The Fallen {Jason X Salim}

Epilogue

A/N: words in bold are spoken in Arabic.

—

2003 (day of temple evacuation)

Leaving Jason was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Seeing his unconscious state and being told that I had to leave him; left an ache in my chest, as I tramped across the open desert.

My feet kept moving in the general direction of my small village, although my mind was somewhere else entirely.

What if he died?
What if I never got to hear his voice, again?
What if the last thing he remembered of me, was me leaving him behind?

And then another deep realisation hit me. What if Jason simply had a moment down in that hell? What if he never truly had feelings for me, but just felt vulnerable down in that cave, then there I was, offering him his temporary escape. He was scared and fragile down there; even I could see that. Then there was me, telling him I returned his feelings; I comforted him, and kissed him.

What if he was using me?

I tried to push those thoughts aside. I couldn't focus on the “What if's”, I would be home soon enough, and Jason needed me to be strong, for both our sakes.

A feeling of hope and joy overtook me at the sight of my home.

Zain.

I forced my legs to go as fast as they could, despite my dehydration, hunger, and exhaustion. I needed to see my, son.

I approached my house, and let out a strangled sob at the sight of my home, and the immediate comfort it brought me.

"Zain!" I called out in my native tongue, and a moment later, my son appeared in the doorway. A bright, relieved smile graced his features as he ran towards me and engulfed me in a bone crushing hug.

I wrapped my arms around, as my boy wept into my shoulder, "Baba, I was so worried. You left, and Tariq's mother said you had called but didn't sound happy. You didn't come home last night, and there was no note. I began to panic that something bad had happened..."

I pulled away from my son slightly, but kept a firm hold on his shoulders, "I'm alright my boy, and there is much to tell you; but for now, I need to enjoy some time with you, and get some food into me. Sound alright?" I asked, and Zain immediately nodded his head, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, "Of course, baba. I'll get the kettle going and make some dinner. Come inside! You look like you've been to hell and come out the other side." Zain explained.

"You wouldn't be far from the truth, my boy." I responded, as I followed him inside our house.

"What is that... thing?" Zain asked, sceptically pointing to the rusted crowbar in my hand. I idly turned it over, examining the remnants of dried blood on the end, and gave an awkward chuckle.

"A souvenir." is all I responded with, as I positioned it against the wall by the dining table. Zain seemed a bit confused, but didn't question it.

The rest of the evening consisted of me showering, chugging back a gallon of water, and eating dinner with Zain.
I decided to leave out the talk of vampire aliens and a horrific temple, just for the night. That conversation could wait for another day, although I could see how eager Zain was to hear my story.

After cleaning up our dinner dishes, I watched my son open his birthday gift, and we celebrated with some basbousa and orange flower syrup, that I had made two days prior.