[ i. even when everything comes crashing down, i'll sit next to you ] [D-10]

yusuf sits down.

his hand trembles when he reaches for her wrist on the blanket, suddenly more frail and bony than he ever thought it to be, the veins more visible and outlined.

has it always looked like this?

pushing down the bile rising in his throat, he brings her wrist up to his ear, listening desperately to the low, slow beat. closes his eyes and listens. he tries to shut out all the brimming thoughts and listens.

it's inevitable, nevertheless. when you've been told your wife is dying, it's only normal that's all you can think about.

"we're sorry," "there's nothing we can do," "few more weeks".

letting out a shaky breath, he looks at her. he doesn't think he can do without her. how is he supposed to go on, move on from this?

hands still unsteady, he brushes a strand of hair away from her face, his thumb rubs on her eyebrows, careful.

soon as the nurses finally step out after setting everything up, he buries his head into the blanket, clings to her hand and cries.

--

[ ii. let's not start with our goodbyes, yet. ]

when the light outside has dimmed and the sun has long left the sky, yusuf feels a slow hand flitting through his curls, and sits up abruptly.

his heart beats loudly in his ears, countless emotions flashing through him in waves.

he tries to smile, "hi, how are you feeling?"

she smiles back, tired, "hi, you."

arwa places a hand on his cheek, thumb wiping on the dry tears. he moves his hand to rest on top of hers and closes his eyes.

he feels cold. every breath arwa is taking feels like it ought to be the last one, he can't help the unfamiliar feeling of dread and fear swirl in his chest, feels it rise to his throat with an overwhelming force.

"few more weeks."

he swallows, pained, and opens his eyes, allows himself to smile at the way arwa peers up at him, eyes watering with the stinging effort of keeping it open, "sleep. i'll be here." let's talk later. "i'm not going anywhere."

something that he meant to say lightly sits heavy in the air. he's not going anywhere, he doesn't plan to. with what they know, it just happens to carry a different meaning.

he hates that, he thinks. he gets a distinct, disturbing feeling that everything he or she says from now on would feel like a goodbye.

it's death, after all. they'd never know.

"i know." she replies, softly, links their fingers together and lets it rest beside her.

--

they fall asleep like that. yusuf's position similar to how it was before he woke. arwa on her side, hand twitching absently on top of curly, black locks.

--

[D-9]

the next morning, yusuf slips back home after sunrise to change and pack some necessities for arwa. calls his friends while doing so, listens to their soft words of comfort, kind questions about if he requires their presence, cause if so, they'll fly over immediately, really, yu.

mei, their cat, pads over to him. rubbing her face on his ankle, hissing stubbornly till he scoops her up so she sits on his shoulders.

she nips at his ear then, as if to ask where arwa was. he finds himself smiling, heart grey.

packing only takes yusuf over 20 minutes. the call, as soon as he'd rolled up the last towel, concludes with his friends promising to make negotiations at work and hurry back home.

he quickly makes work of showering and changing into fresh clothes. shaking his head when he laces up his sneakers, he tells himself to not succumb to his worrying thoughts now that he's by himself again and leaves, kissing mei on her head once before he does.

--

[ iii. i'll push through so i can see you laugh, i will. ]

yusuf puts away her clothes in the wardrobe, telling arwa, exaggerating all details, about how ali and sayd threatened to fly back just to be with them, and basks in her unrestrained laughter.

thinks about he won't have it in his future days.

thinks about how unfair it is.

he turns around with a nightgown bundled up in his hands, catches her staring at him, shakes his head around a smile, "what?"

they're pretending like they're not left with 20 or some days to spend together, acting like nothing changed.

he doesn't know if he likes or hates it.

"what, i can't stare at you now?" she jabs, playful.

his nails bruise his palms. he feels like crying all over again, wants to sink to the floor and cry. his throat hurts with the effort of keeping it all down. feels his knees strain with the effort of keeping himself upright.

it didn't hit him, yet. still. it's wavering at the sidelines, threatening to strike him with all it's dark force. and that's more painful than knowing fully what's going to happen.

how is he going to do this? how is he expected to do this without breaking down. how is he expected to be strong throughout this.

he doesn't think himself strong enough to do so. but he will. he has to. it's not as if he has no other choice, it's just so he can see arwa's smile. see her laugh. until he no longer can.

and so, he will.

yusuf finally manages to return her light remarks, "by all means, go ahead. it flatters me."

arwa's eyes are still transfixed on his face, unblinking. she frowns then, something flashes in her eyes for a split second, something he can't put a name to before she sniffs, "i would hope so, it amuses me to witness the inflation of your ever-present ego."

"non-existent ego, you mean to say," he rebuts, quickly adding as an afterthought, "flattery will get you nowhere."

she grins, "i rather think it did."

he shakes his head, huffs.

she laughs.

--

hours later, the nurses enter the room, and asks arwa how she felt about shaving her head.

--

they're at the florists'. the fresh scent of the flowers envelop them warm, even though the place is conditioned to the lowest temperature and their fingertips numb with it, it's warm still.

he doesn't feel the cold as he navigates the shop with arwa, her hand clasped tightly in his, commenting idly at every two new flowers he sees. he didn't use to frequent the place much before.

for the sake of inciting annoyance, he throws a question or two about the little florets at his friend, james, who sits behind the counter, watching them with a smile, rolling his eyes whenever yusuf pointedly asks a stupid question.

when arwa halts at the display corner, loaded up with all sorts of arrangements of flowers with carnations highlighting them, he tilts his head, "red carnations?" she nods in response, picking softly at the petals. dark red. it's his favourite too. "huh. good choice."

she shakes her head at him with a knowing look, nudging him away and making her way to the counter, asking james to fix a new bouquet for them. slaps yusuf's hands away when he moves to pay, which leaves them light-heartedly bickering over it for probably 20 seconds before he yields, narrowing his eyes at james when he shakes his head at yusuf, amused.

arwa sends him away when another employee gives her a card to write on, informing them they'd hook it with a ribbon on the bouquet. he does as she says and walks around the shop, enjoying the cool breeze and the way his breath puffs out, readily accepting the petals of a fallen rose that james gives him, stuffing them in the inside pockets of his coat (to give it to arwa later). (she's always been fascinated with keeping dried petals between the pages of her book). now cold, but loving it nevertheless.

when they leave, arwa's steps are feathery and pleased, one arm hooked with his and another encasing the bouquet as a whole. she skips over, dragging him with her.

they sit by the fountain, hands now each occupied with a drink of their choice.

soon as arwa's done catching him up on the book she's been reading for the past week (which took them half an hour or so as he had several questions about the events that went on in the story), she brings up the bouquet from her lap, holding it out for him.

yusuf blinks. then a slow smile spreads on his lips as she gestures at him to take it, "really?"

she looks ecstatic.

he feels so, so warm. accepts it, fingers careful around the diligently wrapped parchment around the stems. unfolds the card tucked in between two fresh carnations, heart grows impossibly fonder when he processes the words written.

'100 days! i adore you, let's go for 10,000 and more ( إِنْ شَاءَ ٱللَّٰهُ ) ! carnations, stars and the sky, everything you like, let me get them for you. you to me and me to you, let's kindly spend our happiness on each other. love, arwa.'

he flips the card, 'carnations (dark red) ; conveys feelings of deep love and affection.'

willing himself to keep all of his own revealing emotions at bay, he reaches out a hand across the table, placing it over hers, "let's do exactly that. thank you."

it's just flowers. but at the same time, it's not. it's flowers. from arwa. and it just means so much to receive this.

'i adore you too.' he hopes it shows in his words, in his eyes, face. and when arwa links their fingers together, her eyes shining when they meet his, he thinks it does.

he hugs the carnations closer to his chest, heart glowing.

--

[ iv. your broken heart reflects my own ]

hair cut off, arwa cries for the first time after the news about her failing health was broken to her, clutching the knit-cap the nurses gave her. when yusuf sits down next to her on the mattress and places a hand over her eyes and snakes his arm around her shoulders, she cries harder.

he restricts his own sobs and murmurs never-ending words of reassurance to his wife. his body trembles with the need to do something, to make it better, but also because he hurts.

it hurts.

he holds her for a long time. cradles her in his arms. his heart shakes uncontrollably when she looks up at him, at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. holds her when she hides herself again, inconsolable. holds her till her breathing evens out.

he lays her back, adjusts the blankets on her.

he feels like his entire being is crumbling. he wants to cry.

and so, he does.

covers his mouth with both his hands and lets himself break. the muffled noise of his agony rings into the silence of the suite, devastating echoes of his own misery.

head aching and bones weary with exhaustion, he lays his head on the blanket, on top of her stomach. hopes the slow rise and fall of her breaths lulls him to sleep.

he closes his eyes.

--

yusuf doesn't sleep that night.

--

[ v. i'm unable to make peace with it, can you help me? ] (D-8)

the third day starts off busy, nurses and doctors whisking arwa off for her daily checkups. they tell him that it'll take more than a couple of hours.

in the meantime, yusuf keeps himself updated about the details of her disease. he consults a resident about it, someone who already knows about her case. sits down on the couch in the suite and listens to his patient explanation to yusuf's questions.

to find out with surety that advanced cancer meant that there's absolutely zero chance of survival had his body shaking. yusuf had thought that morning that he'd probably exhausted his tears by now, but sitting here, hearing the young doctor tell him that "the rates of survival is truly just so rare.", he can't help it. can't hold it back.

a hesitant arm comes around his shoulder when the tremors don't ease up, pats. "we're sorry we can't do anything." tightens his hold on him, continues slowly, "i really wish i could. seeing you, a stranger break down like this, it makes me feel helpless knowing there will always be cases like this for which i can contribute nothing but words."

yusuf doesn't say anything. even if he wants to, he doesn't feel like he could.

he thinks he hears someone speak and the doctor next to him replying with a low voice, asking for something. tunes them out, covers his eyes under his hands, cowers.

before long, a water bottle is being pushed into his right hand, "drink, you need it."

it will never pass, he realizes then. this pain, everything he's feeling will revisit twofold after her death. he'll probably never know happiness again. he doesn't think its possible.

his chest aches.

yusuf takes it, rubs his eyes harshly with his sleeves, voice hoarse when he nods and says, "thank you."

they sit there on the sofa, no words exchanged. yusuf blinks repeatedly to get rid of the heaviness in his eyes, clears his throat too. if arwa came in now, he doesn't want her to see him in such a devastating state. having a quick look at the time, he imagine it's any second now before she does.

yusuf is proven right when the door slides open and arwa is wheeled in, a soft-blue blanket on her legs, a new scarf around her neck and a black knit-cap covering her head.

he walks up to her with a light smile, places a kiss on her gaunt cheek, "hi. you good?"

the resident and the nurse calls out their goodbyes, and glides the door shut.

her eyes, swollen still from last night, flit over his face, "think i should be asking you that question? your eyes." she pointedly stops, gives him a questioning look.

he winces, caught. "these polyester sleeves." he mumbles, "i must've rubbed on my eyelids a little too harshly. irritation in the lids, you know how it is. i'm good though." he adds, "how did it go?"

arwa definitely saw right through him. she looks like she wants to call him out for it, doesn't say anything even if she does. allows him his poor attempt at changing the subject, "wheel me back to my bed, beloved of mine." his lip twitches up at her accent, "we shall discuss this tiring matter inside the comfort of my blankets, where i'm no longer restricted by this awful leather."

yusuf imitates a curtsy, "as you wish." laughs when she rolls her eyes, when she makes a motion with her hand to say, 'proceed'.

all this crippling grief, he'll just have to make peace with it, yusuf thinks as he helps her up the bed. her hand clutch tightly on his arm, it doesn't hurt. and maybe, someday he will.

