Beyond

DRAMA AND MELLOWS

---

Lagos, Nigeria.

2nd February, 2018.

Kamal had arrived just in time, steadying her in his arms. "Fatimè," he called softly, concern evident in his voice. She wanted to respond, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. He comforted her by holding her hand and gently rubbing her back. "It's going to be fine," he whispered, attempting to soothe her.

Once he was certain she had stabilized, Kamal carried her back into the house. Mrs. Simon inquired about the commotion when she saw them. "Uh, panic attack. Could you please get her a glass of water?" Kamal requested urgently.

"Sure," Mrs. Simon replied, rushing off to fetch the water.

When she returned, Fatimè had regained some stability and was sitting up, though her head throbbed relentlessly. Kamal handed her the glass of water, which she gratefully finished before resting her head back on the couch. The pounding in her head persisted.

"How do you feel now?" Kamal asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"Groggy," she replied weakly.

"That's expected. You should get some rest. Let's get you to bed," he suggested, worriedly.

Fatimè did not attempt to get up. Understanding her fatigue, Kamal gently scooped her up in his arms, carrying her as if she were a bride. He carefully laid her down on the bed. "Comfortable?" he asked, seeking her assurance.

She nodded in response.

"Okay, I'll be working downstairs, but I'll check up on you in a bit. If you need anything, just call me," he said before leaving the room.

Yep, he was still mad.

---

3rd February, 2018.

Fatimè stirred in her sleep, groaning as the sound of her phone woke her up. She tried to locate it, but by the time she did, the ringing had stopped. Glancing at her phone's screen, she saw that it was 2:33 a.m. She had been out for that long?

Curiosity piqued, she checked her phone to see who had called, and it turned out to be Madina. Seriously? Fatimè had informed her cousin about the panic attack before going to sleep, and it was now Madina chose to respond.

"Sorry, I missed your call. Are you okay? Maybe you should see someone. Call me when you get this. Xx."

Fatimè shook her head after reading Madina's message, dismissing it as an overreaction. It was just one panic attack in how many months? Besides, it was bound to happen. This month had been dreadful. Yawning, she decided to get out of bed and make herself a cup of tea. Kamal wasn't in bed, which was unusual. He typically had an early bedtime of 10 p.m. Was he still avoiding her? Whatever the reason, she wanted it to end today.

Fatimè found him in the downstairs living room, engrossed in his laptop. He didn't notice her arrival until she spoke up. "What are you still doing awake?" she asked.

"Working," he replied, raising his head to meet her gaze. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I've had enough. I'm going to make a cuppa. Want one?"

"I don't mind."

Fatimè returned with two mugs and handed one to Kamal. She settled on the couch, sipping her tea while watching him work. Her headache had subsided, and she felt relatively better.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, tired of the silence. "I'm sorry I left. I know you're still mad at me for that, and I'm sorry."

"You think I'm mad because you left?" Kamal questioned, his eyes fixed on her.