Hearts We Call Home

4. Probabilities

Nura

When Nura's parents realized she wasn't going to speak, they moved on to discussing dates for the nikah. Thoughts of running away flickered through her mind, but her body seemed paralyzed, unresponsive to her own commands.

She felt disconnected, as if locked in a state of sleep paralysis, her limbs heavy and the air in the room feeling thin and stifling. Her mind cycled through possible conversations she might start, but each imagined path led to a dead-end. Nura gazed at her open palms resting in her lap, feeling disoriented.

Then, through the fog in her mind, she caught the word "college." It cut through her haze like someone wiping away fog on a window, and suddenly, she could see and hear her surroundings with startling clarity.

Her mother was explaining why it was best to schedule the nikah within the week – Nura would need to get back to college. Her mother's voice was unusually tense, her words almost forced through clenched teeth, a desperation Nura hadn't seen before.

In that moment, realization washed over Nura: her mother was afraid that if she delayed too long, Nura might change her mind about the nikah. But rather than feeling resentment, Nura found herself grateful for the suggestion.

Yes, the sooner she returned to college, the better she would feel. And the quickest way to return was to have the nikah as soon as possible.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Tomorrow." The room stilled.

Hana, who sat beside her, stiffened, and her mother's jaw dropped, momentarily frozen. Her father broke the silence with a surprised laugh and nodded, repeating, "Tomorrow, yes. Tomorrow."

Lia looked as if she might say something, but instead turned to her father, saying, "Then we should get going, Dad. Even though it will be a small event, we have to prepare for tomorrow." With nods from the family seated nearby, Lia and her family took their leave, too shocked or indifferent to object.

After they left, her own parents became engrossed in preparations—her father calling the caterer, her mother busy sending invitations.

Later, as Nura left the hospital with Hana, her parents stayed behind to finalize Hadi's discharge paperwork. Hana tried to draw her into conversation as they sat in the living room, while the maid cleaned their grandmother's room.

But Nura had remained silent throughout. Eventually, frustrated by the lack of response, Hana had left to cook lunch, while the maid tidied the rooms upstairs, probably preparing for tomorrow's ceremony.

Now, seated beside her luggage on the sofa in her late grandmother's room, Nura gazed blankly at her reflection in the dressing table mirror across the room. Her thoughts were scattered, and each attempt to understand the whirlwind of the past hours left her feeling even more lost. Suddenly, her phone vibrated in her hand, jolting her back to the present. Amal was calling.

What could she even say if Amal asked what was going on? How could she explain this mess when, even hours later, she still hadn't made any sense of it?

But as though the thought of her roommate had pulled her up from underwater, Nura felt the tension ease in her limbs. As her phone went silent, she turned her attention to her backpack.

She needed to think, Nura told herself, though her head throbbed in protest. The sleepless bus ride from the night before was catching up to her, and her exhaustion weighed heavily.

She quickly pulled a notebook and a pen out of her backpack. She had to think – no, not like she had thought at the hospital, impulsively, without weighing the probabilities. This time, she needed to consider the probabilities.