--

the first time arwa had allowed him to read her pieces of poetry, it was early july. four months since they had gotten married.

he was sitting on the rug by the couch, working, when she'd bought up the topic, asked him if he wanted to read them.

truth be told, he'd been waiting to do so since he'd found out about it.

writer and poet. author of several children's books. countless unpublished poetry she's working on.

so he'd immediately kept aside his work and shifted his attention to the blue book she gave him, embellished with numerous small Swarovski gems, affixed with care on the leatherback. the pads of his fingers grazes the gems, amused and impressed with the colour scheme of it all.

then, at the anticipating twitch of arwa's fingers where it rested on his shoulder, he flipped it open.

it took another 20 minutes for him to snap out of the daze the book pulled him in, for him to close it. he leaned back against the couch, feet numb due to his still position, adjusts his arms so they fall back behind arwa's shoulders.

he doesn't know why he didn't speak for another 10 minutes, but arwa didn't say anything about it. she traced small circles on the back of his hand, and he watched. his mind running slow like river, calm.

he sits up, she turns to look at him, "darling, you." he stops, reevaluates, then continues, "if words could favor a User over so many others, they'd favor you."

her words. the way she spun them together. the results of those woven words, the deluxe threading of the sentences. he thinks the simplicity of the words she used to the way she executed her own thoughts and worries into the paper, using measly words, he doesn't know if he can explain the way he felt when he read them.

it's the way she used it so kindly. she brought forth the words for her lines with kindness, as if already having asked permission to use them to convey the complications of her disordered thoughts, then, used her ink-stained fingers to weave them together.

tells her all that. verbatim.

her answering smile at that rivals everything, he concludes. lets her bring his head to her shoulder, their hands coming together on the book atop his lap, wedding rings clinging together. twinkling.

he falls.

--

[ vi. a strange request. a wish i'll grant you, nevertheless ]

"do you think we can go back to living? to being normal like we used to, do everything like how we used to do, and just. pretend like our time isn't running out?"

a brief pause. "why not? of course we can."

"really?"

"yes, love." smiles, sad. "whatever you wish for."

a smile. "thank you."

--

[ vii. you're beautiful (the sun, clementines and sandalwood) ]

yusuf is sitting opposite to arwa on the bed, his hands swiftly working on the clementine, peeling it skillfully.

the sun is casting light brightly into the suite, the afternoon glow touching everything golden from where it's rays stretches in the sky, bright. they're both lit and blinding as the sun bathes them gold through the picture windows.

arwa's watching him, taking a piece every time he peels enough to reveal one, removing the seeds before plopping it into her mouth, fingers twitching in preparation to eat the next one.

he relaxes his fingers and slows down, watches arwa's eyes narrow at him when he does so, shrugs as if he didn't notice when she does.

it takes less than 30 seconds before she snatches the orange from him with little to no finesse, and peels the entire thing in one go. presses one to his lips which he takes willingly, before having the last one for herself.

it's a tradition of sorts. a strange one. yusuf himself isn't all that fond of citrus, but every time he peeled or cut them (or made orange juice) for arwa, the second to last piece or sip goes to him, before she has the final one.

he wipes his hands with the wet rag on the table, takes arwa's hands and does the same for her before placing the cloth back in the wooden basin. decides he'll clean it up later.

he faces her.

he only wishes to exist alongside her for the last of her days like this. even if it's like this. like solving riddles from the weekly magazines and eating clementines (arwa). spending more time than necessary on the prayer mat, face buried deep into the velvet of it (yusuf). the rug tear-stained when he rises to leave until he goes back again a few hours later.

a repeating cycle.

a relieving, therapeutic cycle.

he shakes his head. decides to think about it later.

he missed arwa. yusuf doesn't want to say it, it sounds strange to his own lips even if the words haven't been said yet, but he does. it's been three days, but he misses her.

so, let him be. let him look at her again.

he tilts his head and traces the sharp and sick lines of her face with his eyes, the tired black of her undereye. her slightly red nose. chapped lips, bitten from anxiety and fear she doesn't show. the pale shade of her cheek (bones).

leans forward and sees so much beauty everywhere. the chocolate brown of her eyes, lovely and deep. the sun does favors and she's glowing. she's so beautiful. his heart warms.

arwa refuses to meet his eyes. that hasn't happened in years. he frowns, confused. sits there bewildered for a good one minute before coming to the stinging conclusion that she's feeling uncomfortable with his gaze on her without her hair, second-guessing her own appearance. knows her enough to understand she thinks yusuf feels regretful about it.

so terribly wrong. the wrongness of it rattles him.

he hums to himself, absently, "pretty."

her eyes flick up to his promptly, locks.

yusuf huffs, his eyes wells up helplessly at the sudden way she jostled, confirms that he was right, "why are you surprised? you're the prettiest," he whispers, truthfully, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose, her eyelids and her cheeks, "there's so much beauty in your everything, love." he reaches for her hand and presses a kiss to her bony knuckles, "please. please don't allow yourself to think otherwise."

her lips quirk up, wobbly at the edges, lashes wet. her other hand comes up to lightly caress his cheek. he turns his head to the side and kisses the heel of it. she lets out an airy laugh.

yusuf sighs, content. he outlines the lining of her brow with a sole finger, then brings the same hand to the back of her head, rests it there, on top of the knit-cap.

he leans in and rests his forehead against hers, closes his eyes. breathes in, he feels like he can finally breath. it's so overwhelming, all of it rushing to him. he feels like all the times he could hardly breath the past 60 hours coming to him in waves. the force of it has him almost tumbling over.

seconds later, she brings their joined hands to her chest, holds it there. her heartbeat drums on the back of his hand and he revels in it. the relief spreads within him, his shoulder sags.

they sit like that there for a while.

the sun is relenting all it's former, grand glory to hide behind the clouds when he finally opens his eyes.

yusuf finally breaks the silence, truthful, "i miss you. i know its only been three days, but i miss you."

arwa repeats the words back to him, smile evident in her voice, "i miss you too. you're here but i still. i still find myself missing you. it doesn't make sense."

he moves so his face is hidden in her shoulder, a stable comfort. even as the bones dig into this face, he doesn't mind. there's so much serenity in the faint smell of their shared sandalwood soap, the scent of the bukhoor on her hospital gown and the warm heat she offers.

"it makes perfect sense." he replies, voice barely audible.

arwa hums, her fingers buried deep in his hair.

one arm around her shoulder and face dug deep in the juncture of her neck, he dozes off. faintly recognizes a light kiss brush against his temples, smiles and falls into a short, sweet slumber.

--

the third day ends differently than the last two, neither of them cry.

--

(D-7)

when yusuf returns back to the suite after having went home to change, arwa is writing. pen moving swiftly on the page, brows furrowed in concentration.

a sight, he admits, he never thought he'd be able to see again.

he greets her, then gestures to the book with his chin, "writing?" she nods, "poems?"

she cracks a smile, covering the clipboard with her scarf, "not really."

he makes a sound of confusion.

she shakes her head, "you'll find out soon, don't stress it."

he stares, sees it as a losing battle, one not worth the investment of time (time they no longer have), "'kay. fine." she'll tell him anyway.

she beams, "great. you can sit right here--" she moves her blanket to the side and waves a hand at the side of the mattress, "you know, do your thing, and i'll get back to this."

he obliges, sits down. pulls out his phone, muting it before snapping shots of the picture window, the wines that falls as decoration through the sides, the faux wood of the walls. messes with the velocity and contrast, adjusts it.

swipes through the images after a while, frowning. then shrugs and sets his phone down.

he basks in the normalcy of their positions, arwa with her pen and him with his camera. just like how it used to be, until 4 days ago.

he can feel the nagging prob of sharp sadness nudge at the back of his head. resolutely ignores it.

wonders.

he wonders if arwa missed writing, if she misses the ink smudges and half-heartedly complaining about it. the joy she always said she felt when she had a pen in her hand. wonders if she feels it now.

she does, he thinks with a small smile when he looks back at her for a minute, her pen and eyes eager, the page nearly filled up with words.

his thoughts aren't those born from grey and negativity after a long time, so he feels. blocks the destructive emotions, and feels.

wastes time like that.

sits back and watches the clouds wrestle to shield the sun, moving steadfast in the sky.

(dozing off, he doesn't turn around in time to see arwa pressing a palm to her mouth, trying to silence her hiccups. tears endlessly falling into the paper, forming wet patches on the parchment.

still, she's writing. battling the tremors in her hands, she writes. tries to regain energy by tightening her hold on the pen.

looks up for a brief second, urges the tears to go back where they come from and shuts her eyes.

opens it again ten seconds later, and continues to write.)

--

the first time they fight ends up being during november, eight months into their relationship.

it stemmed from the discussion of second marriages in the case of death or infertility, and whatnot. he doesn't really want to think back on it, it surprisingly irks him. yusuf refused to entertain the topic, and arwa was hellbent on hearing what he had to say about it. it went from there.

and now it's been 5 hours since they spoke. not to mention it's a saturday, one of the two days they spent doing all sorts of things together, from playing around to sleeping to cooking together, and now, because of one cursed topic, they're here.

not talking to each other.

which, yusuf will admit, is driving him mad. call him gone for her (which he is), but he's not used to doing so. he's used to the exact opposite, dialing or seeking out arwa whenever a minor inconvenience occurs, or when he wants to tell her something, or to simply talk about absolutely nothing.

and now, they're here. doing something he thought they wouldn't ever end up engaging in. which was pure delusion from his side. soft and rational debaters they were, these minor rifts were bound to have occurred. easily solvable though, but an argument nevertheless. one he rather not happen often. since he's come to realize he isn't fond of the aftermath of it.

despite their previous agreement on not going to bed angry (insisted upon a few weeks ago), they do.

it takes arwa 20 minutes after the lights go off and after they'd settled on their own sides of the bed, turned away from each other, to talk. to say she didn't mean it like that, and for yusuf to immediately cave in. since the silence was stifling him, but also because the space next to him (usually occupied by the woman now laying furthest from him) is empty and cold without her clinging to him (also vice versa).

he's down bad. he won't deny.

in his defense, he's truly not used to arguing with anyone, more less with arwa. since they hadn't ever had a row before before. not among themselves anyway.

he apologizes for letting the topic escalate, for being overly sensitive to which she replies saying it's not a subject she's too fond of either, and she just wanted to know, in case something happened and it wasn't up to them.

he, wise as he is, chooses not to comment on that.

