Sisters torn apart by the fragility of the heart, how can love possibly hurt so much?
Hana Junaid decided two years ago, distance would make her younger sister Hanaan more independent but Hanaan's love and yearning for Hana during this time has drow...
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I wonder what I look like in her eyes. Cold and heartless? Perhaps.
When Hana Junaid built a wall around herself two years ago, she did it to shield herself from this very sort of pain. The pain of seeing others in pain. I vomited when I saw Hanaan's blood on the carpet. I am still shaking although it's now past one in the afternoon and the air against my cheeks is biting cold although it's Karachi and early August too.
If I am still standing on my feet regardless of the instability, this wall I built is functioning purposefully. If I am not clutching my chest, gasping for breath, the wall is helping me. If I am not screaming in the corridors of the hospital asking for doctors who don't even know Hanaan's in there somewhere, the wall is good for me.
Hanaan's injuries were one concern for my family, my added panic and terror each time was a burden I took away from them.
But does Nashwa see that deep through to me? Of course not. She's staring at my skinny jeans as we ride silently back home.
"Hana."
I stare out at the road. "What?"
"I need sugar. I can't see clearly."
I hold back my burst of anger. If she couldn't handle the blood loss, why rush in to give it? Why not just let me? The one who was supposed to.
I tell the driver to stop at a juice corner. These two years I kept that wall up, Hanaan and Nashwa spent all their time together. And now, now Nashwa's blood is streaming through my sister's veins as well.
Where am I supposed to be?
When we reach home I warn Nashwa the carpet may still be there but thankfully the housemaid has removed it and the staircase is clean as well. The elders told me to take Nashwa home so she could rest. I didn't drop her at her own place because her younger brothers would not let that rest be possible. They're not actually her real brothers, they're her cousins. I don't even think they're human. They're monkeys actually. Nashwa lives with her Yamin Mamu and Haala Mami ever since her mother died and that was when Nashwa was three.
When I was three, Hanaan was born. When I was four, Hanaan had her first fracture. When I was five the doctors diagnosed Hanaan positive for cerebral palsy. Thankfully it's just a minor case of CP otherwise she could have trouble with vision, hearing even speech. In simpler words, she's very clumsy. She trips over thin air. She misses her mouth when eating. She can't write straight.
I gesture towards my room. The one Hanaan and I share but Nashwa refuses to lie down.
She gestures towards the staircase instead. "What was Hanaan doing upstairs?"
"I wasn't home."
"Yes, but why would she go upstairs?"
Exhaustion speaks for me. "Nashwa, it's her house she can go wherever she wants. What's the big deal?"
