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Mahdiyah was fluent in eight languages.
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦, she thought, 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. She was sitting near the window in her room, a laptop open before her and her freezing fingers wrapped around the mug of coffee. If she didn't have an assignment due tomorrow she'd have a book with her instead. The rain hammered softly on the other side of the glass separating her from the weather.
The prompt was in Arabic: A doctor gets a letter from someone — the only words in the letter are "أنا مشتاق لك" (I miss you). A few phone calls later, he confirms that a patient from LC Mental Institution has sent it. Mahdiyah must now write a reply and explain why she wrote it. If she hadn't read as many books as she had, she might've found the task daunting, but now — even the weather was helping her think. Mahdiyah wasn't familiar with the feeling of love, but had analysed every fibre that knit the concept. She set the cup down and began.
"When the sky bleeds pink after light blue hours, know that it is only fooling those who wish to believe that my love tarnishes time. When the world runs on its invisible hinges in space, know that no matter how many times it circles the sun it won't be enough to erase the spaces in my heart for you. When the winds blows through trees in your neighbourhood, know that it may dry your tears but will not even touch the ocean of emotions inside your eyes."
"Why must we succumb to the distance that is between us, when words like أنا مشتاق لك could spread their wings and collect nectar from every flower between us? If anything, the things you admit only fan the flames of love — for there is no quenching. If I could come before you now and a hundred years later, perhaps I'd choose later — the sweet time apart, the yearning in du'as will all be worth meeting you again for the first time. Perhaps brewing the same things in my mind would coat them in honey."
"And look at the mercy of our Lord, when death calls upon us, He erases everything that the dunya has given us — except our memory. That is to say, this feeling is so special, even death cannot steal it. Then why do I hear these faint tremours in your voice, oh my life? Why do I detect a whiff of fear, when there is nothing and nobody who could take this away from you?"
"Are you afraid of qadr? If so, I would chuckle at your naïvety. Have you thought of my love as this weak? Have you not learnt the power of du'a and tahajjud? Even then, if we are not meant to be — perhaps a portion of my heart will always wish happiness for you. And of my love? Whoever deserves of it, will claim all the oceans and lands — mine and yours. Either way, you won't be deprived of satisfaction. Because ya muqqallib al-quloob watches over us, so earnestly that it brings tears to my eyes."
Mahdiyah sat back and smiled, this must be enough. Even if the letter was from someone the doctor didn't know, someone who was mentally constrained — being nice will not cost him more than a few words.