Allah forbid that, he mentally chants. shifts to face her. finds her already doing the same.

it's awkward for eight seconds, before he apologizes again, which she waves off after repeating the same back to him and moves to take her place next to him, head on his outstretched arm, pillow now forgotten, the long sleeve of his nightwear riding up when he moves the same arm to hug her close.

he's glad they didn't really end up falling asleep like that. it would've made things a little harder tomorrow. not that the argument was all that major for them to have allow it for long, but still.

"thank you," he says, about nothing in particular. not sure what it's for, but knowing something at the same time.

arwa probably got the drift. her smile grows against his collarbone, she hums.

slumber drags them in. they willingly submit, residing to their own respective dreamspace.

twin pleased smiles.

--

[ ix. i'll carry the burden of your pain (it takes mine away) ]

"don't you think it cruel that you have to go through this?"

arwa's quiet voice rings through the ward, bringing yusuf out of his thoughts. it's 7 pm now, he'd sat down with her after calling his parents, involuntarily trapped in his own head. he's glad arwa brought him out of it. he felt as if he was sinking again back there.

dull day, he muses.

yusuf moves so that he's facing her now, "crueler than what you're going through? no, darling. it isn't." he brings both his hands to rest on hers atop the pillow on her lap, "my pain is nothing and will always be nothing compared to your own."

he means it.

arwa looks down at their enjoined hands, "i'm not in pain right now." right now. he winces. "the medicine and the painkillers help."

they're talking about it now, he guesses.

he rubs on her knuckle, "it's not only about the pain. it's about everything you're having to give up on. everything you love. everything you wanted to experience in life."

his stomach lurches at the images that front his mind as he says it.

"not everything." arwa's eyes are glistening when she looks up, "i don't have to give up on you, and well. i'm still writing, aren't i?"

he purses his lips, smiles.

before he speaks again, she continues, "but that's not what i wanted to talk about. i started with that question 'cause i wanted us to talk about you. everything you're hiding."

the confusion must show on his face, because she elaborates, "we haven't had a chance to talk since we found out about... you know. i feel like you're keeping a lot to yourself, and i rather you don't handle all of that by yourself. you don't have to." she takes a deep breath, meets his eyes, "talk to me. please."

"i'm." he swallows, his teeth catch on the inside of his cheeks.

he wants to.

but he can't say it. he can't speak.

yusuf feels all the unspoken words catch in his throat, and he finds that he can't speak. he only realizes he's shaking when arwa places a firm hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of it, her eyes sharp.

"hey." though her voice is firm, her eyes mist. "it's okay. i. i only want to help you." she wavers, "and it's partly selfish too."

he holds her gaze, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"i feel like i can't look at you with all the raw pain in your eyes." he looks away then, "knowing it's because of me, because of my situation. i want to help you with it, but also so that i feel at ease knowing you're hurt a little less because of me." she explains, fingers tightening in his. "it's killing me, 'suf. i genuinely can't look into your eyes without feeling this all-consuming guilt threatening to knock me over. your pain brims raw and unmasked in your eyes."

he thinks himself naive for having thought he hid it inside well enough.

"i'm the one who'll leave you behind. knowing everything that'll go on with you after my passing only makes it difficult. i don't want to think about it, about how you'll handle my departure. i want to make it as easy as i possibly can until i'm. until i'm no longer there to do so." she untangles her fingers from his and holds up a finger, "i know. i know it isn't my fault. i can't help but feel like it is anyway."

that is no selfishness, he doesn't say.

her fingers goes to his neck, rests on his nape. scratches into the black curls, yusuf relaxes. she goes on, "let me listen to you, please tell me."

his throat unlocks. he lets out a troubled breath.

then he tells her. tells her of the unrelenting nightmares, tells her he's terrified to lose her, tells her everything. confesses everything.

her eyes are red-rimmed by the end of it, his cheeks tear-stained. his shoulders a little less heavy, heart a little light than before.

--

[ x. 10:00 pm. my trials, your thoughts ]

yusuf has near exhausted his tears and energy. he's nodding off next to her when arwa's voice wakes him, "i just want to say this one last thing."

he huffs out a weak laugh, "do you now? let's hear it then."

she ignores his tone, "you mentioned earlier about everything i'm having to give up on." she begins, "i wanted to add to that statement." he raises a brow, "you. you're going to have to give up on lots of things you wished for too. because of me."

he has a bad feeling already. it's something about the obvious apprehensiveness on her face.

its barely been two hours since they talked about everything, but he feels a sinking sensation in his stomach anyway.

she backtracks, hand flying up to flutter in front of her face. "i meant, like children and all. but, um. if you get remarrie-"

his shoulders stiffen. that's one conversation he's turned off from all sides.

"arwa." yusuf frowns, voice thinning with displeasure. the name comes out as a warning.

she deflates, "i'm just. i'm not against it. you're only 26. i'll never hold it against you if you-"

he pulls out his hand from hers, hurt, "arwa."

"listen to me."

he gets up, "we are not having this conversation."

"if you're not about to do it because -"

"because nothing. it's simply that i don't and wouldn't want to."

three years later, this topic is being brought up in the most ironic way.

"yusuf."

"drop it. i beg you. i truly don't want to have to talk about this with you right now." he turns away from her, fingers flexing on his sides, "i don't want to, i wouldn't. please. i'll. whatever ends up happening, it'll work out."

"your family-"

he cuts her off, "our family. if my mother kicks up a fuss about it, i'll deal with that. please. don't ask me of anything regarding this."

"yusuf." she stresses, face lined with misery, "you wanted to have kids. you're so young. it was- why would you give up on that? you wanted to raise-"

he heaves out a sigh, something about that makes her stop, "with you. i wanted us to have kids and raise them." his voice is shaking again, "this is insane. i can't believe we're even having to talk about this."

"i just don't want you to be alone for the rest of your life."

he pointedly stares at the wall. "i know you mean well, but it's truly not something i wish for or want to do. i don't see myself standing next to anyone other than you. and that's fine. why do you want me to want it otherwise?"

yusuf is so, so disheartened. he hugs his middle with his own arms, "if it's about kids, there's always adoption. i'll raise our kids alone. but that's the thing. if i do end up doing so, i'll never have to. sayd, ali and zara, i'll have them." he doesn't mention his parents. "i'll always have someone to lean on. i don't want to be told or be forced to love someone else. it won't work out that way. it's just not an option." he pauses, "there are no options, actually."

he carries on, voice cracking with exertion, "i love you. and if that prevents me from wanting to get married again, not having kids or if it means i'm going to spend the rest of my fated time alone, then so be it. it's not something that's going to keep me up at night. and, love, right now, at this moment, the kids we were supposed to have and my future isn't really what i'm worried about."

yusuf is ranting. doesn't care, knows she doesn't either and she's listening, "why would i worry about what i won't have, when who i'm going to lose is you?" he breathes out, slow, resigned. tired. "let me be with you. until yours or my last breath, let's please just spend it loving each other."

voice small when he ends it off with, "please don't ask me to spend my love on someone else."

he hears the sheets shuffle and rustle, and then a small, solid weight on his back, arms come around his waist, "i'm sorry. okay, you don't have to. you don't have to do anything you don't want to." her arms tighten, "i'm sorry i upset you. i didn't mean to. i truly just didn't- it. it doesn't matter. you don't have to, okay? i'm sorry."

he feels the shadows of his bleak future cling to him from his sides, feels like he's going insane. something heavy and overbearing washes over him, the familiar blanket of unease and dread.

all the heaviness that was lifted from him only an hour ago settles back again. the foreboding reality sits heavy and proud on his shoulder, and crushes him under the weight of it.

this is simply just how it's supposed to be.

his lips tremble. he turns around and draws arwa into a proper hug, "i know. it's alright. i know you meant well, really." he places a lingering kiss on her forehead and pulls back to meet her eyes, "it's fine, okay? truly. don't go putting yourself down because of it. i know how you get."

how worse is he as a partner if he ignites guilt in her during when she's in extreme pain already?

his own guilt simmers up his throat, overflowing.

the expression she wears tells him she's regretting everything already. and he wants to expel it from her face.

he's fine. yes, he got worked up, which he really shouldn't have, but he's fine now that he's said it all. but his words probably revealed a lot of his own grief over the matter, so that and her being the one to provoke it would keep her up at night. and he wouldn't be able to prevent that. he'd know. he's tried more than once before.

arwa tries to smile, the result coming off as a grimace, "i'm truly sorry, i'm not trying to change-"

"shush." he cups her face, "you're fine. apology accepted, appreciated and understood. i get it, love. i do. it's okay. let's just not talk about that, it's alright. i'm sorry too."

she nods against his neck, arms tightening around his torso.

he bites down on his lip.

regretting.

--

[ xi. flips, rips, repeats. ]

agony weighs arwa down that night. her mind repeats and revises the entire conversation over and over again.

she sits up. glances at the clock. 4:00 am.

looks to her side, at yusuf. curled up on the couch, arm threatening to fall off from the sides.

she reaches over and switches on the lamp, pulls out her clipboard from under the bed.

a throbbing pain under her ribs.

she rips out a page, throws it away, flips to a new one.

her pen moves.

–

[ xii. reaching out with my phantom hands, i'll comfort you in the dark ]

yusuf can't sleep, and so he doesn't force himself to.

conflicting thoughts crease his mind, paper cuts in his brain everywhere. he feels sick and torn, why does it have to be this way?

he keeps his eyes closed and listens to the rustling of papers and distracted taps of the pen against the book (? board). hears pages being balled up and being tossed into the dustbin.

then, sobs echo through the suite. stifled, audible still.

his heart breaks.

