Too Little, Too Late

23

Unlike what she'd thought, Ayra slept deeply and dreamlessly throughout the night, exhaustion – mental and physical – seeping away from her body with every hour that went by. She woke up just as the Adhan for Fajr went off on her phone, wondereing how and why she'd missed the Tahajjud alarm.

She laid on her side for a minute longer, staring at the wall, before she sighed, pushed the duvet back and sat up, the Dua for waking up slipping past her lips as a whisper. When she turned her head, a scream nearly tore out of her throat.

Still in the pant trousers he'd worn when she came back from the graduation and a white vest, Ibrahim sat on her cactus shaped sofa, his hands together and his head hung low. His curls were messy, as though he'd run his hands through them all night, and Ayra hoped – which was very ironic seeing that she was still supposed to be mad at him – that he'd actually slept.

"Ibrahim?"

He raised his head, dark circles prominent underneath his eyes and exhaustion as clear as day on every part of him. "You're awake."

She moved her legs from the bed to the cool floor, a small frown on her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I just..." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I couldn't stay in my room. I couldn't sleep or do anything while knowing you're so mad at me and so disappointed that you couldn't even scream or yell at me yesterday so I came here...I knew you'd be asleep and I knew you wouldn't want to talk and I didn't plan on waking you up. I just..."

He blew out another breath and ran a hand through his hair, letting her know he'd actually run his hand through the curls she loved all night long. "I just couldn't be away so I came in and I made sure to not disturb you."

"You sat there all night."

"I did. It's the least I could, Ayra. I'm so, so sorry. I know I'll be sorry for a long, long time and I don't mind, Ayra. I'm really sorry and I'm going to make it up to you for as long as I can."

In that moment, Ayra wondered if it was normal to still be mad and disappointed yet feel so guilty that her not talking to him kept him up all night when he'd been crossing continents just to meet up with her graduation. She hated that he made promises he didn't keep, that was set in stone. She also hated that she didn't enjoy a day she'd looked forward to because he didn't show up in time for it all, leaving her drained. She hated those...Yet, her heart ached at the fact that he didn't sleep while she did; that he sat there all night simply because she didn't yell at him the way someone who was stood up more than once would.

Her emotions battling against each other – courtesy of her heart and brain being at war yet again – were confusing and she wasn't sure she was ready to unravel it all. She also wondered if it was how her parents felt each time they fought and Salama would come down to get Muhsin who'd been sleeping on the couch. Those times she – Ayra – knew her mother was still mad at her father, yet she'd taken care of him as she was concerned for his well-being.

It was confusing and it was too early to deal with all of it. So, Ayra looked away from Ibrahim and pushed herself up to her feet, her voice low when she said "It's time for Fajr, Ibrahim."

"Leilani –"

That was her undoing but she fought against it because she knew she couldn't melt into him although her heart wanted to. She couldn't melt into him that easily. "Let's pray first, Ibrahim. Everything else can come after Fajr."

She didn't look his way but his sigh reached her ears. A moment later, he was on his feet. "I'll wait for you in the family lounge." He then stepped forward and kissed her hair, his hand brushing her back which made her treacherous heart want to burst into tears because she'd missed his little touches. "I'm really sorry, Ayra. You have no idea just how sorry I am."