from exhaustion. But when he turns around and spots me, he smiles.
“Salama!” he says. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Doctor,” I reply and glance back at Kenan, who looks as shy as I feel.
Dr. Ziad looks between us. “Is everything all right?”
My palms sweat and nervousness churns in my stomach. “Yes. I—Dr.
Ziad, I want to ask you a favor.”
He straightens. “Of course. Anything.”
“I—I mean—what happened—” I stutter, and Kenan steps in.
“I asked Salama to marry me, and we were wondering if you’d be the one to officiate,” he says in a clear voice, but his face and ears are red.
Dr. Ziad glances between us before laughing joyously. The sound turns many heads our way, and I’m afire.
“I—I—” he stutters, caught off guard with happiness. I have never seen Dr. Ziad this way before. He rubs his eyes and laughs again. “This is wonderful news! Salama, when did you two…?”
I fiddle with the ends of my hijab. “It’s a long story, but”—I look up at
Kenan—“it was fate.”
Kenan smiles.
“You want to do this here? Now?” Dr. Ziad asks. His grin is as wide as a crescent moon.
I nod. “Our next moments aren’t promised. And you’ve always been like a father to me.”
His exhaustion vanishes and he looks ten years younger. “It would be my honor to officiate.”
I can’t help the smile that twitches my lips upward. I feel like I’m in a dream. Buds of hope begin to bloom slowly in my heart, petals opening to
meet the sun. I wish Layla was here, holding my hand. But I take comfort that Lama and Yusuf are able to attend, watching something other than trauma unfold in this hospital.
A crowd begins to form around us, the pale faces curious about what’s happening. Patients offer their congratulations, and Kenan bows his head.
Usually I wouldn’t like this invasion of privacy, but seeing anything other than pain and suffering on the people’s faces is worth it. I catch Am lurking at the edge of the crowd, his stare judging. I look away.
We stand in front of Dr. Ziad, who has finally composed himself. He begins with a small speech about finding happiness through the hardships, and everyone quiets down. After that, we all read Al-Fatiha together and Kenan recites the marriage vows after Dr. Ziad. I give my consent in a
small voice.
And then we’re married.
I get married in my lab coat, a sweater three sizes too big, with dust on my hijab and dirt marks on my jeans. We don’t have cake, a proper wedding dress, or even clean clothes. But it doesn’t matter. It feels like the whole thing happens in snapshots. I try to memorize each word said, every action and look, but I’m having a hard time keeping up. Kenan looks dazed, like he’s walking through a daydream. We glance shyly at each other.
Nothing will ruin this moment for me. It’s mine to enjoy, to love, to be happy in.
Everyone claps and some even cheer. Lama’s face looks like the moon on a full night, and she’s bouncing on her feet, while Yusuf gives a small smile as if he just can’t help himself.
Nour squeezes herself through the crowds, grasping my hands and kissing my cheeks, her eyes shining bright.
Little by little, the crowd dissipates and Dr. Ziad calls for all the staff to begin work, but the energy powering the hospital is different now. The hope I’ve so carefully cultivated is no longer only in my heart.
“My office is empty,” Dr. Ziad says to Kenan and me in a low voice.
“I’m sure you two have things to talk about in private.”
“Th-thank you, Doctor,” I stammer from shyness.
“You deserve all the happiness in the world, Salama.” He smiles warmly at me, and it reminds me of Baba. “Congratulations to the both of you, and may God fill your lives with joy and blessings.”
He shakes Kenan’s hand before hurrying off to his duties.
“I’ll look after the kids for a little while,” Nour says. She smiles at Lama and Yusuf, and Lama returns the smile. Yusuf slumps down on one of the plastic chairs, but he looks less tense than when he walked in.
Thankfully, everyone’s busying themselves too much to notice us slipping into Dr. Ziad’s office. Kenan closes the door softly, disturbing the dust particles.
I feel warm in my sweater. Should I say something? Where do my arms go? I swing them awkwardly for a few seconds, then stop.