--

[ xiii. even in your despair, they'll want to love (care for) you ] (D-6)

the next day, yusuf doesn't try to follow when the nurses take arwa in for her morning checkups, sends her off with a kiss and a reassuring smile, tells her he'll stay right there.

the results of last night seems to have faded from arwa's being. and despite her puffy eyes, there's a hopeful glow in the depths of her irises.

seated on the couch, he's watching his socked toes wiggle. knees bought up, chin resting atop them.

waiting for her to come back.

he's willing himself to slip into a quiet headspace, and it's probably why he startles and almost falls of the couch when the door slides open and his sister strides in, heels clicking impatiently on the marble, the resident from the other day, hussein, trailing behind her, looking apologetic.

yusuf's letting down his knees and standing up before his thoughts process, hands behind his back. a perfect posture to reflect the results of intimidation.

it's one thing after another for him.

well, this was going to come anyway. better sooner than later.

her eyes are red, glaring, "why did mother just tell me arwa was admitted here? why did the young receptionist then tell me why she was hospitalized? why does mother not know the real reason? why did this doctor then tell me she only has a few weeks left? why did i not know any of this?" she takes a deep breath, "yusuf, you will explain everything to me this instant, or by Allah, i will end you."

he flinches. zara's wrath wasn't one he was too fond of when it was directed at him. rare, but existing. (always there to lash out at people deserving of it.) her love for him clearly doesn't extent far enough when he hides from her the fact that her sister-in-law was dying.

it would've been smart to tell her when he found out. which he wanted to do. he was never really that adept at keeping things from zara, but arwa had asked him to keep it from his parents and her for a week. so that they can settle themselves to the news, and so he'd complied.

yusuf tells zara exactly that. adds, "we weren't really- we didn't know what to do upon finding out, and she has a few weeks left. so, we thought we'd take some time to accept it first, and then tell others. it would've been overwhelming for her, otherwise."

hussein gives him a deep look as if itching to say something, then must decide against it, cause he whispers his departure out into the air and leaves with a nod in his direction.

zara doesn't look away from him. doesn't turn away despite the tears gathering in her eyes, "did sayd know."

he hesitates. his answer to this will very well decide the rest of their married life, maybe he should tread through this a little more carefully. he clears his throat, "yes."

her eyes narrow, the moisture in them does nothing to soothe the sharpness in them or weaken her glare, "right. yes. since when?"

a meek reply. an attempt at lying. "one day ago?"

"yusuf."

"3 days ago." he remedies immediately.

"how? you told him?"

"he's my-"

"i'm your sister."

"i wasn't going to tell them either -" ignores zara's 'them? ali knows too?!', "-but, they found out because mother called them and told sayd that arwa was hospitalized. he texted me and almost drove themselves to insanity wondering what happened, and at the face of their genuine concern, i just couldn't bring myself to lie."

he quickly adds, "sayd didn't tell you cause i didn't tell him he could do so, i didn't tell him he couldn't either, by the way. i was going to tell you tomorrow anyway. it's just. we needed time."

he reaches for her arms hesitantly, makes her sit down, does the same himself. "how did you find out?"

she exhales. turns to give him a firm look. one that says she isn't quite done with her inquiries yet, then her shoulders slump at whatever expression he had on, "sayd. i went to visit those two the day before to see how they were doing with the preparation for that exhibition of theirs. i was in berlin for a project anyway. i let myself in and saw him bent over the table, face in his arms, crying.

"he looked sick and weary," yusuf purses his lips at that, "and as if he hadn't been eating well for days. he didn't tell me anything either. i immediately assumed it had something to do with you or ali, and it certainly wasn't the latter, 'cause he came home shortly after i did, looking just as exhausted and worn out as sayd did. then it was just you. so i called mum."

she wrings her hands together and stares into the distance, "she told me you'd told her about arwa and it was just appendicitis. told me you weren't letting her visit, expressed her confusion. so, i flew in today morning. the woman at the front desk was checking up arwa's room number for me and when i asked her how the surgery went. that doctor who followed me here was next to me, signing something. confused as he was about my question to the receptionist, he made me confirm my relation to you and sat me down to explain everything. he probably didn't know he wasn't supposed to."

yusuf looks down at his lap, doesn't pull back when her hand clasps his tightly.

she lets him have a minute. "my turn. how did this- when did this happen?"

"around 5 days ago."

she asks him to give her details and so he launches into a short but informative summary about the incident, tells her about how they dialed for the ambulance, tells her about how the oncologist and neurologist came in together to explain her illness to them.

yusuf shares a heavy look with her, "she only has a few weeks left. it's why i wish to do whatever she wants to. she wants to live and go on with her days as if she has time to. wants me to be normal with her. i'll admit, we're both having a hard time regarding that, considering the last few nights. but, if she wants me to do that, i will."

he watches her carefully and requests, "i'll ask you to do the same. to let her have that sense of normalcy she's chasing. ask me all the questions instead."

she looks up at the ceiling. her other hand goes up to her eyes, and she wipes once. hard. then she looks back at him, "of course."

"this is really happening." she covers her mouth, holds her head, "i'm sorry i. are you okay?"

no. he smiles, wry. "it's alright," it isn't, "if it was Willed, then it's to happen."

he lets her rest her head on his shoulder and ask him questions, answers to everything slowly.

they console each other, the edges of it flawed. neither knowing what to really say in the face of such daunting reality. they receive the desired results anyway. something that has to do with the years they've been raised alongside the other.

she's calmed down, he's relieved to notice.

arwa comes back a few minutes later, her face lighting up at the sight of zara, who laughs as she jumps off to her, thrilled. he follows.

exhaustion vividly clings to her. but she's laughing and holding zara's hand as if she never wants to let go, so he makes no mention of it. decides to ask her what the doctor said later.

when zara and yusuf fools around and asks arwa who she wants to help her up the bed, she looks at his sister, contemplates. then opens her arms at him.

he gives zara a knowing shrug and carries arwa to her bed, he comments, "she didn't choose you because you wouldn't have been able to do that."

zara rolls her eyes, "i can do that."

"she still prefers me. so."

"so, nothing." she sits down after arwa fixes her blankets around her, and gathers his wife closer to her, arm around her shoulder, "tell me about your latest. it's only been two months, but i've been feeling a little out of loop since i left, and yusuf told me about the new book you were writing."

arwa gasps. casts a faux betrayed look over at him, one hand on her chest, "yusuf is a cheat. i'm writing nothing."

he clicks his tongue, playful, "the 130 pages in your google docs and your editor says otherwise, love."

zara watches their exchange, pleased. then snaps her fingers, remembering something and starts to ramble. arwa looks at yusuf. a soft sheet of gratefulness in her eyes, he smiles back at her.

the air is solemn, everything unsaid hanging, still trying. but they go on.

he sits by their legs and listens to them talk, only occasionally giving his own opinions. he savors the moment, watches them converse.

an hour later, he begins to slip in and out of consciousness, wonders why and holds the edge of the bed to keep him steady. dark spots enters his line of sight, only giving him an edged-out vision of his wife and sister.

he barely remembers he'd skipped both dinner last night and breakfast today, or hears the squabble happening beside him, when he shoots up from his position, gives them a half-hearted, weak excuse and sprints out of the room, stumbling.

hussein, who looked to be on his way to the suite, catches him halfway and rights him up, giving him a concerned look-over, "you didn't eat."

he directs yusuf to the cafeteria without another word, no chides at his witless neglect, no questions. leads him to a table while pressing a juice bottle to his hands, and heads over to the counter to order food.

when hussein refuses to accept yusuf's offer to pay him back for the meal, and pointedly sits down while sipping his own drink, yusuf thinks he made an untimely friend. the man gives him a cursory glance of worry, then shakes his head and gestures at the tray, asking him to dig in.

he tells yusuf about the morning checkups, tells him telltale signs of her (fast) deteriorating health, tells him everything with an apology hooked at the end of every other sentence.

he's used to hearing about it now. reality had struck him hard last night, so this time, he nods, understanding. waves him off when he tries to apologize again.

when hussein escorts him back to the suite along with another nurse, he doesn't complain.

--

he didn't know it at the time, but the signs began that evening, when arwa claimed she lost her appetite, and wished to sleep. except, her restlessness was obvious and she couldn't do so as she wished, till another 3 hours passed by.

(hussein would, months later, tell him that those were obvious symptoms of death's arrival.

the first knock.)

--

[ xiv. pushed down again. a setback ]

yusuf didn't tell her to, but arwa forcing herself to take in the poor excuse of a meal the hospital provided for the patients turned out to bite them back when she throws up the contents in her stomach not even thirty minutes after consumption, all over his own arms.

he moves immediately. rings the button by her bedside and wipes on her face and neck gently with the scarf, attempting and failing to calm her whimpers, the apologies.

always the apologies.

his own emotions brim to the surface, and he pushes them down. catches her hands when she tries to take the scarf from him to clean his sleeves, "are you okay now?"

tears streaming down her face, she shakes her head, wincing in pain when she does.

he aches. he stables his own breathing to say, "you will be. they're on their-" the doctors, followed by the nurses, stride in, hustled, "-way."

they're led out by the entourage, made to part when he passes her off to the caretakers as they reach the women's restroom. he directs the nurses to her clothing cabinet, not able to do it himself as his hands and arms stay soiled, and leaves so that he could change too.

when zara rounds the corridor and sees the state of him and his outerwear, she breaks down.

---

[ xv. this torment, take it away from me (i'll take away yours) ]

yusuf doesn't question the changes in the suite he notices upon entering. instead, looks to arwa, who's seated on the edge of the bed, watching the IV drip impatiently and then back at him as he keeps his coat away.

he looks her over. she looked better than she did 2 hours ago. fresh, and there's slight, very little color in her cheeks, which would have more to do with the near-empty plastic bag connected in a tube-line to arwa's arm.

he sits down next to her, "better?"

"much." she smiles, a little weak, though genuine.

when moments later, she asks him to lay down with her, he doesn't resist. the old medical cot had been switched out for a bigger one. turning off the lights and switching on the night lamp, he lays down on his sides.

facing arwa.

hands intertwined in between them, their eyes lock.

"are you okay?" she asks, voice barely audible.

"no." he answers, just as quiet. "you?"

"same."

trembling, thankful truths.

"i'm sorry, love. i wish i could make it better for you."

"no. i'm having a hard time because you are. i wish i could take away your suffering."

he cracks a smile, "makes the two of us then."

--

if in the middle of the night, arwa felt his body trembling from where she's clinging to his back, then she makes no mention of it.

her arm tighten around him.

in the pitch black of the room, he lets go.

and she holds.

--

[ xvi. substituting raindrops for our tears ] (D-5)

yusuf and arwa are writing together.

its raining outside, and when it rains, they write. it's a well-loved tradition established shortly after their marriage.

when he repeatedly sees arwa seated by the window bench (always on that seat, only when it rains), with a pen and a black diary, he'd asked her;

"is it any different when you write as it pours outside? you look different when you write as it rains than you ever do when you engage in it during other moments."

