𝓜𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

50# THE LAST PICNIC

THE KHALIL RESIDENCE,
ASOKORO.
APRIL, 2022.

With evening came an end to the hustle of the day. It was past maghrib, and a chill had set in the air.

Right by the gazebo, large mats were spread out on the grass, overlooking the fountain. The sunset, in all its hues, was mirrored in the gushing water, setting a calm ambience.

Yahya had instructed that the house be decorated the same way it had on the day of Jamilah's ceremony; but while that night had been full of unfavorable company, something about the air that evening told that it'd be memorable, that it would be one each of them would look back to in nostalgia when it'd ended.

Yahya was the first to arrive. He sat himself on the mat, while waiting for the others to arrive. Knowing them, it'd be a while.

The urge to let his eyes fall close and just... feel all that was around him was too strong, so he let himself bend to it. There weren't any particular sounds to be heard, other than the odd cricket or two finding their way about the garden.

Until, "What are you doing here?". Yahya paused, his ears tuned towards his wife's voice.

It caught his surprise... the difficulty with which his eyes opened. But when he glanced at Zaynab, he was in no doubt as to why he felt that way.

Looking at Zaynab was heartbreaking. His fists trembled and the overbearing weight started to build at the back of his throat. He was sure that if— in that moment— he tried to speak, he would be wordless. So he just swallowed, and hummed his affirmation through his weighted throat.

Her nurse wheeled her towards him, said a quick greeting and then left them to themselves.

For a few seconds, Yahya couldn't bring his eyes upwards, towards his wife. He kept his gaze on her lap, even as his eyes stung.

"How are you?", He managed to say, somehow. His throat felt parched, like he hadn't spoken for days, but his voice remained firm despite his feelings.

"Honestly?", Zaynab said, chucking airily, in a way that sounded too sarcastic. "...I'm not fine".

He didn't know they'd already formed, but when Yahya felt the first tear fall onto his cheek, he battled the urge to raise his knee to his body, and curl into himself.

"Sorry", he said, losing the stability in his voice. He still wouldn't look at her.

"I mean", Zaynab scoffed. "...even you won't look at me Yahya". His heart broke in that moment. "...have I become so... repulsive?".

There was something about the way her voice cracked in that last breath, that affirmed how broken she was inside. All because of him.

All the while, he'd tried to be strong.  He'd been strong. But somewhere along the line since hearing her diagnosis, he'd lost his strength. All of the hope he'd had in the initial months, it'd left him.

Now, when he stared at his wife in her sleep, he didn't see his Zaynab anymore. He saw hollowed eyes and a soul that was fighting hard to remain even as its vessel withered away.

He couldn't sleep when he was with her. His eyes would remain on the monitors, unable to glance away from the red lights. When she would toss, his heart would still; and when she would turn, his body would freeze. Every time he'd excuse himself to pray, and every time, he'd rush back hoping that within the time he was away, she hadn't passed on.

"Zee", he heard himself say, in a voice that sounded too distant, almost like he was on the outside of himself, looking in. He wasn't too sure of his own surroundings, just on the words he wanted to get out.