“Salama?” he says, and I turn around slowly. He takes a few steps toward me, and suddenly he’s closer than he’s ever been.
I look up at him, nervous, and am surprised to see that his expression holds no tension. I can see the specks of hazel in his eyes, and if I concentrate I can count them. His hair is tousled from last night and from how many times his hands have attacked it all morning. I see a faint scar splitting his left eyebrow in half and wonder how I haven’t noticed it before. It feels like I’m seeing him for the first time. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles warmly at me, and before I can speak, he leans forward, hooking his arms under mine, pulling me close. I gasp, and after a few moments of hesitation, I wind my hands around his shoulders. He buries his head in the nook of my hijab, holding me tight. My nerves jingle; a million thoughts race through me, crowding my mind.
Suddenly, a stillness sweeps over us, and every nervous thought and feeling dissipates. I feel at peace. I can breathe, and I breathe him in. He smells like Syria in the old days. A hint of lemon picked from the gardens, mixed with the rubble and soil. He smells like home. He mumbles something I don’t hear, his words caught in the fabric of my hijab.
“What?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he says in a louder voice, but there’s roughness to it, like he’s trying to hold back tears. Then, after a few moments, he says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a proper wedding.”
I tear myself from his embrace and eye him curiously. “You think I’m upset?”
“I don’t know,” he says sheepishly, one hand behind his neck. “I know we’re down on our luck now, and I can’t provide enough for the both of us.
But I swear I will. My family has some money saved up, and we have land
here as well. I can’t use any of that yet, though. Damn, I should have given you something. Maybe a dress? You should at least have had a wedding dress. I’m so, so—”
I cut him off when I stand on my tiptoes and clasp his cheeks between my hands. He stares at me.
“I want a marriage. Not a wedding.” I smile. “Besides, this is way more
romantic.”
“Really?” he asks uncertainly.
“Oh definitely! A wedding amid a revolution. Isn’t this a good premise for a story?”
He smiles back. “It does sound like a wonderful plot.”
“Exactly. I’m a pharmacist with experience, Kenan. I can take care of the both of us while you are a stay-at-home dad who draws,” I say with a
teasing smile.
“Ha ha.”
I fall back to my heels, taking my hands with me before they start sweating.
“I was wondering…,” I say, playing with the hem of my lab coat. “If you’d like to move in with Layla and me.”
There’s a second where we hold our breath.
“It’s—you have that huge hole in your balcony, and I can’t imagine it’s very warm,” I clarify.
He chuckles and holds my hands, rubbing soft circles on them. “What’s
the real reason?”
I blush. “That’s one of many.”
“All right, then.” He smiles. “I’ll take my siblings home, we’ll pack, and
meet you at the end of your shift.”
“Okay.”
Summoning every ounce of bravery in me, I reach up and kiss his cheek.
He freezes, breath catching in his throat. He stutters a goodbye and heads toward the door before glancing back at me.
“See you later.”
“See you.”
Khawf is waiting for me in the stockroom, and I jump when I see him.
“Didn’t expect me on this joyous day?” His lips twist in displeasure.
I close the door, sighing. “And why are you upset now? Kenan being my husband gives me more motivation to leave with him.”
He nods. “That’s true, but it doesn’t come without risks.”
“How do you mean?”
He steps closer. “If—God forbid, of course—Kenan or his siblings were killed or, worse, arrested. You’d still leave?”
Dread slithers in my stomach.
“A lot could happen in five days,” Khawf continues matter-of-factly.
“Who will you choose? Layla or Kenan?” His eyes gleam. “Or yourself?”
I clear my throat. “I’m leaving my brother, aren’t I?”
He taps his chin. “Right. But will another tragedy make you break your promise? Make you want to die here rather than take a risk at life?”
“No,” I answer.
He steps toward me. His breath is cold, but there’s worry in his eyes. “I hope for your sake you don’t. It would be a shame to bury you here.”
