VULNERABLE

20 QUESTIONS AND CRIES

ARMAAN

The room was quiet, except for the faint hum of the fan spinning lazily above us. Less than a week. That’s all we had before we left for Abuja again, before the chaos of school life swallowed us whole. We were in Abidat’s room, sprawled across her bed, a bowl of cheese balls sitting between us. She hadn’t touched them much, and I noticed. It made my chest tighten in that uncomfortable way, the way it always did when I could feel something was wrong but didn’t know how to ask.

We were playing 20 Questions, a game I suggested just to keep the conversation going. But with each question, my thoughts kept circling back to the one I hadn’t yet asked. The one I dreaded. The one I needed to ask.

Abidat’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Why do you want to study in Qatar so badly?”

I blinked, glancing over at her. She had that look again, the one she got whenever we talked about leaving, about moving away. It wasn’t disappointment exactly. Sadness, maybe? Her eyes held it like a secret she wasn’t ready to tell.

I gave her a small smile, leaning back against the headboard. “I don’t know,” I started, trying to shrug it off like it wasn’t that deep. “I just… want to go, you know? I don’t have any big reasons. It’ll be a change, a good one. Different environment, new people, and all that.” I chuckled lightly, but it felt forced, and I could tell she didn’t buy it.

She smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. I wanted to press her, ask her what she was thinking. But instead, I swallowed, turning the conversation back to her, to the question I’d been avoiding for far too long. My voice came out softer than I expected, almost hesitant.

“Why haven’t you been eating, Tahbeer?”

She froze for a second. Her hand, which had been tracing patterns on the blanket, stopped moving. She didn’t answer, just stared down at her lap, and that only made the knot in my chest tighten more.

I pushed forward, gently, trying not to scare her off. “Is it someone? Did someone say something to you? You know you don’t have to listen to them. You don’t have to—”

“I know!” Her voice cut me off, and it was the sob that followed that shattered me completely. The sound of it broke something deep inside me. I wanted to reach for her, to hold her, to tell her it would be okay. But I stopped myself, my hands clenching into fists instead.

She looked up at me, and I swear her eyes were glistening, the tears pooling there, barely held back. “I gained weight, Aalim,” she started, her voice small and broken. “In 2020. I gained weight and when I went back to school, the first thing my classmates said was, ‘Ah, Abidat, zideeti fil wazn.’” (You’ve gained weight.)

She let out a bitter laugh, but it was laced with pain. “The way they said it wasn’t sweet, like when Mama would say it. It wasn’t like that. But I didn’t take it to heart. Not at first.” Her voice faltered, and she blinked back the tears. “Then the rumors started, right around the time I was writing my junior WAEC. People were saying I took medicine to gain weight, to… to add to my butt or boobs. But it wasn’t like that, Aalim, I swear.” She choked on her words, her voice cracking, and I sat there, stunned, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to make this pain go away for her.

“I didn’t listen to them at first because Mama always told me I was fine the way I was. She liked me the way I was, and I shouldn’t care about what anyone else thought.” She paused, taking in a shaky breath. “But I didn’t tell her about the rumors. I thought I could handle it.”

I stayed silent, my heart pounding in my chest. What could I even say to that?

Five minutes passed in that silence, and she finally looked like she’d calmed down a little. But when she spoke again, her voice was quiet, filled with an ache I couldn’t stand hearing.

“I didn’t want to… but I started hating myself. Hating my body. I didn’t know what to do with that. So, after the first term in SS2, after I saw you, I had this… this urge to change myself. So I started starving myself. I’d eat once a day, and at the end of the day, I’d force myself to vomit everything out.”

“SubhanAllah,” I cut her off, my voice sharper than I meant. My fists clenched at my sides, the anger suddenly surging up inside me. Anger at myself for not being there, at her for thinking she had to do this, at everyone who ever made her feel this way.

I stood up, the anger making it hard to sit still. “Why did you do that? Wa Mama? Wa Laila? Where were they? Huh, Tahbeer? Why would you do that?”

She looked at me, her eyes wide, and then she dropped her gaze again. “Laila wasn’t in Abuja. She wasn’t there to stop me. And Mama… Mama saw I was only eating once, but I told her it was because I didn’t have an appetite. She didn’t know about the vomiting.”

Her head ducked lower, and she whispered, “*Ana asifa, Aalim.” (I’m sorry, Aalim.) Her voice broke as she continued in Arabic. “I know it’s unhealthy, but why… why am I like this? Why is everyone else slim and beautiful, and I’m fat and bulky?” Her voice trembled. “I just… I wish I wasn’t like this.”

I sat back down, my anger disappearing just as quickly as it had come. “You’re beautiful,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re so beautiful, Tahbeer. No word describes it. You’re just fifteen. You don’t need to change yourself. Not now, not ever. Okay? Look at me.” She hesitated, but finally, she looked up, her teary eyes meeting mine.

“You’re beautiful. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise. Wallahi, you’re perfect just the way you are.” My chest ached as I looked at her. “I just wish I was there for you, Tahbeer. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

She nodded, but it felt forced, like she was trying to convince herself, not me. She leaned back against the headboard, the weight of everything still pressing down on her. Silence settled between us again, but this time it felt heavier, harder to shake off.

After a while, her voice came out, small and fragile. “Aalim… can I be alone?”

I didn’t want to leave her, didn’t want to let her deal with this alone. But I knew when someone needed space. So I nodded, standing up. Before I left, I turned to her one last time, my heart squeezing tight. “You’re beautiful, Tahbeer. So beautiful.”

I walked to my room, each step feeling heavier than the last. As soon as I reached my door, I leaned against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. And then, for the first time in a long time, I cried.

~~~~~~
I legit cried while writing this who knew tahbeer was going throught this.

May Allah help her.

Pls vote and comment guys I have some bad news by the way guys.