Two Brothers, One Heart

Chapter 48

Love me or hate me,
both are in my favour......
If you love me, I'll
always be in your
heart.... If you hate me,
I'll always be in your
mind
~William Shakespeare~

Islam lay supine on the couch, her gaze fixed on the ceiling like a prisoner trapped in her own thoughts. The old, shabby, and dirty apartment seemed to closing in on her, its walls suffocating her like a vice. The air was thick with the scent of decay and neglect, a constant reminder of her own downward spiral.

Her treatment had left her feeling like a fragile leaf battered by the cruel winds of fate. She longed for a simple life, one free from the constant pain and struggle. But everything seemed to be crumbling slowly, slowly, like a sandcastle in the tide.

The past few days had been a blur of disappointments and pains, a never-ending cycle of heartache and despair. Usman's visit two days after she left had been a particularly harsh blow, a slap in the face that left her reeling. She had hoped he would fight for their love, beg her to come back, but instead, he returned all the things she had given him and asked her to return his possessions. "It's easier to forget each other this way," he had said, his words cutting deep like a knife.

Just then, a knock at the door broke the silence, a sudden intrusion into her private world. It was insistent and disturbing, making her feel lightheaded and disoriented. She managed to drag herself to the door, despite feeling like she was floating on a sea of emotions. The gown she wore sagged off her shoulders, exposing her thin frame and the pain she had been hiding like an open wound.

When she opened the door, she was taken aback by the sight of the lady, a middle-aged woman in a green lace outfit, her protruding belly a surprise. The woman's dark glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, giving her a stern look, but her scent was familiar and nostalgic, like a warm hug on a cold day.

The woman dragged Islam into a tight hug, squeezing the breath out of her like a boa constrictor. "How are you, my girl?" she asked, her voice sweet and familiar, like a lullaby.

"Mama, I miss you so much," Islam replied, tears streaming down her face like a river.

Her mother's eyes scanned her, taking in her thin frame and pale skin, her gaze like a gentle breeze on a summer day. "Look at how you've become," she said, her voice laced with concern, like a mother hen clucking over her chicks.

Islam tried to reassure her, but her mother was having none of it. "I can't believe you live here," she said, her voice incredulous, like a slap in the face. "Why didn't you ask me for help? You know it wouldn't be a burden?"

Islam explained that she wanted to be independent, like a bird spreading its wings, but her mother's expression turned dreary when she mentioned Firdausi. "Firdausi's in rehab," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, like a secret shared in the dead of night.

Islam's eyes widened in shock, like a door slamming shut. "What happened?" she asked, her voice trembling like a leaf.

Her mother explained that Firdausi's life had changed after Islam left, like a ship without a rudder, but she was recovering from her traumas and addiction, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. She would soon be moving to college, and they planned to let her stay with Mubarak in Abuja, like a new beginning.

Islam felt a pang of worry and guilt, like a weight on her shoulders. She had abandoned her sister when she needed her most, like a ship abandoning its crew. But her mother's next words brought her back to the present, like a splash of cold water. "We're moving to the UK for your treatment," she said, her eyes shining with determination, like a beacon in the night.

Islam felt a surge of hope, like a ray of sunshine, maybe this was a new beginning, a chance to start anew, like a blank page waiting to be written. She promised herself she wouldn't let this opportunity slip away, like sand between her fingers. She would cherish every moment, every second, and make the most of it, like a precious gem.

As she showered and packed her belongings, Islam felt a sense of closure, like a chapter closing in a book. She was leaving behind the hardships and hard work of Lagos, like a worn-out shoe, but she knew she would always carry the lessons with her, like a treasure chest. Life wasn't about dwelling on the past, like a ghost haunting a mansion; it was about grabbing the opportunities in front of her, like a bird catching a worm.

She thought of her friends, Ava, Sira, and Dave, who had helped her through the tough times, like a lifeline in a storm.

As she closed the door behind her mother, Islam felt a sense of relief wash over her. She knew that she still had a long way to go, but she was ready to face whatever came next. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her past slowly lifting off her shoulders.

The journey ahead would be difficult, but Islam was determined to make the most of it. She knew that she would stumble, but she also knew that she would always get back up. She was a warrior, armed with courage and determination.

As she looked around her small apartment, Islam knew that it was time to let go of the past. She had to move forward, no matter how hard it seemed. She took one last look at the familiar walls, the worn-out couch, and the memories that lingered in every corner.

With a newfound sense of purpose, Islam walked out of her apartment, leaving behind the ghosts of her past. She knew that she would always carry the scars of her struggles with her, but she also knew that she was strong enough to overcome them.

As she stepped into the bright sunlight, Islam felt a sense of hope that she had never felt before. She knew that she had made it through the darkest night, and she was ready to face whatever the future held. She took a deep breath, feeling the warm breeze on her face, and smiled.