A Promise From My Heart

22.

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NOORIE'S POV

Aunt Sabr was a fashion designer. She runs a successful brand, Sabr Mirza, one of England's best and famous. It was what she wanted to show me the last time I had gone to her house. She had used a room in the three bedroom apartment she bought in Lekki as her workshop.

She studied at ESMOD Paris and started her brand after she interned for two fashion houses, one in London and the other in New York. Her parents were supportive and did all they could to ensure the brand is where it is today. Despite she was miles away from London, she still runs her business. Internet has made everything easier, so she said. She has reliable staff who ensures the business was still the way it was.

I met Aunt Sabr's daughters. Mahira, Hooriyah and Zafreen. This also happened the last time I went to her house. I was about leaving when she told me her angels would give her a video call soon and she would like if I met them. Like usual, she had told them a lot about me which made them excited to meet me.

Their excitement to meet me actually made me think twice about who I really was and what my character had been the past year. I cannot really recall doing much good except fighting and trying to be bitter. Mahira is age mates with me. Hooriyah is two years younger and Zafreen was fifteen. Mahira has her mother's bubbling personality.

Amir's sessions with Doctor Obani would go on for six to twelve weeks or more, depending on how he responds to treatment. Since Aunt Sabr and I knew how emotionally draining and physically exhausting EMDR can be, we visited him during every session he had weekly, ensure we stayed until it was over. Our support, a nurse said, would mean a lot to him and make it easier for him. Most times when he pops into my mind, I say a prayer for him that this EMDR therapy works. That he would be freed from the demons of his past. He deserves a good life. He needs to make a good life for himself and PTSD had put a stop to it for over two years.

In order for him to know how well EMDR can help him, I got him a book named the body keeps the score: mind, brain and body in transformation of trauma by Bessel Van Der. Aunt Sabr got him two books He told me he reads them and they were very helpful.

Aunt Sabr and I shared little words while we waited for him. The only noise was the occasional beep of my whatsapp notification. I could hardly concentrate on the messages so I switched off my data connection. The phone clasped in between my damp hands that were planted on my laps felt slippery. The last time he walked out, he had been extremely quiet that I was scared. I wondered what had happened in the office yet I did not bother to ask him. I felt like he would tell me if he wants to. He did. He told me he was scared and not sure if EMDR would work. He was ready to do it but the outcome might turn out to be like other therapies that had been done. Hopefully, he would come out more positive.

Time dragged on. It was really slow. I was already dozing off in my seat when the click of the door knob snapped me back to reality. I got up just as Aunt Sabr did. Amir stepped out. There was something about his askew clothes, puffy and red face which drew a distinction to his swollen bloodshot eyes that spoke a lot. His face was void of colour, body limped, his movement slow and weak. He had to use the wall to support his body.

I read online that there are times EMDR brings back forgotten memories that wreck emotions in the patient, making them cry and tremble. They feel powerful reactions that are more than they could handle. At that moment, Amir looked worn out than he had ever being. When his eyes fell on his aunt, something lit up in him then he rushed to her, encircling her with his arms. Water ruptured from his bloodshot eyes and his sobs followed. He had to bend his tall frame to embrace her tighter and bury his head into her slender shoulder. Aunt Sabr was quick to hold him, her fine hand sprawled over his back.