Unveiled Hearts

Chapter 1

When your thoughts overflow and the pain in your chest consumes your whole being, Musa appears out of thin air. He is a pause button, a temporary relief. He allows you to take a breath you had forgotten existed.

Whenever Musa is around, it's as if the curtains go up. Your family slips into their roles, and strained, practiced smiles grace their faces.

You take his hands with a sense of urgency, not wanting him to see through the cracks of imperfection. He doesn't feel the tension like you do; instead, he greets your family with a smile that outshines their forced ones. In fact, his smile could rival the glow of the stars on the darkest of nights.

Your father moves toward him, and it feels as though all the air in the room is sucked out. You pray he's in a good mood. He raises his hand, and your eyes instinctively close. But the sound that follows is one of glee, not pain.

You open your eyes. His hand has landed on Musa's back, greeting him as if he were a long-lost son, one he hasn't seen in ages. He puts forward his best image; you're nearly fooled as well.

Musa asks if you can join him at the park. Guilt tightens in your chest, but your father, still in a good mood, gives his permission with a smile that doesn't waver.

You pull Musa outside, and as soon as the fresh air hits you, you burst into a run. Musa, familiar with your usual destination, follows close behind.

When the small playground comes into view, you stop at the edge of the sand. Musa always beats you here first, but today he lets you win.

He takes your hands and leads you to sit at the bottom of the blue slide. You recline against the slide, staring up at the darkness that stretches above.

"My father's home. You shouldn't have come." The words echo around the enclosed space, startling you as you sit up.

"I didn't see you at school today. I, uh, was worried." His voice trails off, the last words barely audible as he fumbles with them.

You smile and give him a playful nudge with your elbow. His face turns bright red, and he pushes your elbow away, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Why do you talk so softly like that?" you tease. "You're a boy!"

You watch his cheeks turn even redder and giggle as the air around you gets lighter. You apologize, worried his face might explode with how red it's getting.

Musa puffs out his chest, trying to regain some of his dignity.

"Well, my mom says the best of men was the Prophet Muhammad, and he was kind to his family and everyone else," Musa says matter-of-factly.

"If only all men were like that," you say, your mouth curving into a sarcastic smile, though your eyes don't quite follow. Your shoulders feel heavy again, and you start to pick at the half-eaten nail on your finger.

He grabs your hand again. Both of your backs press against the slide, which has grown too small to fit you both. You're squished uncomfortably against the plastic and Musa's side. You feel his eyes on you, so you turn your head to meet his.

"When I grow up, I'll be a strong man who protects everyone. I won't let you, my mom, or my little sister get hurt," he says with conviction, squeezing your hand in his.

You nod, your eyes weakening under his gaze as you look away. Your head rests flat against the plastic as you stare up at the sky. Wetness escapes your eyes, and the salt of your tears tingles on your tongue. You try your best to keep your face composed, not wanting to break in front of your friend. But the tears continue silently.

Musa squeezes your hand, offering the comfort of his presence where words fail. That's enough for you because, in this moment, words mean nothing.

You both lie there until the darkening sky signals that it's almost Maghrib time. It's time to return home.

When you finally return home, the smile your dad wore earlier is gone, replaced by the familiar, unsettling tension. The brief comfort Musa brought fades away, leaving you once again in the cold grip of reality.