•Inteesar

If the news didn't kill me, I might've killed myself.

Bury a hatchet.

As if it was that simple.

A man died. God forbid he rose from the dead to tell me he loved me back. My brother is the one to blame.

Day 246. That is how long I've been counting since I lost him. I can't even say his name again. It was forbidden in my household.

Which household you might wonder and you'll soon understand. Just know that I can't stop thinking of him. I'm at a point where I mark the days I think of him on my calendar so much it begins to feel like an enormous betrayal when I don't.

The funniest part of it all was that it was on the last day of the year. What kind of sick twisted joke was the universe playing at? I can only say screw it, never can I move on.

Therapist who? I didn't need one and wouldn't see one. Period. But who doesn't know when they need help? I know but I think living in a house full of minds like mine wouldn't be of help.  I also need to take care of a child.

She wished he died on a lovely, rainy, clear-clouds-in-the-sky day. She wished he would not die on her but with her. At least the rain would grow leaves of deep rooted love above their graves. She wished she would stop talking about herself in third person.

That was all it took for me to realize I was not alright.

How much of time has passed since I lost my entirety? One thing I knew was that it was too long to count in weeks but I knew, I knew I would never be the same after his passage.

Let's press the reverse button on this life and play it back to his time.

Just enjoy, until you can't.

I'm now back to the day he tried to drown himself—that was one of the happiest days of my life. He almost died but he didn't and that was all I cared about. But, that was a while after the doctors were able to surgically pump the water out of his system.

I think I was close to dying in the waiting room. I'd made all the calls I could make and no one had shown up.

"Quick!" A nurse shouted, "take him to the ICU. I think we can still save him."

They charged into a long wing in the hospital and they shut the doors. About thirty minutes to an hour later the doctor came out.

"He's awake but you can't see him now because he needs rest."

I cried. I cried like I'd never done before, might've blacked out, might've seen him at the door of the lobby staring at me in the kaftan he might've died in and I blamed Jameel for everything. I hope he rots wherever he is.

"When can we see him?" I asked.

"Are you the wife?" The doctor stopped, she almost brushed past me because she chose to believe otherwise when I didn't answer.

I dragged deep breathes in a one-two-three motion, digging my teeth into my thinned lips to keep my cool before I get someone's blood on my hands.

With a final exhale, I showed her my screen. We weren't married then but it was a picture of him that I took while he was laughing. I was no wife but I still prayed to be. "Does that answer your question?"

She pressed a hand  to her chest, "My mistake." and marches—actually, ran—off back to her office, presumably.

I wasn't his wife but I deeply wanted to be and wanted her to believe it too but I knew in my heart one day it would happen even if it wasn't that day.

Didn't I look like a wife? Like his wife? What kind of question was that? I drove to the hospital behind the hospital van that brought him here.

I wanted to chase after her and slam her head to the wall so she feels the pain he felt against his mirror, bleed more than he did and make that her perfectly pointed nose crooked but it wouldn't bring an answer out of her and I wasn't trying to commit a felony.

I just stay with this woman who introduced herself to me as Basma together with her husband Rayyan as we continued to pray for his recovery and waited for my parents.

Whenever she unlocked her phone to check the time or reply a text, I would look at her and ask myself what she was it that I couldn't be for Bashir once I realized it was her name he whispered last before I saw them drive away with him.

I couldn't even hate her. She was almost perfect. I admired her because all we shared in common was our picturesque like facial. I wasn't even jealous but I had to ask her this question.

"Why did he love you?"

She sputtered "What?"

"Bashir." I fold my arms tight around my body, "He loved you."

Her husband shifted uncomfortably but never said a word. He plugged in his earpiece and pretended we weren't even there.

"I'm not sure I understand you."

"You were close."

"Yes."

"And he loved you, not?"

"We might've had a little something brewing but it wasn't close to love, trust me."

"You already love someone else."

"I do." She smiles sadly looking at her husband.

"At least he's alive."

"I'm sorry."

"I was just trying to figure things out."

"I understand."

"You don't."

So I left to a building outside the hospital that served as a mosque and sat down there to cry in a corner at the back till it became dark and I returned to the lobby and they were gone. My parents were already in the room so they broke down everything the doctor had said to me.

All I wanted was to love him but he couldn't which is ok but all the hate I have for my brother needs to be sentenced to a death in a burning building, on the sky, where the air would encourage the fire to thicken. He deserved more than just death, he needed to burn to come back to life again and burn just to feel what I was feeling.

"He will be fine, just go home with your father. I'll stay and watch him." Mama said as she rubbed my shoulder.

I had just finished praying, hadn't eaten and had no intention of eating. My father was on a chair by the other side of the bed while I remained on the mat protesting with my tears. He seemed a bit frustrated but he owed me and he owed Bashir because his son tried to assassinante his son-in-law not once but twice even if the second time was had a more distant approach.

They managed to convince me to go home with my father and we let my mother stay with him.

While in the care, Baba turned his system up to the voice of Sheikh Saad Al-Ghamdi as I fought the pain throbbing at the sides of my head. I still think that night I might've killed myself if the response of the doctor was different.

"You need to stop worrying Inteesar. He will live Insha Allah."

"What exactly did the doctor say? All mama said was that he will be fine. That the worst that could happen is that he could have brain damage which could lead to brain death."

"But he's fine?"

"Yes." He matches the pedal and squeezes the steering wheel. I knew I was making him worried for me but I couldn't help it but I was sorry.

"When can we take him home?"

"We don't know yet?"

