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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~ Red chrysanthemums: Love and passion ~
I take a deep breath and dart a quick glance at my mom.
She's sitting at the dining table, hands folded in front of her and gaze focused somewhere faraway.
"Look, Mama," I say with a sigh. "You know I only told you because you overheard most of it, right? It was very difficult to get Ihsaan to open up. Who knows how long he's been holding this in?" I place a hand on top of her folded hands. "So please don't mention this to him until you feel like he's ready to talk about it."
She blinks, refocusing her gaze on me. "Of course, Hayat. This is an amanah. But..." She rubs a hand against her forehead. "You know, I think he saw me when he was going back to his room. I'm sure he knows I heard everything. Knowing Ihsaan, I think he will just avoid it and pretend the conversation never happened unless I bring it up with him."
"Will you?" I raise my brows. "Bring it up with him?"
She blows out a sigh. "Eventually, yes."
"How do you think that will go?"
Mama shakes her head. "I don't know, to be honest." She drops her head and presses her palms to her eyelids. "Bichaara, my beta. Who knows how much he's been suffering? This is all my fault. If I had been more present—"
"No, Mama," I interrupt softly. "None of this is your fault. Please don't blame yourself."
Mama lifts her head and looks at me with a stricken expression. "Can you imagine how he must be feeling? He loved her when she was supposed to be...his brother's...and he still loves her. Imagine the guilt he must be feeling."
"I know, Mama. But the important thing is for us to let him know we're here for him and to reassure him that he's not a bad person for feeling the way he does."
Mama squeezes my hand, to comfort herself or to comfort me, I'm not sure. But it feels good all the same. "I'm going to talk to your dad tonight and see what he says. Then we'll talk to Ihsaan together, since he knows I overheard."
I nod. "That sounds good." We stay like that for a couple moments until my phone lights up with a text. I extract my hand from my mom's as I unlock my phone, and she busies herself with getting dinner ready.
It's Rameez. Immediately my heart rate ascends, cheeks flushing in anticipation.
And yet, the excited high is accompanied by a strange wariness, one that began after I returned from spending the day with him.
I can't put a finger on what is bothering me. Objectively, everything is fine. Rameez has been sweeter than ever and we have been texting nonstop for days (although I think my texts have been a bit drier than usual, for reasons I'm unable to explain). Every time I walk into my room and see the lab coat he gifted me (which I discovered is very difficult to find in print, only further increasing my appreciation of him), my heart flutters. He's always checking in to make sure I'm taking care of myself and becoming more involved with my hobbies. He's constantly inquiring about how I'm feeling and whether I've eaten and how my family is doing.