"isn't it easier to write when the sky is mourning something?" tone considering, she asks. then laughs at him when he tilts his head, confused. gestures at the empty seat next to her, "sit."

he wipes his hands on the towel and does as asked. she holds out a blue book and pen, "i always felt like i can translate my sorrows into words better when it rains 'cause it used to feel like the sky was sympathizing with me."

she turns to face the window, "probably dramatic as hell but when i was young, i had lots to say. and i was always able to do it better when it rained. 12 year-old me was convinced that the sky only cried so that i wouldn't."

he hands her the drink he made for her before taking the items, "12 year-old you sounds wise."

she hums, pleased, "not what i'm used to hearing, but thank you."

he flips open the book. new, fresh. "is this unused?"

"yes," she grins, "bought it for you so we could do this."

he thinks his smile probably looks stupid, "write poems?"

arwa shakes her head, "no, just writing. anything. write to me, write to yourself. poems, free verses. whatever you feel like. it'll come to you."

he looks down at the book in his lap, feeling strangely warm. he uncaps the pen, taps it once on the page.

writes.

when he emerges from the haze, peeks up from the page, arwa is staring at him. caught, she averts her gaze.

he stifles a laugh, feeling affection pulse in his chest.

she clears her throat, must find some semblance of confidence in herself to meet his eyes again, "so? were you able to write?"

he smiles, real and full. "the rain was inspiring, yes."

"did your pen engage with the words of pain or words of happiness?"

"neither. something else entirely."

she returns his smile, "well. a success then, we could say."

and when it rains again next week, he hurriedly brews tea for them and sits down enthusiastically in his spot. arwa only shakes her head with a laugh, moving her feet so he can be comfortable.

he adjusts the blankets around them, and settles back. watches the rain, writes.

(this time, when he catches arwa staring at him, she doesn't look away.)

they sit, not by the window as they always do, but the couch. views the rain from afar and writes.

it doesn't feel right but it's only when it rains that it's easier to write, so they stay in place, and allows their minds to link with their pens.

--

it rains the entire day.

--

having time on their hands, they recall the memories of their first year of marital life, a little something to ease their thoughts, something arwa leads as her doctor had informed them during the checkup that morning that soon it'll be a little difficult for arwa to speak, to form coherent sentences.

he doesn't bring it up when she sits him down.

the thunderstorm outside serves purpose and lends a light grey into the room. something perfect for lazy evening conversations.

("remember when you came home late that day-"

"you mean when you snitched on zara about me-"

"- no. that's december. i'm talking about june."

yusuf holds out a hand, "well, i'd actually like to talk about december, why would you tell on me to zara about us fighting- which was barely a fight if i think about it now, but-" he cuts himself off, "anyway, why did you? i thought we agreed to not take our marital matters outside our home, or was that established after this, in january?"

arwa is doubling over with laughter, she forgoes his question, "wait, what did we disagree about-?"

"something about the beans," he deadpans, "it escalated from there. it was awful. why did we even-?)

about their friends, his friends -

(yusuf shakes his head, "ali didn't know until months later. sayd did though."

arwa is frowning, "and he wasn't mad about it?"

yusuf laughs. "you think? we had to spend a week trying to make up for it."

"really? doing what?"

"lots. he took complete advantage of our apology and made us do plenty of things he wanted us to do." he leans back on the cot, arwa's fingers working their way through the curls, "you know i hate camping-"

"you did? but we went camping last month?"

okay, yeah.

"well, that's you, so." he clears his throat around a pursed smile, "anyway, camping. bungee jumping. all that. everything he wanted us to do, we did that week."

he elaborates when arwa asks him to. about how they took a trip to japan for two days, about how zara just shook her head at the ridiculousness but quite used to it as she didn't say anything when sayd and yusuf told her, how they lost his passport in between, everything. for ali.

but, it also wasn't. he had known ali had forgiven them within two days (after trekking and shopping for almost the entirety of those 48 hours) at their genuine guilt, but had wanted to go on a trip with the reason of cause being their mess-up but actually because yusuf, himself and sayd had been stressed that entire month with their own personal issues and ali thought they needed that, which was true. tells arwa that too.

"that's so sweet."

"us having a fight?"

she shakes her head, "no, just everything you two did to make up for it."

"did i not tell you this?"

"no. not this. you did tell me the three of you do this when one of you end up doing something stupid to anger the other though."

"the japan trip was an year before our marriage. we don't do it much these days, mostly because we don't-)

about the safe haven they built within their house for themselves, a place where they were so comfortable, that going anywhere and staying for more than a few days just felt wrong. like it does right now.

about the book she was writing, her original plans for its rollout. (no longer possible.)

about his students, his absence at the school. about the absolute fanatics his students were of her books.

their voices trail off.

he stays seated on the floor beside the cot, she's laying on her sides on the bed, fingers threading through his hair skillfully.

he hums, letting his head fall back to rest against the mattress.

closes his eyes, smiling, when she presses a giggle into his hair.

--

sayd and ali sends a text much later informing him they'd take another three days to arrive.

--

that night, when he's returning to the suite from their apartment for a quick visit, he halts near the door at the muffled noises from the other side.

the door is left ajar, he frowns as he peers in, unable to see anything except the wooden corridor of the room.

"- time." zara is saying, voice urgent, "it's-"

arwa's own voice holds no rebuttals when she says, "and i just choose to spend it like this."

"it's not working well. this, this push and pull between the straying emotions for the two of you. i want you to be-"

"i know, zara. listen, i do. despite that, i want us to try to be happy anyway. it's. for now, that's what i'll take. and when the last week arrives, i'll do what you say."

the realization he's eavesdropping hits a little later. he snaps out of it and knocks on the door, enters.

placing the bag on the table, he looks at them. zara, holding both of arwa's hand in hers on her lap, shawl thrown haphazardly over her shoulders, looking everything unlike her usual self and arwa sitting slumped opposite of her, on the bed.

"something up?" he asks when neither of them say anything.

"nothing." they answer in unison. which is also off, as they never usually keep anything from him.

"right." he nods, then casts a look at the clock, points at it, turns to the pair of them watching him from the bed, "are you staying for the night? it's already eight."

zara makes a noise, standing up, "no, no. i was about to head out when i saw arwa was alone, so i decided to stay till you came. just in case."

she whispers something to arwa, which he pretends he doesn't see, and placing a kiss on her head, she joins him near the table. fixes her headscarf, "see me off?"

arwa avoids his eyes when his flicker to meet hers.

he hums, gestures towards the door.

--

[ xvii. happiness, temporary you may be, stay ]

when yusuf returns, arwa is sitting sideways on the bed, knit-cap drawn low over her eyes, legs swinging.

he goes. kneels in front of her, holds her hand.

"are you okay?" two of his fingers rest at the edge of the cap, inexplicably asking for permission.

she doesn't nod, nor does she shake her head. his finger twitches, falls down to her lap.

"is it okay for you to have constant conflicts with your own emotions due to our changing moods?" she asks after a while, voice shaking, small. "are you okay with it? does it feel like you're forcing yourself?"

he stares.

that came out of nowhere? is this what they were talking about prior to his arrival?

"why do you," he pauses, tilts his head, "why do you think so?"

she clears her throat, "no, i was just wondering. we might be, right?"

his brows furrow, "no."

he probably needs to think about this, organize his thoughts before he speaks. he bites down on his lip, thinks hard.

he doesn't think he is.

with everything going on, he doesn't think he's had time to force anything.

he looks up, steers the conversation to something he's been wanting to talk about, something similar to what her question might've meant, "our emotions are always all over the place these days, isn't it? i didn't expect to feel one in particular when we were thrown into this," (grief, anger, sadness) "- not really, mixed probably. all of them. but i didn't think some specific ones would reign over those either." (brief happiness, peace) "- i expected to feel completely gone during our stay here. but i don't, and i'm glad. glad that i'm not setting a full-on depressing mood over us during the last of your days."

it takes so much from him to not flinch at the last four words he had to say.

"i don't want to always be hung over and beaten low because of what's going to happen. yes, the negative counterpart of my preferred emotion does dominate me and my thoughts, but i don't want to always get lost in it."

he desperately wants to see her eyes so she can see he means it, but he doesn't falter from his words.

his voice softens, the undertone of it still firm, "to tell you the truth, not that you don't already know it, i'm always in constant pain. all of the discomfort you're having to put up with, our situation, the fact that you're hurting. everything. all of it. i'm constantly saddened by these. but sometimes, you're not allowing me to. i like that you're not allowing me to sink deep into these wretched thoughts. it's like you're pulling me by the collar to the surface, salt in my eyes and all."

"i could be alright now, and experience heart wrecking sadness tomorrow, and maybe, the day after it'll be different again. we'll never be able to tell."

her fingers go up to pull up the cap. he beats her to it, adjusts it over her forehead, gentle.

red-rimmed eyes meets misty black.

his smile is a trembling thing at the sight of her eyes, grief simmers hot in those brown orbs.

cold hands come up to settle over his jaw, caressing.

he continues, "really, love. it holds me up, i'm floating. i rather float in these sickening thoughts than sink. i reckon drowning will hurt. this back and forth between our emotions, it's fine. unhealthy, probably. but we truly can't expect anything else from this, can we?"

arwa's thumb presses softly at his undereye, cold, "you're really fine?"

he hums, "yes. i want to cry most of the time, but when we sit and do something we always do, like tangerines, write or talk, i'm fine. i want to stay floating when you're here. i don't want us to always, like i said before, spend our days in anguish. in between those inevitable moments of striking sadness, i like to feel as if i've been lit up within too. it's conflicting, sure, but i don't mind."

he finishes off, "both of those i feel, i feel it whole-heartedly as well. i don't have to force anything. it's awfully maddening, i have to admit. the misery doesn't quite cut off the other and vice-versa. so, those brief blobs of happiness can stay rivalling their negative equals. let it."

"so, you're okay?"

he laughs, watery, not quite crying. "yes, love. not quite the same as before but surely as better as i can possibly be."

she smiles, real and full, tears in her eyes still. "i'll take your word for it."

he shakes his head around a smile, "you do that."

her other hand joins the left one on his face, a soft hold, tender. cold and warm, both. she bends down to place a light kiss at the center of his forehead, then another one on his eyelid, forcing them to close. he sighs.

he shuffles so his head rest on her lap, gets comfortable on the carpet. the hands on his face quickly adapting to the change by one encasing his nape and the other claiming temporary residence in his hair.

he falls asleep.

--

it goes down from there.

