Just Make Du'aa

• n i n e •

Dina

    I set down his mug of coffee and wrapped both hands around my own. Peering over Farouz's shoulder, I said, "Dissociative identity disorder? Sounds stressful?"

    He set the stack of papers on the coffee table and slumped against the couch, "it is. When this guy walked into the appointment a week ago I didn't think he was in this much trouble."

    Farouz has been back at work for a month now. School, for me, started in a couple weeks. So while I was binging Netflix and going through a book each day, Farouz was neck deep in appointments and work. "What is it?" I asked, setting my mug down. My thumbs rubbed circles into my husband's tense arms, and he slid down until his head rested on my shoulder. It's been exactly a month, two weeks, and four days since the wedding and already, Farouz and I adapted to life together. Everything worked like a well oiled machine. Already, I feel more at home with him than I've ever felt before. I love him, and the fact that we haven't said that to each other doesn't change it a bit. There is no doubt that what we have is unbreakable, and that's thanks to the blessing of God.

    "When a person suffers a really traumatic experience, it's like their brain takes over in order to protect them from the trauma." He stopped just long enough to turn and plant a kiss on my collarbone, "so their brain literally creates entirely different people that can help the person live with the trauma. And they all share the same body."

    I watched him take a sip of the coffee, then sigh. "I don't understand."

    He laughed, "it's really hard for the mind to comprehend. Okay, think of it like this." Farouz turned to face me, and took my hand. "Your hand represents your body. Let's say you were kidnapped, okay? And your kidnapper required you to make dinner every night, but you don't know how to cook. This," he held up my pointer finger, "is you, the person in control of the brain when you were kidnapped. Since you can't cook, your brain took over and created him" he held up my thumb, "he can cook."

    "He?"

    "These people can be boy or girl, whatever is needed to keep you alive."

    "So they are literally different people sharing a body?"

    "Yes, they could be a male or female, three years old or fifty."

    "That doesn't sound real."

    "I know!" his eyes shone with excitement, "it's super rare, only happens when the events are too traumatic for even the brain to deal with. And I have a case!"

    "How do you even fix that?"

    "Therapy, all of them have to talk and agree to merge together. Poor kid, he's miserable. Has no control over his life."

    "Well," I kissed his lips and they tasted like coffee, "if anyone can do it, it's you."

    Farouz said nothing, his eyes bore into mine and he only smiled. Then his arms went around my torso and I was on his lap. My fingers twirled his curls, and just as our lips were about to meet– "Farouz!" Aladdin's voice made us both jump. He rang the doorbell and continued to yell, "Farooooooooouz!"

    My husband groaned, his face rested in the crook of my neck, "we could just ignore him," he suggested.

    "No," I laughed, standing up and walking to the room, "go see what your friend wants."

    Just as I shut the door to the bedroom, the front door opened, "hey man," Aladdin spoke, "do you, by any chance, have a suit I can borrow? I have an interview for an internship."