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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~ Willow: Goodbye ~
Once we're home, my parents kiss us goodnight and head upstairs, making plans to watch a movie before sleeping. My mom's laughter permeates throughout the walls of the house, my dad's arms wrapped around her shoulders as they whisper in one another's ears like star-crossed teens.
My eyes fill with happy tears as I watch them disappear upstairs. Too long has their relationship been quiet and strained as a result of losing their eldest son; they deserve to finally be happy.
When I head to the terrace, Ihsaan follows close behind. I switch on the light and make a show of monitoring the condition of my sunflowers, and to Ihsaan's credit, he doesn't bombard me with questions.
When he does speak, his voice is a quiet thrum in the space between us. "You okay?"
I nod, my back still turned to him.
"Do you wanna talk about it? It's okay if you're not ready right now and...I'm sorry for cornering you at the restaurant." I hear him sigh. "You know what it must have been like for me, right? Walking in on you like that..."
He trails off, and I suck in a sharp breath, whirling around. Since Ihsaan stumbled on me and Rameez at the restaurant, discomfort has been plaguing me. I know my brother is not typically the macho man type—sure, he's overprotective at times, but what brother wouldn't be? I just don't want him to get the wrong idea.
But the entire car ride home, I kept thinking: What is the wrong idea? There's no denying what I've been doing for the past couple of months with Rameez and what I had been about to do tonight, a thought that terrifies me even now. So why am I ashamed to speak about it?
The past couple of months with Rameez have been blissful and beautiful, the way I imagine every teenage crush is supposed to feel. And yet, accompanied by the blissful happiness has been a creeping dread and discomfort, accompanied by the feeling that I've been doing something wrong.
I'm tired of holding this all in. I'm tired of constantly playing tug of war in my mind—is this right, is this wrong? How can it be wrong when it feels so good? Why does Abeer's observation about how I've changed keep haunting me? Why do I keep thinking of Aneela's words about how change is problematic when you start disliking who you've become as a result of it?
Whatever decisions I made, it's time to own them.
"You might wanna sit down." I gesture to the wicker chairs.
Ihsaan rubs his shoulders, teeth chattering slightly. "Okay, but let me start the fire."
I settle in the chair next to his as my brother prepares the fire in the pit. Once the flames are licking the air and the smell of crisp winter smoke has surrounded us, Ihsaan grabs two throw blankets from inside and hands one to me before settling down.
