KENAN TAKES ME TO THE HOSPITAL THE NEXT morning. Lama and Yusuf remain at home. I made sure Lama had a water bottle beside her to stay hydrated. Kenan stays by my side, talking to the patients and helping the doctors when needed. We’re still recovering from the chemical attack and lost some patients in the middle of the night, but it makes me breathe easier to have Kenan near me.
My mind goes on autopilot for some time as I replay the conversation I had with Khawf last night. In less than a week, I’ll be free of him. In two weeks I’ll be in Europe, in a new city, surrounded by people who don’t speak my language. Homs will feel light-years away from me. But I’ll feel every wound inflicted here, every bomb falling, every life lost. I will feel Hamza’s agony, never knowing if he died. It will continue to slice away at me until I’m bone. And when it reaches the bone, it will scrape away the endosteum, burrowing into the medullary cavity and reaching the marrow.
And yet, the fight here continues.
The protests have spread far and wide throughout several Syrian cities.
Hama, Douma, Ghouta, Deir ez-Zour. Every one of them is outraged at the escalating bombings we in Homs are facing. Kafranbel has the most beautiful, creative signs. I wonder how the outside world fares, how they sleep at night knowing we’re being butchered in our sleep. How they allow this to happen.
Kenan’s hand slides into mine when we walk back home, and I empty my mind of everything save for him. I furtively steal glances at him. He hasn’t seen my hair yet and we’re properly married. He hasn’t asked me to, and we never talked about what degree of physical affection we’d feel comfortable showing each other here. Our love story may be unconventional given the circumstances, but why can’t we grab at the small
moments of happiness? I want to make a home and find joy in Homs before we leave. My last memories don’t have to be full of anguish and loss.
We’re all sitting, having a simple dinner together in the kitchen and going over the list of what we’ll be bringing, when Kenan looks at me like he’s just remembered something.
“Salama, you were going to pay Am for Layla’s seat on the boat, right?”
My spoon clatters into the tuna I’ve been shoving around my plate for the past five minutes. “Right. I don’t have to do that anymore.”
That’s five hundred dollars added to my savings. I doubt Am would want it over the more valuable gold ring I promised him for Kenan’s seat. I stare wistfully at the table, wishing I could hug Layla now.
Kenan clears his throat. “What else are we missing?”
I’m grateful for the distraction. “Something to fight the seasickness.
Layla suggested we use lemons.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Kenan says gently. “I’ll pass by the grocery tomorrow and see if there’s any. The weather is still pretty cold, so they’ll last until we leave.”
After dinner, we all pray Isha together. Lama and Yusuf stay up for a bit before going to bed, and I slip to the bathroom to wash my face.
In the mirror I try to find the girl Kenan sees, the one with the beautiful eyes, but all I see are my sunken cheeks and pointed chin. I used to be beautiful. My olive-toned skin, glowing with life, was soft. My brown hair, deeper than a wild tree’s bark, matched my eyes, and it was something I was rather proud of. I tug on my hijab. It drapes against my neck and my hair unknots from its bun. The brown shade has faded; it looks washed-out as it falls across my shoulders.
In that might life, I would be winking at myself, admiring the way the blue eyeliner contrasted with my chocolate-brown eyes and how my sharp collarbones peeked through my off-shoulder dress. Kenan would blush when he saw me, unable to look away.
Well, at least this is my favorite sweater, I think glumly. A soft maroon.
Sighing deeply, I tug my necklace out so the gold ring rests brightly against the cotton material and steel myself to walk out, leaving my hijab behind.
Flickering lights seep out of the living room and into the hallway, shadows dancing on the floor. Kenan must have lit the candles, and I peer from behind the wall, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Kenan sits on the couch, one elbow propped against the arm, gazing at the sea painting. The candlelight illuminates his face in a magical way, washing him in gold. Suddenly my sweater is too hot.
He feels me standing there and turns my way, his face breaking into a smile.
“What are you doing?” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice. The night and feeble candlelight hide me from his eyes. “Are you staring at me?”
“Maybe.” I grip the wall’s edges.
He grins. “I have to tell you, I’m a married man now. My wife won’t like it if random girls ogle me.”
The heat on my face spreads up to my hair’s roots. Wife.
