Saved by my nightmare (A Nigerian Story)

CHAPTER 38

Dedicated to Barakatu1

London, England
2019.

"Hey" Khalil greeted softly, lightly smacking his brother against the shoulder.

Zahar managed a small smirk-barely there- before resuming his stare off with the glass panes against which he leaned.

The window seat on which he was situated provided him as much comfort as his battered heart could manage as he looked over the quite busy street.

The day was sunny, bright with no cloud in sight.

The sun smiled brightly, it's warm rays heating up the grass on which Zahar could spot a group of kids-no less than ten-playing.

A blushing schoolgirl along side an equally flushed boy walked along the street, hand in hand.

Zahar smiled a little at the sight.

Love, bubbles and an odd frisby or two were in the air.

The day was perfect.

Well, to everyone except Zahar,..... and probably Khalil.

"Zahar, why are you torturing yourself?" Khalil asked, and Zahar could hear the unshed tears in his voice.

The voice of a man who could only stand by helplessly as he watched his younger brother lose himself to the wicked, unforgiving clutches of depression.

Watch by every night as his brother screamed into his pillow, his cries of agony muffled by it.

Pretend everything was alright as his brother picked up his bag, a fake smile plastered across his face as he drove out of the parking lot.

It took everything he had in him for Khalil not to get his brother on the next flight home, to the only drug he was sure could cure the wound that festered each passing day in his heart.

But he wouldn't.

He couldn't.

Because somehow, Zahar had made him promise not to do exactly what his nature screamed at him to do.

To save Zahar.

"Khalil" Zahar ground out in a croaky voice, a voice that had been unused for days.

Khalil could feel the needles jabbing at his eyes as he willed the dam behind them not to open.

He felt useless.

Utterly and undeniably.

"Hmm?" He asked, unsure of his ability to speak clearly.

"She doesn't want me there" Zahar said simply, then turned back to the window.

Khalil stood over his brother's sitting figure, heart clenching and unclenching repeatedly as he watched a single tear roll down his brother's face, its motion slow and unhalted as the little drop glinted in the reflection of the sunlight before dropping onto the red windbreaker Zahar had on.

It scared him, the extent to which Zahar's love ran.

Shocked him even.

He'd seen the kind of love depicted in movies, laughed at their unoriginality
even and therefore hadn't expected that in his presence, his brother would become one of the laughable love-sick fools he used to scoff at.

More than pity at his brother's helplessness, he was jealous.

Jealous that he'd probably never experience the depth of emotions his brother had.