--

(D-4)

yusuf wakes, startled, at the loud crash that echoes through the stunning silence of the suite. shoots up to see what happened, takes in arwa throwing up the contents of her empty stomach by the bed, the vase that sat on the table now shattered, on the floor.

he's by her side before he knows it, stumbling. presses the buzzer just in case arwa hadn't, and tries to lead her back to sit down, only stopping when she doesn't move. frozen in place. his heart beating uncontrollably loud in his ears at the sight of very little blood sliding down her knuckles (which stay pressed against her mouth) amidst the coughed out meal she consumed the night before.

"i'm sorry, breath, love, breath with me." he whispers, untangling her hands from each other, bruising. the liquids fuse, sticky. pulls it to his chest, "follow my rhythm. breath. breath, please."

she heaves out, choking. fingers fisting in his shirt, she lets him sit her down. he moves away to fetch the tissue box, and then she's curving inwards and retching again, body bent and before she falls over, yusuf pulls her back, holding her up and pushing the dustbin in front of her, breathing heavily.

his vision is blurred, and his own hands are shaking where they're rubbing on her back, soiling the soft material of her hospital gown.

she stops. he moves the dustbin away from the cot, and turns her face to look at his.

eyes so red and pained meet his, he looks away. hurt throbbing at the corners of his ribcage, pulsing, pulsing. he strokes her wet cheeks with a finger, "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, i."

Ya Allah, relieve her of her pain. i seek Your protection and ask of You to relieve her of her pain. he presses his eyes closed and whispers, prays, against her cheek all of which he can think of.

he doesn't speak, proceeds to wiping her face dry with the tissues, hands trembling as he does so. her whimpers rips new crevices in the sides of his already mutilated heart, unforgiving and forceful in its nature. he can physically feel the pain in his chest, everything hurts.

the caretakers and the nurses stride in as he's shifting his focus to her hands. they apologize for the delay, tells him about the delayed notification, the malfunctioning of their system, then wheels her out the room.

he looks down at his own hands, the sickening image of her suffering flashing behind his eyelids.

eyes blank, hands drying.

stares, sits.

--

shortly before arwa and her entourage rounds the corridor, hussein, who was aware of it, arrives to escort him out, ever-silent about yusuf's strange choices.

the white of his lab coat stands out odd to yusuf, something about it disturbing the already mangled remains of his once stable mentality.

what is it. what about the lab coat is different now? why is this an issue to be bothered about?

irritated at himself, he pushes the thought to the back of his head, decides to tackle it later. turns to hussein who walks beside him, "why do you think she keeps- why do you think it keeps happening?"

they halt.

hussein keeps his eyes ahead, "it might have something to do with the Opioids, the painkiller we provide. it's a common occurrence. her age is another factor, female patients younger than 40 tend to have it worse with the nausea." he tilts his head, pointedly, "anxiety, sometimes has a part in this. too much pressure on the brain. these. these seems to be her symptoms."

"but for her to have woken up and immediately being subjected to that? that's normal?"

"sometimes. it's also possible she had been awake for a while before it happened."

he feels desperate, "and she can't have anything prescribed to her for this?"

hussein's shoulders slump, hands travelling to the front pockets of his coat, "it seems to be refractory, as is the case for patients diagnosed with advanced cancer. there is no response to the treatment given. it's. i'm sorry, no." he purses his lips, then, "i can only hope it doesn't get worse."

he swallows the lump in his throat, nods.

walks away.

--

arwa sleeps the entire day.

yusuf sits next to her, Qu'ran placed atop the pillow over his lap, one hand over her head.

and for the next 4 hours, he stays there.

he prays.

--

sleep passes on him that night. lets him be.

--

(D-3)

it gets worse.

arwa closes off. doesn't entertain anyone's presence except for his, doesn't speak to them. nor does she bring up any sort of discomfort she feels like she used to do since they'd moved here. she throws up more often than not, that she forgoes her meals altogether.

sleep doesn't seem to help, either. she wakes up as if electrified, drenched in sweat and gasping, always asking for him urgently. yet, she still engages in it. an escape, she says when he asks, however unsettling and useless it is.

she seems to be slipping away from him, and he doesn't think he can do anything. she talks, but its as if she only does so to not worry him. she's keeping her pain to herself, she isn't asking for anything.

arwa's slipping away from him. and he can't do anything about it. it's not that he doesn't, he simply can't.

4 pm, and he's sitting beside her, holding her hand to his lap, encased in his. she's staring at the wall, withdrawn and silent. he's staring at her. the tubes connected to her veins are familiar to him now, he'll probably never see her arm bare of it again.

he smiles, wan.

what is he supposed to do.

where is the him of 2 days ago.

he wishes it would rain.

he wishes he had any excuse to see arwa hold her pen again, see her brightened up and energized, the effects of her passion ignites in her.

yusuf feels ill. he feels lost.

maybe it was delusional of him to think they could be anything except this during their stay here. inevitable, surely.

will arwa be in such excruciating pain for the next 2 weeks too?

there's so much he can't stop thinking about, it's borderline attacking his mind.

something squeezes the base of his throat, grip strong. a phantom hand crushing the remains of his heart, his ribcage shrinks.

he lets his head hang, brings the intertwined hands to his face, lets out a shaky breath.

he feels so weak.

there's sweat gathering at the back of his neck, the strands soaked and sticking to his skin. he feels light-headed and crazed. maddened by the weight of something he's not capable of controlling.

there's a distinct feeling of a knife digging into the crevices of his ribs, carving space for his pain there.

how painful is it for arwa? how much is she going through? how much is she not showing? how much is she keeping to herself?

the knife slides, he jolts, doubles over in pain.

yusuf hears loud noises, muffled. he gasps, clutching onto something, one hand pressed to his abdomen.

slides again, a gash.

it's not real. it's not real.

"- snap out of it, yusuf, hey-"

please.

its not real. why does it hurt so much?

is it real?

he feels for the knife, absently, tremors wrecking his hand.

it's not real.

"yusuf!" a scream, clear and loud to his ears, and then he falls off.

his head hits.

he blacks out.

--

[ xviii. the after-effects of my heartbreak, which beats in yours ]

yusuf blinks into awareness, opens his eyes.

his heart is beating wildly in his chest, what happened?

arwa.

he turns to his side, panicked. has he been asleep the entire day? how long has it been? is she okay- relaxes when he sees her seated next to him, back against the headboard.

she looks down at him, smiles, the lines miserable. he winces as he sits up, his head hurts. checks the time to ensure it isn't too late, and settles back.

their shoulders touch.

two days ago, they were at a better place, with both categories of their health, mentally and physically. now though?

"you okay?" arwa rasps out, hand moving to hold his.

he hums, "yeah."

the room quietens.

she exhales, fingers tightening in between his, "i'm sorry i worried you."

he shakes his head, "i'm always worrying, it's not your fault. i don't really remember all that clearly what came over me earlier, either. but it's truly not your fault. my mental barriers fell, that's all."

he hopes.

"still. i've been... distant."

"i don't blame you, who wouldn't be. it's commendable how well you've handled it till now, while keeping yourself up." he tilts his head to meet her eyes, "how do you feel? is it any better?"

she nods, "better than it was today morning, yes."

he gives her an encouraging smile, "are you in pain now?"

she shakes her head.

"okay, good." he leans in to see the IV line, "did you have anything to eat? or drink?"

"orange juice. some grapes too."

he sighs, raises his hand to pat her head, "okay, you did well. thank you."

silence falls again.

he thinks back on the afternoon.

what's with the phantasim. did all that rise from the unadulterated dread he was feeling then, what was the meaning of it?

his mind is messing with him, that much he knows. is that normal?

why is he feeling this way?

he runs a hand over his head, then his stomach, his fist clenching on the material of his shirt. what is going on?

tender fingers rest atop his hand, there's faint concern in arwa's eyes when she looks him over.

he feels so sorry, he feels so much, he can't even separate them anymore.

there's weeks left.

how is he already allowing himself to be like this?

"its okay," she says, soft, "whatever it is, it's okay. you can. it happens, whatever you're thinking, it's okay. let it be."

his eyes burn, "i'm sorry."

"yusuf, it's okay. i can't imagine how you're taking all this, you're doing well too. it's okay."

he feels so weak. why does he feel so weak?

"do not blame yourself, you're taking it better than any other person in your place would."

he avoids her eyes. everything'll show in them, he doesn't want her to see.

arwa shifts, invades his space, "i only want you to take care of yourself," her fingertips slide over the sides of his head, bandaged, "you scared me bad earlier, i clicked on that call button several times that more than 12 staff members barged in."

she's towering over him now, on her knees. he keeps his gaze firmly on his lap.

she clicks her tongue. two hands come up on either sides, they lift his face up, "you have no reason to look down like that. what is it? what's disturbing you so gravely you're not able to meet my eyes?"

he doesn't know.

"i don't know," he murmurs, "everything suddenly feels so heavy. i'm not sure, i don't know. is it reality sinking in? i just. i truly don't know, i don't know what to do."

she holds his eyes, reading. always so lovely in her nature to understand, he feels helpless all over again.

is he really going to lose her?

"i want you to know how well you're doing. you're taking care of me so well, yu. whatever happened earlier might just be a result of your anxieties and fear, it'll pass. you're not weak, why do you keep whispering that to yourself?" face grim, she purses her lips. "please don't say that, you're not. you're doing so, so well. everyone sees it."

"i can't tell you that enough, but if i have to, i will. you are. please don't think otherwise. it's affecting you mentally, and that was a given, i'm sorry it is. it'll pass, you're doing well, okay?"

he tries to smile, bobs his head to acknowledge her words. those words of comfort are relieving. for someone who does not know what he needs to hear, they calm him in a way.

his heart remains heavy, there's little to do about that than endure.

"it'll pass." she repeats, arms snaking around his shoulders and pulling him in so his face buries into her neckline. "you'll be okay. "

she is so lovely.

his throat burns.

she who's sick, ill to die in a few weeks, holding him and comforting him, attempting to free him of his pain.

isn't he supposed to be the one doing that?

"you are more brave than i'll ever be, braver than i could ever be." he rues, tears seeping through the sides of his nose. "i can't imagine living without you, without this."

a hand cups the back of his head, pats. then, she pulls them down so they're laying down, yusuf's face still hidden in the circle of her arms. he feels her throat move against his nose, then hears a hiccough from above.

she's crying.

yusuf startles, tries to move to switch positions. her grip tighten, "just stay there, let's stay like this. i'm sorry, me too."

"don't be."

his heart aches, he sobs into the space, doesn't restrict them. his body shakes, and he cries.

and as always, she, trembling, holds.

--

falls asleep much later to the drumming rhythm of her heart.

alive, loud and pulsing.

--

yusuf is grading the exam sheets, commenting absently to himself about the answers his students wrote when arwa drops down next to him. he, grateful for the distraction, turns to entertain her presence, moving away the papers to the table.

they're seated at their usual place, on the rug in the sitting room, back against the couch.

