Eighteen-year-old Hayat Amanullah has it all: a loving family, a carefree life, and a future at the Ivy League school of her dreams. But her perfect life shatters when her oldest brother suddenly dies in a car accident. The tight-knit Amanullah fami...
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~ Black rose: Change ~
When I get home from the party, Ihsaan is hovering around in my room and not-so-subtly scrutinizing me. He's been checking up on me every night since Mikaal spoke to him about my incidents, for lack of a better word.
However, today is different. I can tell he wants to ask me something, but because of the constantly fluctuating distance between us, he's hesitating to upset me.
To distract him because spending time with Rameez has left me in a good mood that I don't want to ruin, I direct the attention towards him. "So," I say as I wipe my face with a makeup remover. "I had fun tonight. Hanging out with old friends. Which reminds me—why don't you hang out with any of your friends anymore?"
Ihsaan flinches, the question catching him off guard. Then he shrugs, averting his gaze. "Don't really have the time to now."
I scrunch my brows as I unclip my hair. "That's not true. You're off on the weekends, and now that you're manager you designate a lot of tasks to other people. You can make time if you want to."
His eyes slowly travel up to mine. For a few moments, there is only the sound of the bristles running through my hair as I brush it. Then Ihsaan says—so quietly that I almost don't hear him—"It doesn't feel the same anymore."
I set the hairbrush down, trying not to show how eager I am that he's slowly opening up. Alas, after rattling and rattling at the doorknob of Ihsaan Amanullah's heart, he has opened the door a crack. "Because Arafat is...gone?"
He flinches again, rubbing a hand behind his neck. "Yeah."
"Do you think..." I start slowly, pressing my lips together to contemplate my next words. "Do you think it might help you to hang out with both your friends? They might be able to understand and relate to you."
He shakes his head. "I don't want anyone's pity. My pain is obviously very different from theirs. Even if they can understand me, they could never relate to me. They lost their friend; I lost my brother."
His voice has grown considerably quiet. For a moment, there is pin drop silence between us, and I feel awfully connected to him, having just experienced yet another gathering where people's eyes are full of sympathy when they look at me.
Ihsaan breaks me out of my thoughts and hesitantly says, "Besides, Arafat was...the glue. Now that he's gone, we've all kind of..." He brings his hands together and then blows them apart in a motion simulating an explosion. "Scattered."
My heart lurches at the despondent tone of his voice. I hate seeing him like this. I know we've had our issues over the past couple of months, but I want my brother to be happy. I want him to laugh and joke and be a little unserious again, like the old Ihsaan Amanullah used to be.
"I know what you mean," I whisper, and the room is so silent that even my low voice carries. "But I think you should try to reconnect with them. Who knows?" I shrug. "Maybe they need your company just as much as you need theirs."
