However it goes, it ends in pain.

Chapter 6: Before.

Chapter 6: Before.

It's been 207 days since I last saw him.

When we all watched Twilight, I bet we thought, 'Bella is a little dramatic. Heartache could not possibly hurt so bad' Bella was NOT being dramatic. Bella was heartbroken, she was love sick. She was my metaphor.

For a while all I could do was deny the fact that the loss of a boy from my life was what made me so inherently ill.

Not only in the heart and mind, but also in the bones, in the body.

I started falling ill very regularly.

My mother was so worried.

The doctors said nothing was wrong.

I was fine.

Then came the pretense.

I was fine.

I'd said that statement so many times, it'd become my mantra.

I was fine.

Then self-destruction

I stopped eating, the food felt like hell.

Who'd want to eat in a life without Ahmad.

My mother noticed. My mother, bless her.

I couldn't give a damn about my school work.

I'd cut off my friends.

My hygiene. Everything became so unimportant.

The only productive things I did, were write poetry,

About Ahmad.

And

Write letters to Ahmad.

I was grieving the loss of boy. A boy who had never been mine.

I pour the water into my mug.

I created art for Ahmad.

Poetry. Letters. Stories. Drawings. Puzzles. Art.

And it was stripping me away. As though it was the life in my soul that made everything I created for him magically beautiful.

I am yet to create anything of such beauty.

My mother would soon catch on that I was lovesick.

'Amra. Come with me' she would often say whenever she was going out. She didn't want to give me enough time to think and mourn. She kept me busy. Very busy.

However, she would also notice that I wasn't getting better.

I remember the day she caught me in the shower. Hot burning water pelting down on me. My warm beige skin, red. The spot on my back had become tender, as though in due time it was going to peel off. She yanked me out, wrapped me in a towel and pulled me into her arms on my bed. We sobbed for a long time.

She changed me, and put me to sleep. I started sleeping with my teddy bear again.

She gave me a week before she brought it up. But every night before we had the talk, she would read to me. She would cuddle me, oil my hair like I was a kid again. On the day we'd have 'the talk' my mother brought some incense into my room, along with snacks, and tissues.

I smile at the memory.

She sat in the middle of the bed with me.

'What's his name?'

'Ahmad.' I didn't have it in me to pretend.

'You love him' it is not a question.

I look up at her. Her head inches above mine. She's not wearing any make up. I look exactly like her. Beautiful long lashes, brown almond eyes, a straight nose, and a plump bi-colored lip.

I am beautiful, like my mother. So why doesn't he love me?

As though my mother is able to read my mind she says

'Our beauty has nothing to do with how deserving of love we are'

When I don't say anything, she continues.

'Amra' she breathes, avoiding tears as she cups my cheeks 'This boy, the one you religiously love is just that, a boy. I understand that you are love sick, but sabotaging yourself won't bring him back. A man won't love you the way you love him. He will never know what it is like to worship a woman, not out of respect, not out of desire, but out of love. This Ahmad, he has changed your life, forever, and maybe you will spend an eternity lovelorn, or maybe you will learn that some people are not meant to feel requited love. Whatever you choose to do, I want you to remember that Allah has chosen that this Ahmad should know you, and choose not to love you, and that has nothing to do with you.' Who we love is less about them and more about us. Our fear, our courage, our self-love.'

My mother hugs me.

I snap out of my flashback as I feel tears streak down my cheeks.

Ahmad may have changed my life. But so did my mother.

Since that speech, I knew my mother loved me, I felt it deep in my bones, in my veins. In every part of my being. And if I couldn't heal for myself. I could do it for my mother. Besides, I had thought, the very love I'd craved from him, my mother could pour into me, all day, any day, without asking for anything in return, in spite of who I am.

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This chapter is a couple hundred words shorter than the others, but I think it's one of the most beautiful and it really captures Amra's essence.
"All I want" kodaline, is a song I imagine Amra crying to on nights when she missed Ahmad.

I don't know if I should upload another chapter since this one is a bit short (Let me know).

I hope you share my sentiments about it being beautiful, I poured my heart into this. Anyways... I'm excited for the turn of events in the upcoming chapters.

Enjoy!

Nafisah.