"should we get a cat?"

he laughs, what? "a cat?"

there's a certain twinkle in her eyes that only appears when she developes a sudden interest for something, "yes, you know, like a kitten. we can raise it, i'll be home mostly anyway. i need someone to talk to whenever you're not here."

he's amused. contrary to what she's implying, she does have friends, "just call me."

she slaps him on the arm lightly, "when you're working? would your boss really be okay with that?"

"is that why you want a cat?" he raises an eyebrow. he wants a cat too. but he wants to kill some time before he eventually agrees to it, "how about a hamster then? you can carry it in your pocket and all."

"you think you're funny," but she's smiling too, that stupidly pleased smile she has when she knows he agrees to whatever she says. "so, you and me, animal shelter, this weekend?"

so hard to bait her when she's sharp-eyed like this.

"how about next weekend?" he sends an annoyed look over at the piles of paper on the coffee table, "i'm behind schedule with those."

she beams, "yes, yes."

he stretches his arms, "i want a cat too, by the way. i've always wanted one, but mother found them to be a hassle, so. she also said she was kind of allergic, we never found out if she was fooling us or not."

arwa winks, "well, lucky for you that i'm a lover of all things you want and cats, isn't it?"

"the luckiest." he deadpans, ducking when she moves to hit him with her hair. "you grow it to use it as a weapon against me, don't you?"

"however did you realize?" she asks, wryly. pushes back her hair and then sighs, he shares a look with her, waiting for her to speak. its another 30 seconds before she finally does, "how many kids do you want?"

"what?" he starts laughing again, is it the sleep deprivation? sobering, smile on his face still, he considers the question, "well, i didn't think it was up to me, but i'll be glad to even have one." she raises her eyebrow at him, "really."

he never gave it much thought, but he's always wanted a full house. people to come home to.

"that's too bad," she rises on her haunches, "cause, i want three."

"really?" his eyes crinkle, "sounds good to me."

"family of five." her eyes widen, she snaps her fingers, "six 'cause of the cat we're gonna get. more than that if the little one decides to have a mini family of her own and we end up housing 3 kittens in the end."

he gets a brief moment to imagine it, and it's truly all he'll ever want, a life like that. a life like that with arwa.

he sets the sentiments aside.

"zara is so judging me for my choices when she sees what we've made of our home. family of nine." he finishes off, wheezing when arwa tackles him, hair falling over her face and arms around his shoulders, watching him, "what?"

"what?" she retorts, with an inaccurate imitation of his own voice. the cheek of this one. then, "no, really, what is it?"

he pulls back to see her face. "no, you just. seem happy? it's a good look on you."

his heart sings, radiates with unimaginable bliss, and they reflect in her own eyes.

she flexes her shoulders, "could say the same about you, you look pretty thrilled yourself, especially for someone who has 40 papers to grade."

the bubble breaks. his smile drops, "right. get off, i should get back to that." he pretends to push her off, not really putting in much effort. "they're due monday, i really should."

she doesn't move. stares at him for a long time, which has him push up his guards, because it always means she's going to-

she starts tickling him, grinning.

he's so weak when it comes to that foul act, that he's defeated immediately.

and when he's falling back, he drags her down with him.

their home echoes with their unrestrained laughter, bells of beautiful chimes.

"3 kids, 3 cats, you, me. deal?"

"deal."

--

[ xix. witnessing the life pour out of you, you who deserves everything otherwise ] (D-2)

the more the hours go by, the weaker arwa gets.

and so, she spends it asleep. barely awake the whole day, he sits by the bed on the chair, watching her.

how worse is it going to get until she eventually breaks down with it?

the bones in her face has deepened, there's wires connected to the bp monitor, more on her arm. her appetite has gone down entirely, something that resulted from the difficulty she faces whilst swallowing drinks and chewing in general, she'd said.

he asked her earlier if she wanted to write or read something to him, discuss her new work, but she had shook her head, "maybe another day?".

she'd lost interest in writing as well as reading. the one thing he never thought she would.

he'd noticed even in her sleep, she's restless. her lips dry, voice hoarse with disuse. he doesn't think she realizes how strained her breathing sounds. something to do with her inability to clear the fluids in her throat, he assumes.

it breaks him.

he's really losing her.

it sets in.

he stays there for a long time.

--

when she finally wakes up, it's a little late into the evening. he's talking with zara over the phone, asking her to keep it from their parents for an additional day, tells her he doesn't think he can handle his mother's lecture and disbelief over the situation today.

zara hangs up after agreeing to, and he turns in his seat, "how do you feel?"

she gives him a tired smile, "feels like i'm sick,"

he places a hand over her forehead. hot. "you look it too, want me to get the nurses?"

"no," she scrunches her brows, focusing on something, "no. they already gave me something for it today morning."

"right," he concedes, "stay here, i'll get you something to drink. dr wes asked me to notify him when you woke up too." he stands, helps her sit up when she gestures for it and then with one look at her, points at the door, "i'll be right back."

another smile. tired, worn out.

she nods.

--

"a one month notice of death is too little, you're doing well despite knowing so," dr wes says to him as yusuf sees him to the door.

he hasn't seen the worst of yusuf, "1 month better than nothing,"

the old man huffs, "well said. good night."

--

when the lights go off, yusuf resides to the corner of the room.

arwa is sleeping again, the pills driving her to deep slumber once again. reassured of her dreamless sleep, he moves.

on the prayer mat by the window, for the third consecutive night, he breaks down. hands pressed to his face in supplication, throat and chest weak.

leaves the matters of his distress, his words pour out, voice curling around his mother tongue with ease. asks for relief within arwa, for everything regarding her.

his knees hurt, he doesn't budge.

relishes in the light of the moment, in his endless words of earnest requests.

calm.

--

(D-1)

the following morning isn't hectic like he'd expected it to be. arwa's fever had died down, and despite her claiming she wasn't really down with it to begin with, she couldn't deny she was feeling much better than the previous day.

when he saw her eyeing the food sent warily, he shook his head, "you don't have to, here," he pours the orange juice into a glass, "have this. try to finish the whole thing. if you can't, leave it here. let me know if you want anything else when you feel it."

she smiles, relieved, takes the glass. beckons him over. "you look better?" her palm fits over his cheek, stroking gently.

he smiles, "a little, yes."

he explains his session of last night, tells her it helped. intrigued with her sudden interest in speaking, he sits down, his hands enveloping hers on his knee.

when the nurse drops by to escort arwa to her medical checkup, and informs him of hussein asking to see him (to remove the stitches on his head from his fall earlier that week), they rise. placing a kiss on her cheeks and helping her adjust the knit-cap, he walks them to the office, parting ways at the entrance.

--

a crushing feeling weighs him down when he leaves her. swallowing it down, he leaves for the ground floor.

--

[ xx. friendship, in the end, is to always stay. to stay. ]

arwa ends up staying at the examination room for a long time, and so, yusuf sits on the floor behind the corridor inside her suite, back against the wood of it, knees bought up.

thinks.

thinks about the knife, the non-existent knife. the blinding pain his mind conjured up. absently runs his hand over the lone bandage on the side of his head, the bump of the injury. wondering if it'll happen again, he shivers.

thinks about him confiding in hussein about the white of his coat, and the feeling it rises in him and about how he doesn't know why.

hussein removes the coat at the admission, hangs it on the chair, "it's okay," he gives him a small smile, then hands him the document he wanted yusuf to sign.

"do you think you know why?"

hussein hesitates, his hands fist on the table, "won't it have something to do with our procession of funerals? the long white cloth?"

it doesn't take him long to realize. the wrapping of the white cloth over the body.

oh. he opens his mouth to speak, then eats his own words, looks down. he hums, nods, "thank you."

thinks about arwa.

he sighs into his arms.

the room is darkened, the blinds pulled down, blocking the sunrays. the rain has long stopped, the air conditioner leaves the room cold, but he barely feels it.

it's almost nice.

when he hears the door open, he assumes it's arwa and zara (who sent him away from the waiting room and took his place there instead, who sent him to get some rest), two of who have access cards to the suite apart from the nurses and doctors, who would knock. he lets his head fall back against the wall, waiting for them to walk through.

"yusuf?" his eyes widen at the voice. the sound of clothes rustling, a yelp, "what the - sorry. why is it so dark in here? hey, find the switch."

he doesn't know why he stays rooted in place, the room stills for a second, then lights up, colors itself white.

he can hear them round the entrance corridor to where he's at, then, "yusuf?"

two pair of Oxfords come into view where his gaze had frozen on the floor, then sayd's face come into view, "hey."

for all the control he's maintained with his tears the whole day, it doesn't stay for long. he feels them slip down his cheeks. he lets down his knees, looks up and can't help laugh, watery, "home already?"

ali sits down next to him, an arm instantly falling around his shoulders, "sorry we took long, our boss is a tyrant." going for light, voice tinged with sadness anyway.

sayd is watching him, still bending down, brows furrowed, "i know the answer is an obvious negative, but do you have an update for us?"

his throat closes off when sayd moves to sit in front of him, legs crossed, earnestly waiting for a reply. he looks down to his lap, hand going up to cover his mouth, crumbling all over again.

ali's arm falters over his shoulder, tensing, a whisper, "yu,"

sayd moves to the side and pulls him in, a tight embrace. ali is holding onto yusuf's arm, whispering something over his head to sayd.

they stay like that for a long time, a shaking body in between two unmoving ones, arms caging him in.

his chest hurts, throat dry with exertion. his hairline soaked with sweat despite the coolness of the room, eyes burning and cheeks wet, nose stinging.

he only realizes arwa will have an even harder time over his breakdown when the door slides open, and someone enters the room, hears zara's voice, her talking to someone else. the sound of the wheelchair, and his head snaps up. he shares a panicked look with ali.

he really don't think he wants to devastate arwa any further, not when she finally saw him in a better place this morning.

sayd stands up just as zara rounds the corridor, eyes widening at her husband's appearance, then at ali and yusuf on the floor, at yusuf's face. a look of concern flashes across her face, "are you- what-?"

he faintly makes out arwa conversing with the nurse, "- she'll be fully capable of helping me up the bed, thank you for today."

zara must realize something from the looks on their faces because she goes back the same way she came from, "i need to get something from the cafeteria, join me?" they hear her asking arwa.

"is yusuf in? is he asleep?" arwa is asking instead, yusuf winces. he rises from the floor, ignoring the kinks and the muscle cramps in his limbs. ali's hand still on his arm.

zara hates lies. hates being lied to, hates engaging in it herself, "yes." she replies, curt.

sayd and yusuf shares a surprised look at the word, knowing full well the extend of her dislike of the act. arwa seems to buy it, "yeah, i'll join you." her voice dies down, "we should get something for him since we're going there anyway. lead the way."

they leave.

yusuf bites down on his lips, moving to the couch, sits down heavily. both of them follow. accepting the tissue box ali passes over to him, he wipes down his face. fixes his hair.

tears still threatening at the back of his eyes, "thank you for coming," he tells them, voice hoarse, "really."

sayd smiles, eyes sad. "you wouldn't find us anywhere else."

