(Dedicated to @watdouwantblud     for voting and commenting on  my book. And  *clears throat* for reminding me that I was supposed to update on Friday!:) )

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'Augustus Waters (TFiOS) said, "Pain demands to be felt." But, I'll say, sweet is the feeling of numbness, it's kind of like a mercy upon me. When I don’t have to feel anything at all. Just numbness and soreness.' Me

Chapter Sixteen

When Impossible Becomes Possible

(Maahirah Furqaan)

"Oh, my God, I hate school precisely at this moment. I literally do!" Ellie exclaims as she sits next to me during lunch with a tray in her hand.

I laugh, shaking my head. "Why?"

"The darn play. I'm not saying the idea is bad but to be bullied is definitely a worse experience!"

I nod while eating my homemade sandwich. "Uh-huh!"

She continues her ranting with me nodding, or agreeing with her while saying 'uh-huh' or a 'yes' or simply shaking my head as a 'no, that's too bad.'

We were practising for the play since the last days. A new schedule was given to us and according the schedule,  the first four periods are spent studying and the last four rehearsing for the play. I had to go through the pain of watching the rehearsals with Fadiya and Jaffar directing the play.

Sandra is another story. Honestly, all she cares about is her appearance during the play. She's good at acting. No doubt, but she's just....she just thinks that the world revolves around her. She wants everyone's attention focused on her.

Aayan, is a total twisted story. We haven't crossed paths yet because he has been missing school on a regular basis. He was present only on Monday, and since then he has been absent. Goodness knows why. Though I do pray that everything is fine with him. His absence is inexplicable. Well, except maybe he's sick or something. Even Darren's presence is frequent.

For me life has been normal. Students forgot the incident that happened at Fadiya's place, and I'm glad for it. My life has been on the track again. I think so. But, I'm not so sure anyway about it. All I feel around is an aura....mysterious aura.

The bell rings, slicing my ear drum like thousands dagger aimed at once. I sigh, getting up throwing Ellie hurry-up-or-we-will-be-late look.

Biology, is the period. We're supposed to do group study/discussion today. And, if Aayan doesn't show up today either I'll have to find a new partner. Or make a three student group with someone.

After we get our Biology book from the lockers, we make our to biology class.

"Do you know why Aayan's not coming to school?" Ellie asks me.

"Nay," I shake my head.

"I hope everything is okay!" She says.

I nod as we enter Biology class. When my eyes flicker towards my desk, a wave of disappoint passes through me. Aayan isn't present today either. I make my way towards my desk, and with a great deal of grudge I sit on my seat.

Why isn't he present today again? And, most of all why do I feel deep emotions due to his absence? Because you're his friend. You care about him.

That might be a reason, maybe. I'm not sure.

"Okay, class. Change of plans. A ten question pop quiz." Mr.Brackson hands out the exam paper.

I wince at it. There's something weird about him, too. Now-a-days he seems distracted. His perfectly sleek black hair appears to be messy all the time. His shirt half tugged and half out of his jeans. He just seems disoriented and worried.

When I'm at the fifth of question, there is a light knock on the door. I look up just in time to see him enter. My heart skips a beat. The pencil loses the grip of my fingers and falls on the table. My jaws drop open.

Aayan looks worse. Worse than anyone. His navy-blue button down shirt rumpled and unpressed, and his jeans they look fine; neither too tight nor too baggy. He saunters his way towards me with the test paper in his hand after he has talked to Mr.Brackson.

His hair are matted to his forehead, and I'm not complaining... he looks good. He sweeps them with his hand as he takes his seat, and when he does, a satisfactory thack of his jeans is heard. And, I still don't meet his eyes.

"Hey!" Aayan says.

It takes my whole willpower to not look at him. But, I do. And immediately look away. Behind his (disguised or maybe fake) glasses, his eyes hold thousand emotions which I can't decipher.  They say that eyes are the doorway to answers and right now, Aayan has locked that door with a key, firmly not permitting anyone to enter by any means.

"Hi!" I work on my test.

For fifteen minutes, there is complete silence as both of us concentrate on our tests. And, I'm surprised when Aayan finishes before me. Sulkily, I quickly jolt down my answers as I find his tapping of pencil on the desk quite annoying.

"So, where were you the last two days?" I ask him once when I finish the pop quiz.

I see shade of different answers crossing his eyes. Conflicts simmering in his eyes. He opens his mouth, and then shakes his head. I know he has having an internal battle with himself, he's contemplating his answer. Few minutes later, he replies." My mother is....sick!"

"What?" I stop the movement of my finger around the desk.