“But if you insist on doing so, how about you do it up close?” He pats the seat beside him.
I clear my throat, tucking my hair behind my ear, and slowly step out.
His grin slips, replaced with a sharp intake of breath, and his mouth falls open.
Our quiet breaths fill the silence. I find it hard to look at him, so I stare at the rug, following its whorls. A full minute passes before he says, “Salama.”
His voice is breathless, and it sends shivers along my spine. I hug myself, and he stands, crossing over to me until he’s a whisper away. His lemon scent takes over the tiny space and he lifts my chin to stare into my eyes. My heart is hotter than the sun, its fiery tendrils spreading along my vascular system.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. There’s reverence and awe in his tone. In his touch. In his eyes. “So beautiful.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “You don’t have to humor me.”
He looks confused. “I’m not.” He reaches up to thread his fingers through my curls, and my eyelashes flutter. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”
He holds up a lock of my hair. “Your hair is beautiful.”
His fingers skim my cheeks. “Your face is beautiful.”
He presses a hand against my chest, over my wedding ring. “Your heart is beautiful.”
My knees tremble and I stumble back until my spine hits the wall. He moves with me, holding my waist.
“But I can get specific if you want,” he whispers.
“I don’t mind,” I stutter.
Amusement glitters in his jade-green eyes and he presses a kiss to my forehead. “I like your forehead.”
That makes me laugh and it eases the nerves crackling through me.
“I like your laugh.” He grins. “No, scratch that. I love your laugh.”
With a soft sigh, I absently clasp my hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer. Pleased, he kisses my nose. “I love your nose.” Then my cheeks. “I love your cheeks.” Then atop the pulse in my throat. “I love your neck.”
My lips tingle when he hovers over them, and I count down the seconds until they touch, but he stills.
“What else do you love?” I finally whisper, my eyes half closed.
Kenan smiles. “Your lips.”
And he kisses me. It’s a soft, tentative kiss that coaxes a kaleidoscope of colors to twirl behind my eyelids. I cup his face and his stubble pricks my palms, but I hardly feel it with the heady effect his kiss has on me. I exist in this canopy where time stands still and washes away all my worries.
All but one.
Regret snatches me away from the moment and I push my hands against his chest.
Kenan stops, letting go immediately, concern clouding his eyes. He holds up hands. “I’m sorry. I took it too far.”
I shake my head, heartbeat thundering. “You didn’t.” I shudder in a shaky breath, trying to regulate my pulmonary activity. I can’t keep the secret about Samar inside me for one more second. It’ll continue to creep up on every happy moment.
“I have to tell you something,” I say and move to sit on the couch.
He sits beside me, cracking his knuckles nervously.
“You said I’m strong. That I have a beautiful heart.” I focus on my hands, which were pressed against his skin seconds ago. “But I’m not. I did… something. It was a rash decision, and I regret it so much.”
Kenan draws closer. “What?”
I take another deep breath and tell him everything. From how I couldn’t afford the boat to endangering Samar’s life for it. I don’t leave out any detail. By the end, my eyes are closed, hot tears pricking the edges.
“If I could take it back, I would,” I whisper.
Kenan’s hand finds mine and he squeezes it tightly, prompting me to look at him. There’s hurt in his eyes, but there’s also understanding.
“Is this why you’ve lost so much weight? And all the times you’ve vomited?” he asks.
A lump forms in my throat. Of course he’d notice that. “Yes,” I say, breathless.
He tugs me to him, and I fall against his chest. “You’ve paid your debts,” he whispers, wrapping his arm around me, and he kisses my forehead. “Samar is alive, you’ve made sure of it, and that’s all that
matters.”
“But—”
He shakes his head fiercely. “We’re human, Salama. Pushed into a corner, we’re forced to make decisions we wouldn’t normally make. You were thinking of Layla when you did that. I’m not saying it was right, but you’ve suffered enough for it. You saved her life and you saved many, many after her.”
I swallow a sob and bury my face in the worn material of his sweater, breathing him in deeply.
He lifts my head up, brushing my hair back, and his touch awakens butterflies in my stomach. He looks solemn. “It’s okay.”
I press my forehead against his chest and a relieved sigh escapes me.
“I love you,” I murmur.
