What Was My Crime?

I always start my day with peaceful taste of fear and consolations. Waking up everyday, calming my 5 year old son Mustafa that the sound you hear outside are just fireworks nothing is happening outside while my 13 year old Saif gives me glares filled with hopelessness. He is so done with me. He's a smart fellow. Mohammad was always proud of him. A smile appeared on my face. Mustafa doesn't think that I am speaking the truth. But I am actually speaking the truth, this is what the media is saying right? We are guilty. We are the ones committing the crime. My dear child Mustafa told me that his friend was killed yesterday. I told him that he was not killed, he actually "just died" due to some "reasons". Mustafa didn't believe me. Am I a liar?

" Mama, where is baba? You said he will come back today. Why isn't he here?"

" Love, baba-"

I couldn't say anything. These few days, my mouth was doing nothing but spewing lies. Mustafa was holding my hand in his tiny hands. My hands looked giant in his hands.

Mohammad, my husband, he always used to say that my hands were tiny. He was the most lovely guy, always kind with others. Whenever i used to get scared, he always said,

"Ayesha, Allah is here for us, He will look after us, even if no one is taking our side, He will be our savior. This is our test, we are Allah's favorite people, He loves us that's why he is testing us "

His thoughts, his memories were the things that kept me going.
I repeated the exact same words of Mohammad.

" Allah is here for us, He will look after us, even if no one is taking our side, He will be our savior. This is our test, we are Allah's favorite people, He loves us that's why he is testing us "

Saying this brought tears in my eyes. Saif who was quietly looking at us, couldn't keep the silence.

"Mother, we have to move, this place is not safe, they gave the warnings "

He's saying we have to move. A little sarcastic smirk appeared on my face. Move? But where? Are we not safe here? Will we be safe if we move from here? Will we be safe if we move somewhere?

"My dear-" i was about to say some more lies when he stopped me.

"Mama, sorry, i was harsh" he said and left the house.

Suddenly tears started to roll down my eyes, Mustafa's grip on my hand tightened. My 5 year old son was giving me courage. I hugged him tightly, trying to control my tears. I don't know what will happen. I don't know whether we will be alive by tomorrow or not, but i don't know what to do.
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It was 6 pm, he didn't come back. I went to the nearest hospital. Its funny that the first thought that comes to my mind is that he would be at a hospital. I mean its better than thinking that he would be dead, right? I saw the torn up body of my husband with my two eyes, I was alright, what can be more terrifying than that dead body of Mohammad. I went to the hospital. The people knew who i was. I was directed to a room. I wasn't alone there. There were people of all ages, looking haggard, lost, and destroyed. Children, olds, pregnant women, covered in blood, some were having break downs due to their family losses, some were holding their physical pain, i mean I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE. I gave a brief look at my son, Saif, how beautiful he looked, the face was enlightened with the light of eman. The doctors said that they gave him the aid. He lost his legs in the bombing. He was sleeping peacefully, as he had no worries.

After long awaited wait, when he woke up, his face was blank, it was like he knew 'it could have been worse', I was not crying, not shedding a tear. As i said, nothing can be more terrifying than 'torn up body of Mohammad'. Said and I were looking at each other, and then i heard the most 'terrifying' thing, i could ever hear. More terrifying than the body of Mohammad. More terrifying than the questions of Mustafa. More terrifying than the bombings. More terrifying than the silence of the world. It was a question i had no answer for. No one had.

"What was my crime?"

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