"Hmmm." I began to sob then wail, my headache got worse. It was as if someone was hitting a drum on my head but that was just my reaction to my helpless.

"I'll ask when I get back to the hospital."

"Ok." I stopped crying and dragged down the window and stuck my head out. It helped ease the pain.

It wasn't long before we reached my parents house and Baba asked me to go to my room and that mama had already spoken to the maid to prepare my room and everything else I would need.

I went up straight to my mothers room because I couldn't stay in mine. The maid brought the food there and I ate, took a shower and slept off immediately. The next morning I was still asleep because of how tired I was but I was welcomed with a surprise in the evening.

Mama woke me up to pray because I'd missed all the prayers within those hours so I did them and came downstairs per her request and saw Bashir in the living room alone without them.

"Oh my, you're awake!" I knelt before him "how do you feel now?"

"Better than yesterday. You saved me. Thank you. I owe you my life."

"You don't owe me anything. I have everything that I need now."

"Are you sure?" He smiled "I remember you saying you'd like to take a paternity test months back."

"Shhhhh." I whispered "My parents don't know I have a child."

"How are you taking care of the baby if she's not here?"

"The baby is a he and I paid the house help to fake a pregnancy and go home so when I was to return back home I asked her to also hold the baby so my parents would not find out."

"Where did you go to all the time you were pregnant?"

"It's a long story but I'll tell you one day. Just know I requested for a transfer from the company I worked for to another country to do my work."

"Fair enough. I need to go sort some things out. I'll be back tomorrow then we can go."

That was how he came back the next day and we took the paternity test that led him to find out the baby was his. We lied he had to see the doctor again so my mother offered to escort us so we had to ask Adama to come alone in another car.

The plan was well thought out. She left before us but we didn't meet her there. Mama waited in the car. All we needed was his DNA and the babies which his blood was taken. The baby was too little for his blood to be taken so I told Adama to tell he doctor a piece of his hair could be taken as a substitute so we never crossed paths with Adama.

By the time we he was getting his blood taken Adama was gone. She texted me and told me she was home safe so after, Bashir dropped us off home and he left.

What made this worse was that he would soon die again. And when he died, it wasn't one, but twice and in both of the times he never got to meet his child. He was birthed out of wedlock but was very much the real definition of a love child not the illegitimacy it was constructed on in our vocabularies.

Correct me if I'm wrong, there isn't anything worse than not being able to meet any of your parents but this was only the beginning of my pain.

I wouldn't know the half of it until Kareem would grow up to find no father, no surname and no original lineage. Allah help me.

He didn't understand. At all. He assumed I wouldn't be happy getting married to him but that was what I was most grateful for forever.

He may not have directed his rage towards me anymore but he respected me enough to show me kindness. He was a pure soul, if only he would let mine merge with his.

But we had to come clean and tell my parents but to protect me he told a nicer version of the story which led to a lighter outrage and since he agreed to get married it was all bliss for everyone.

And on the wedding night, we laid with our eyes wide awake, staring at the ceiling as we laughed about other people who made their wedding nights a big deal. For goodness sake all you have to do is eat chicken, drink juice and figure out whether or not you're ready to pop your cherry.

So excuse us, if we found that amusing. He made it easy for me. We never fought or argued and he never spoke about anything that happened in our past.

It was as if he didn't see himself living long. He had lost all his joy to the pain of our realities but he never let me catch him reminiscing with the ghost of his unrequited lovers past.

My father gave him a new house and a job that would sustain us but never went for the interview. It was as useless as pouring water through a basket because he still got paid regardless of whether he went to the office or not.

If I was being honest with myself, I saw his death coming—for real this time. I started seeing the symptoms the doctor told me to watch out for just in case any issue resurfaced from his drowning.

It began with dizziness one morning I escorted him to the office. He couldn't do any work that day so we returned back home and I nursed him to better health. Bashir became forgetful. He forgot meeting schedules and date plans we made but I couldn't be mad.

I just didn't see the end coming so soon until he began to get worse with the repeated headaches and finally he came up with a seizure that led him to die in the hospital.

The night we made love, it was just love. We made sparks fly in the air and with every touch I felt enlightened. It wasn't forced or planned. All we agreed on was the colour of lingerie he wanted me to wear and he was fine with everything else I suggested—dim lights, incense and the bathtub.

On the final night we made love again. It was pure, almost ethereal. It was out of this world. I'd never felt his love for me even if it was all sisterly, tender, unashamed and sweaty. He made me see my value and never wanted the moment to end because I had a feeling the next day wouldn't be as beautiful as the night before.

If only Adama moved in earlier.

We agreed that it would be best Adama came to stay with us for a little while since she had a connection to the baby but my mother wanted to stay with the baby for a while too before we took full custody so we decided to wait.

And the waiting cost us more than we bargained for.
________________________

Bonus chapter! I hope you liked it :)

I know it wasn't the happy ending y'all were expecting but at least your minds are at peace and that's all that matters❤️

I expect to see a thousand comments because I know how y'all must've felt with the final chapter so say as much as you'd like but keep anything negative away.

Thanks for reading!

One more thing, I have three new stories coming up, but I may only upload two so countdown to the first of March because it's a whole new scene and a whole new me.

I didn't write the way I normally did and I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to subscribe to my channel AishaLive and make sure you like, share and comment on the videos. See you soon!

Follow me on insta too eeshaaarh is my username. Feel free to send me a dm and we'll talk about the stories. Also I'll be leaving spoilers on my insta story and updates on my next moves so stay tuned, ma'asalam loves ❤️