"She's sick,"

Now, I feel sick. Last night, I had a dream. I don't recall it completely but I do remember few snippets. Aayan's mother was injured - wounded badly. Somebody had shot her. She is alive, in my dream, at least. I do remember Fakhir telling my deceased Mum the name of the culprit but that part of the dream is blur. But, this is just a dream. A weird coincidence. This cannot be real.

"Are you okay, Maahirah?" Aayan calls out.

I snap my head in his direction, startled."Yes….I’m."

He doesn't say anything. Silence emanates over us. In the background, the chattering of other classmates is going on, and I hate this silence...

"No offense, but you look terrible." I blurt out, and then hiss in a breath as my statement sounds quite effusive.

He laughs."I know. I'm just worried about my mother!"

"Uh-huh! InShaaAllah, she will be fine. Allah is with you."

"Hopefully!!!" He mutters.

Few seconds later, the bell blares eliciting a relived 'yes' from the students. I roll my eyes. I look at Aayan as I stand up. "Hey, do you want to perform the song today?"

He gives me a dumb look.

"Play? Rings any bell?"

He gives me the incredulous look.

I sigh."Now. We. Practise. For. The. Play. Until. The. End. Of. The. Day."

He nods."Oh, that play."

"Good boy!" I smile as if he's a dog.

"Very funny!" He says, scowling.

Students place their pop quiz sheet on Mr.Brackson's desk as they exit the class. I stuff my books in my bag.

"Mr.Aslam?" Mr.Brackson calls out.

I pause in zipping my bag, and listen intently.

"Stay for few minutes, I need to talk to you!" That is an order not a request.

Aayan clenches his fists, and grits his jaws."Sorry, Jason, but I needn't!"

My eyes widen in horror. I sling my backpack over my shoulder.

"That was order Aayan, and when someone orders you do not have a choice but to listen."

I try whisking out from my desk, but Aayan's blocking it.

"And, I've the tendency to not obey orders!" Aayan says, fuming.

"Aayan, for goodness sake stop acting like a child." Mr.Brackson argues back.

Um, have they forgotten about me? I'm still here. This is stupid. What's going on? I so don’t want to be part of this.

"Child? I'm not acting like a child. My mother is on her deathbed, and even then you care about the damn training!"

I put my hand over my mouth. Deathbed?

"I wasn't going to talk to you about training."

"Oh, well, I don't care." Next thing, Aayan does is that he encloses his slim, long fingers around my wrist, and jerks me forward. "I'll see you later, Mr.Brakson!'

Mr.Brackson opens his mouth to say something, but he quickly snaps it shut upon seeing my face.

Aayan drags me out of the class. And, here I thought that they forgot all about me.

My wrist is hurting will be an understatement, it is on fire. I bite my lip, to bite back the moan wanting to escape. He's angry. Way too angry.

Not until we're in the next block, Aayan doesn't let's go of my hand. He continues pulling me along with him. Finally, unable to bear the pain, I squeak."Aayan. My hand. You're hurting it."

He stares at me for good ten seconds, and then he drops my hand. Subconsciously, I start rubbing my abused wrist as I watch him. He leans against the locker, pressing his back against it he slides down. On the linoleum floor. The hallway is pretty empty so I plop down next to him, with an appropriate Muslim girl distance: at least four inches apart.

"Aayan," I say, slowly carefully choosing my words."What's wrong?"

He snaps his head in my direction so quickly that I hear a crick in his neck. "You still here?"

"Of course, I'm!" I frown. I couldn't leave him hanging like this. Or maybe you could, but you didn’t.

"Hell, I'm so sorry for grabbing your hand like this."

"It's fine. I know you seem distracted today."

He drops his face in his hands."I don't want to lose my mum, Maahirah. She's the only one close to me. In whom I can confine in without thinking twice...She has done so much for me which I know I'll never be able to pay at all. And, I'm such a useless son..." His voice breaks. At this moment, he wasn't the eighteen year old teenager, but a eight year old boy wishing and praying for his mother's life.

Tears accommodate in my eyes. "Oh, Aayan."

"I don't know what to do. There's nothing left to do. Except to believe in Allah. Hoping the best from Him. And, InShaaAllah, the best will happen. But, still," He still hasn't lifted his head. "I would trade anything in this world to give my mother life."

Allah? InShaaAllah? I never thought Aayan was a guy who really used Arabic words. He didn't strike to be this kind of a person. So, I begin.

"Aayan, the great thing is that you've complete faith in Allah Almighty. And, you know that nothing that happens without His will. Everything has a reason. If Allah wants your mother He will take her because her time in this world has ended. She completed her task for whatever she came in this world. And, you should be proud of it." In the end, I thought believing in my dream is the only option left. Maybe my dreams are true. They are visions. Maybe Mum's alive.

