Unedited.
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Everything became a blur of grief for Amna, which was difficult. She made a promise to herself and to Aslam that she would do better, but the weight of her grief was threatening to crush her resolve.
Phone calls from friends offering their condolences became a daily routine, which made her days even harder. A couple of times she would almost dial Khalthum's phone number too.
Her insomnia got worse with each passing day. Every night, she laid in bed with the thought of waking up to another bad news if she slept and each morning, she woke with a heavy heart after managing to sleep for a few hours, mostly 3 hours after fajr. She had two panic attacks already.
She forced herself out of bed and into the shower every morning, letting the warm water wash over her as she tried to summon the strength to face the day.
Aslam's concerns about her grew, and though she appreciated his support, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was letting him down.
"Baby," he said gently one morning as she sipped her black coffee, which was now her everyday morning drink.
"I know you're trying, but you don't have to do this alone. Maybe you should talk to a therapist."
She shook her head, her eyes hollow. "I don't need a therapist, Aslam. I just need time."
"How about the one you were seeing in Istanbul? Does she do virtual sessions?" He asked.
Silence.
He sighed, knowing that pushing her too hard would only make things worse. "Alright, but promise me you'll consider it."
"I will," she lied, her voice barely a whisper. She couldn't bear the thought of sitting in a room and talking about her pain, or reliving the moments that haunted her every waking hour.
Amna found solace in the routine of visiting Khalthum's house, which she did daily. She spent most of her evenings with Ammi, Hafsah and sometimes Khalthum's dad.
Sometimes she would meet her mother at Khalthum's, checking in on Ammi. Her presence was a comfort to them, and in turn, their company made her days bearable. But every corner of the house reminded her of Khalthum.
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One evening, as Amna stood in the kitchen with Ammi, she glanced up for a moment, and her eyes fell upon a jar of Khalthum's matcha powder on the shelf, with the word matcha scribbled on the black label in Khalthum's handwriting. And she remembered just exactly how Khalthum liked her matcha in the morning, with almond milk and a little manuka honey- sometimes iced as well.
A sudden tightness gripped her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and the knife in her hand trembled. She quickly looked away, focusing intently on the baby cucumbers in front of her.
Ammi, who had been quietly chopping bell peppers alongside her, noticed the sudden change in Amna's demeanor. She saw the way her hands shook. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on Amna's shoulder.
"Amna am, you don't have to do this every day. It's okay to take a break, I know it hasn't been easy for you." Ammi said softly, her voice filled with understanding and sadness.
Amna's eyes widened, and her breathing grew rapid and shallow. Her vision blurred as she was pulled into the pangs of a panic attack. She dropped the knife, the clatter startling both of them. Her hands flew to her chest, as if trying to keep her heart from bursting out.
