Dare You To Love Me

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“How are you holding up?”

The question had Yaseerah frowning into her cup of dirty chocolate tea—a warm courtesy from her therapist—, as she traced the rim with her thumb, weighing her options.

She wanted to lie, and tell her therapist what she thought the woman wanted to hear, but something about Dr. Inayah’s gentle gaze made all her rehearsed words slip away, leaving nothing but raw honesty in their wake.

Opening up was still a constant struggle for her, like trying to speak through the wall of thorns that had tangled around her chest. 

It wasn’t just the simple fact that she’d somehow found comfort in keeping her pain and struggles hidden from the world or the fact that she didn’t trust any therapist.

It was more the act of vulnerability itself—the idea of peeling back her layers and revealing the raw, festering wounds she had spent years hiding to someone she didn’t know—that made her want to crawl into a hole and hide.

The first time she had stepped foot into Dr. Inayah Ishaq’s office, every instinct of hers had screamed at her to leave, and run as far away as possible from the painful truths she knew lurked beneath the surface of her veneer.

But she had fought against it, holding onto the thin thread of hope that had made her seek help in the first place.

Maybe—just maybe—letting go wouldn’t be the end of the world for her, but the beginning of something beautiful; like the rise of a phoenix from its ashes.

And now, there she was, sitting in the same chair, on her third visit in the span of one month.

That fact alone was a victory, though it still didn’t feel like it.

Right now, she was contemplating whether to put an end to these visits, once and for all.

After all, if she needed someone to vent to, Fou’ad was always there to listen to her.

But until when? The thought took root in her mind before she had a chance to dash it away like she always did.

Fou’ad had been her rock, her safe harbor in the storm that had upended her life.

But how long could she keep pouring all of her pain onto him before it became too much?

How many more nights could she seek his comfort without weighing him down, without turning their love into a burden he silently carried?

Love was supposed to be mutual, wasn’t it? A balance of give and take. And yet, every day she feared she was giving less and taking more, slowly drowning him in the flood of her emotions.

Their love was strong, yes she knew that, had no doubt about it. But even the strongest bonds could fray under pressure.

As evidenced by... by what? She wondered.

She hadn’t had any real models to look to, no blueprints for what healthy, lasting loving relationships were supposed to look like.

And that had left her with no real model to look to, no blueprint for what a healthy, lasting love was supposed to look like.

Her parents’ relationship? Toxic.

Mamu and Bilal’s father?

Well, Mamu hadn’t spoken much about him. All they knew was that he had left before Bilal was born.

Was their relationship ever filled with love, or had it been strained and fragile like everything else in her life?

She had never dared to ask. Maybe because part of her was afraid of the answer, afraid that she had been the catalyst that broke the family apart.