Her Awakening

Chapter 23: To Be Or Not To Be?

(Jalal's POV)

The football game played on the screen, but I barely noticed. My friends filled the living room, shouting at every near goal and throwing their arms in the air like the world revolved around this match. The room reeked of beer and greasy pizza, their excitement buzzing in the air like static. But me? I felt out of sync, like I was watching everything through glass.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I snatched it out without thinking, my stomach flipping. I'd been waiting all day, waiting for her—for Melissa. When her name lit up the screen, my pulse kicked into overdrive. This was it. I swiped the message open and read it.

Please forgive me. I'm staying for my children.

The words slammed into me like a punch. That was it. No explanation, no back and forth—just a clean, final line. My chest tightened as I stared at the screen, willing the words to change, to mean something different. This wasn't what we'd talked about. It wasn't what we planned.

We'd spoken about a future. Divorce. Freedom. Us. Now she was just... staying? Just like that? My thoughts scrambled, trying to make sense of it, but the silence after her message was deafening.

"Yo, did you see that?" someone yelled, elbowing me. "What a shot!"

I managed a weak nod and muttered, "Yeah, man," though I had no clue what he was talking about. The screen blurred in my peripheral vision, and their laughter felt distant. My mind was stuck, spiraling.

She was right to stay. Right? She had kids. They deserved her stability more than I did. But knowing that didn't make it hurt any less. Somewhere along the way, I'd started believing this could work. We could work. And now? Now I was left holding onto nothing but her words, like sand slipping through my fingers.

I gripped my beer tighter and took a long swig, hoping to drown the ache sitting heavy in my chest.

The next morning, the clatter of dishes dragged me out of a restless sleep. My head throbbed, the hangover pounding behind my eyes. Groaning, I rubbed my face, squinting against the light. The living room was spotless now—not the disaster I'd passed out in.

"Marhaba, habibi," came my mother's voice from the kitchen.

My stomach sank. Of course. My mother. I should've known. She had a key and never hesitated to use it when she thought I needed "saving." There she was, standing by the stove, flipping flatbread like it was a normal Tuesday and not a borderline invasion.

"Mama, what are you doing here?" I croaked, sitting up.

She gave me that look—half affection, half exasperation. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm feeding my son. The real question is, why does your house look like a university dorm?" She motioned toward the living room. "Wallahi, Jalal, how do you live like this?"

I groaned, leaning my head back against the couch. "The game was on last night."

"That's no excuse," she muttered, flipping another flatbread onto a plate. "And when was the last time you went to church? Have you been thinking about marriage? You're not getting any younger."

Here we go. The usual routine. "Mama—"

"And what's this I hear about a woman staying here?" she interrupted, turning to narrow her eyes at me. "Your sister mentioned it in the family chat. Don't lie to me, Jalal."

I froze, my chest tightening. "There's no woman, Mama," I said quickly, too quickly.

She raised an eyebrow and walked toward the corner of the room. My heart sank as I followed her gaze to Melissa's things. Her toothbrush, her bonnet, the little bottle of perfume she'd forgotten—all of it still sat there, untouched. My mother picked up the toothbrush, holding it between her fingers like it was evidence.

"Is this yours?" she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

I clenched my jaw, heat rising in my face. "It's nothing," I muttered, avoiding her gaze. I should've packed those things away, but I hadn't. Part of me couldn't. Part of me didn't want to. As if leaving them there meant she might come back.

My mother sighed and shook her head, setting the toothbrush down. "You're getting older, Jalal. You need to start thinking about your future. You can't avoid this forever."

"I know, Mama. I know," I replied tightly. "I'll think about it, okay?"

She didn't look convinced but dropped the subject for now, returning to the stove. "You young people," she muttered, "always thinking you have more time."

Her words stayed with me after she left, echoing in the quiet apartment. You need to start thinking about your future. My future. What even was my future? For a brief, reckless moment, I thought Melissa might be part of it. Now, I didn't know what I was holding onto anymore.

I looked at her things again, still sitting in the corner, mocking me. Her message replayed in my head: I'm staying for my children.

It should've been enough to let go. But it wasn't.