"we really should've been here sooner," ali admits, pulling the pillow to his lap, "we wouldn't have been for another week. but well." he leans in to look at sayd, "he almost got us fired." at yusuf's imploring look, he elaborates, "he threatened the director about how he's going to pull out from all ongoing projects until the old man agreed to let us off for the next few weeks."

"i really was going to," sayd mutters, "that man remains insensitive to all matters not concerning himself, it infuriates me."

"what about the exhibition? isn't it next week?" yusuf asks, dabbing cold water under his eyes using the tissue.

"not anymore, we had the tickets refunded and the event postponed." sayd explains, "we really can't find ourselves caring about that right now though."

ali hums, then casts a look at yusuf, "how is she?"

yusuf's fingers pause their ministrations at his eyelid, "it gets a little worse everyday,"

ali looks away, sayd lets his shoulders fall.

he gives them a shaky smile, they don't return it.

--

[ xxi. to you from the past, a letter ]

before they enter, arwa slips a letter into zara's hands, asking her to "please give it to him when you think he needs to read it. when i'm gone," to which she doesn't comment on.

arwa watches zara carefully place it in her bag, face blank, and then they step in.

(hi. hi,

how are you doing? has it been a while now? are you reading this months later? i hope you're doing well. i really do. i'll wish for it.

it's strange knowing you'll be reading this during a time when i'm not by your side anymore, when i'll be talked about in past tense, when you'll be alone, disturbing to think about, that. but i wanted to write down my thoughts, and i wanted to write it to you, rather than in my notebook.

i miss you. writing this now, i miss you. you're laying across the room as of now, asleep, limbs askew. well, that's probably what you want me to think anyway. your silence speaks words to me, my love. it always did. you shift, i can see the uneven rise and fall of your chest. your shadows of worries and regret travels to me, tells me tales. i love you. thank you for giving me space even though i never asked for it, thank you for knowing me so well. i love you.

i write countless poems about you. my poems are, 99% of the time, always about you.

the You of you means everything to me. does that makes sense? i've noticed people rarely see sense in 3 of 4 things i say, yet, it still seems to make most sense to you. i've told you countless times, you always laugh it off. but, i mean it.

you are so Good, did you know? lovely. i've only ever seen kindness from you. even in your moments of infuriation and anger, you are kind. my mother used to tell me to surround myself with people who are kind, for then you'll find yourself more kinder than you've ever been. because the kindness given to you will feel so overwhelming, your mind naturally bends and shapes itself to give back.

i'm only who you began to love, because of you.

kind met kindness, i met you.

thank you for loving me. thank you for allowing me to grow with you, for making me bloom in your tender words. thank you for believing in me, for being proud of me. thank you for making me feel seen, for understanding me in ways no one else ever could. thank you for being you.

i can't explain how thankful i am for the leading of your name next to mine. you are the life of my life. loving you was the easiest thing i've done. i've thanked Him (praise be to him) countless times for the fate that led you to loving me. for loving me so loudly and kindly, i began to love myself too. but you know that. i've told you.

writing has always arrived to me easy, yet writing to you never did. i struggle. with my words, with everything i need to say. how do i put all this into words? why is it all of a sudden just so hard?

your love. the love you give to me is so deep, so profound. over the years, i've found that it's easier to compare it to the colour White. to water sometimes. pure in a way, untouched. so real, something that developed a shape of its own due to the intensity of it. something so secure, ever since the day you told me, i never doubted it. when young, i've wished for it. a love like this. you coming to me was a dream that rose from the fears of remaining unloved, a dream i wished for, nevertheless.

your hand in mine is an ever stable, unchanging comfort. your head on my shoulders, my head on yours. the prayer mat, you asleep, black mop of hair on my lap. happiness. light embraces, pecks on your soft eyelids, your eyes on mine. love. twin night blue tasbihs in our hands, competitive spirits, who finishes first? (you, always you). my head on your lap, your recitation, perfect, the silence that falls over the (our) room.

love everywhere.

the bracelet you gave me on the day of the wedding, it sits in the left drawer by the bed. your drawer, in the red satin pouch. my journals and this bracelet, keep it with you. they mean to me a lot. read my poems, read those i wrote to you, remind yourself of how loved you are.

i've loved you longer than you've loved me, did you know? the hint was always in the first card i gave to you on our 100th day, the "love, arwa" signed off at the end. i don't think you noticed. maybe too early for some, but i had known it then. hard not to, when it's you. you who's only ever been sweet to me like that.

regretful i am, you know, that we won't be celebrating our 10,000th day as promised. strange again, thinking about it. we were supposed to have done it. three kids and all. i can't help but smile as i think of it, it's a beautiful image.

our 4th year anniversary is only a couple months away, i'm sorry i'm leaving a little early. earlier than we had planned. but Allah ( praise be to him ) plans best, and this isn't the end. blessed we are to know that, aren't we? little to grieve about when we know we'd reunite, right? إِنْ شَاءَ ٱللَّٰهُ.

i thought about it when i was laying down a few minutes ago. the idea of it pleases me to such high levels, makes me happy. sad as i am now, thinking about it bought me peace.

when my soul ascend to His paradise, it will wait for yours, lovely it is, to join me there. will wait years, years you deserve to live, for you. and then it'll be as it was at the beginning of our time, two fated souls intertwined. in place. and then, maybe years later, if our Lord ( سبحانه وتعالى) wills, we'll reunite in front of the gate, and you'll hold my hand, lead me inside. we'll spend the rest of our promised eternity together, spend the rest of it absent of agony. spend it in countless celebrations. eternal.

you're smiling, aren't you? me too, teary-eyed, but smiling. as i always am these days.

in your grief, seek rewards from Allah, praise be to him. pass over your difficulties and trials to Him, for surely He knows best.

yusuf, i still love you, carnations, stars and the sky. everything you love, i got them for you. and in the awaited event that we are united again, i'll get them all for you again. my love, you are the light of my life, and the circle of my happiness. i adore you, always.

always.

with love, arwa.)

--

zara, sayd and ali stay till late. till the nurse comes by to tell them guest visiting hours were over, till they were forcefully kicked out by yusuf, who didn't really want them to get banned for the rest of their stay here.

zara hugs them both goodbye, lingering longer on yusuf after what she'd saw earlier, then leaves. arm hooked with sayd's, already frowning and lecturing sayd's ear off for not letting her know they'd landed. if yusuf squints, he can see ali dutifully nodding at everything she says, grinning.

he looks at arwa, who's watching them go with a smile of her own, then when the door slides shut, she turns to him, reaches out a hand. he immediately locks his fingers with hers, sitting down on the duvet.

"i didn't throw up today."

his lip twitches, he nods, "you didn't throw up today." brings up his free hand to pat her head, "you're feeling better then?"

she hums, "better than yesterday, yes."

the answer rises something in his chest he forces himself to placate. it allows his mind to come up with seven different scenarios and a useless calculation on how painful yesterday must've been for her, how tight-lipped she was about it.

he gives her an assuring smile to rid of the assessing look she gives him, "good." trying to direct the conversation to something light, he asks, "is there something you want me to bring you tomorrow?"

arwa's brows rise, "for?"

"to entertain yourself. in case you're bored, you know."

"there isn't any time for me to be bored with sleeping, checkups and you." she pauses, "can you bring someone though?"

he makes a confused noise, "who?"

"mei. i miss her."

he lets out a chuckle, "yeah, why not. i'll ask them if i can, and if i am able to, i will." he gives her hand a squeeze, "she misses you too. almost bit my fingers off when i went in the other day to pack some clothes and she saw you weren't with me again."

"she's spoiled. and attached."

"yeah, i wonder why." he deadpans, "i wonder who's the reason for that."

"she's an only child!"

"right."

"you know - " arwa cuts herself off, pauses. then her hand is pushing his off to grab her head, grunting.

"arwa- " he pushes to his feet and presses on the call button, "i'm sorry, hey."

she whimpers, eyes pressed close and one hand over her ears, falling face first into the blanket. she screams, clutching her head, desperately trying to ward of the pain.

"arwa, don't-" he pulls away her hands when she starts to hit her head, "don't do that. please." her face is scrunched up in pain, breathing heavily.

unable to do anything else, he pulls her in. starts to whispers surah al-falaq to her forehead, repeats it three times and then moves onto the next one. he blows on her, who's trembling still, praying it helps, even a little. doesn't stop until the nurses arrive.

it felt like it was hours, though only a minute or two, before they came.

he stumbles back.

his mind plays, her scream echoes.

--

it happens an hour after midnight, friday.

yusuf is folding the prayer mat and setting it aside, on the armrest of the couch.

he feels drained.

the reminder of the events of the past day leaves an uncomfortable lurch in his chest.

he wishes he could take away her pain, he'll gladly bear the pain of it if only to relieve her of it. he just -

arwa coughs, the sound of it grating, loud and painful. he turns.

at the sight of her bent over, clutching her throat, strangely quiet, his heart stutters. he moves slowly, steps hesitant and scared, "love?"

she looks up, her eyes are bloodshot and tear stained, "i."

he's shaking, he realizes. nausea spreading through him in waves, remembers what hussein told him, holds her and turns her to her side. arranges the pillows to rest on her back, and one beneath her head. a more comfortable position, with the way her body relaxes into the mattress.

she's pale, very faintly cool to the touch and light blue to the sight. he pushes down the implications of that, tells himself there's weeks left.

there's weeks left.

pressing on the button by her bed to alert the staff, he looks at her. "arwa."

she hums, hand moving on the blankets to reach for his, "don't cry, please don't cry."

he blinks and realizes that yes, there are tears in his eyes, wipes them with the back of his hand, "you're okay?"

"it's not painful." her lips barely move, and then she's mumbling something else entirely. something he didn't think she'd have to say until weeks later. a farewell. a farewell and an embrace to death.

his heart beats loudly in his ears. his grip tightens slightly, "arwa. why are you-?"

her eyes are wide, glittering with tears. bright, bright as she gazes up at him. they flutter close when he brings a hand to her cheek, memorizing the lines and curves before he no longer can.

she smiles.

yusuf's breath catches in his throat.

the monitor beeps.

her hand falls limp from his.

--

on friday 26th, an hour past midnight, arwa passes away.

--

yusuf leads the funeral prayer.

--

--

hope u liked it. 

favourite scene? 

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