He looks at me. His eyes hold pain. Whirling emotions."Thank you, Maahirah!" I open my mouth to say that I didn't do anything worth for thanking, but he silences me with a glance."No, honestly, thank you...for everything. Now, I just want you to do favours for me."

I frown. He was hurling in emotions one minute ago, and now he's all business. Boys are so freaking weird. I nod, halfheartedly.

"I'll attend the play after midterm exams only, and before that I won't be coming to school or anything which basically means no exams. Okay?"

"Okay!" Why is he telling me this? And why the hell he will miss his exams?

"I want you to stay out of matters which aren't concerned with you. Stay close to Fadiya. She knows what we're dealing with...."

"Fadiya knows?" I interject.

"Partially, yes. Sandra's spreading rumours about us, and I asked her to stay in touch with Sandra so that the rumours do not cross the school boundaries. We worked hard to provoke your security, Maahirah." He meets my eyes. "I just want you to concentrate on your midterm exams. Got it?"

I don't know. Did I get it? No, I'm as confused as ever. I'm hoping for answers, but all get is more questions making me more perplexed. More nonplussed. More puzzled. But, even then I find myself nodding because already a plan is formulated in my head.

The funny thing, however, is that Aayan was the guy whose guts I hated. We bickered over almost everything. But, somehow, fate changed it. Today, I consoled his pain. Made him feel better. And, in return what I get, precautionary warnings. I didn't ask anything for return, and I won't ask for it. Liberally speaking, I had the right to know why are they protecting me!? What's against me? And, who?

I sigh. Unanswered questions.

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"Mommy," I jump down the stairs - literally, skipping two steps at a time.

I walk over to her. She's chopping onions on the cutting board. I wrap my arms around her waist, and drop a hasty kiss on her cheeks. Mom being Mom, looks startled and the knife clatters on the board with a loud thack, and, she gasps too."Maahirah?!"

"Yes," I drag the word, slowly and innocently.

“Nothing," Mom simply pushes me away. And, I pretend to pout.

She rolls her big brown teary (due to onion) eyes, and goes back to the work of chopping.

"Mom, I'm going over Fadiya's place. I need to work some things out."

To my surprise, Mom nods without interrogating me which is kind of weird , you know, how Muslim moms are extra-preservative and all.

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I turn off the ignition as I park my car in Rizwans' driveway. Wearing my hoodie, I pull my thoughts in a coherent form. I've to get to know a little bit information as much as possible - a closure, I need a closure.

I get down from the car, and head towards their door. Pressing the bell, I wipe my hands on my jeans and take a step back which is a wrong move because my shoes slip on the wooden floor of the porch and I end up falling. To make matters worse, the door opens and Fadiya's older brother, Ihtesham (who studies in Canada, MD I think) looks left and right – he didn’t think of looking down - for finding the culprit who rang the bell a.k.a me.

And, those three seconds, I try to stand up, but I couldn't on time, because Ihtesham finally looks at me - sprawled on the ground. I blush as I stand on my feet or shoes.

His laugh meets my ear and the more he laughs the more bashful I feel.

"How - the - hell - did - you - end - on - the - ground?" He laughs after every word that leaves his mouth, and his sandy brown eyes twinkle with amusement.

"Hmm, maybe your sudden arrival made me cringe and I ended up on the ground!" I smile.

He shakes his head." You're something Maahirah Furqaan!"

"Aw, thank you! But all joking aside, you're home early. Congratulations!"

"Yeah, it's good be home!" He runs his hand through his silky honey-brown hair.

"Uh-huh. Now, scoot over I need to get in."

"Sure!"

I step in the comfort of their. And, I'm immediately, I feel my heart wince and my eyes water. This is the place where I was humiliated, where I thought I lost my best friend. I shake my head, and say. "Your parents at home?"

"No,"

"Fadiya?"

"Up in her room."

"Thanks!" I shove the tulips in his hands. Which I bought with my money, of course, and for Fadiya’s Mom. She loves tulips.

I tread upstairs using the staircase. Once when I'm on the last step, I realize what am I going to say? How will it go? Will I get my answers? Or end up more clueless? Most of all, will Fadiya kick me out? Be angry?

I shake my head. No! I'm not going to back away now. I've to pick up some clues. I make my way towards her door. I raise my knuckle to knock, but, then , I pause. I hear her talking on the phone. And, I know she's pacing because she sounds frustrated.

"....Urgh, you don't get it, It's not easy."

Silence.

"How the hell am I supposed to do this, huh?"

Silence. More pacing!!

"Very funny. Well, I'll talk to you later. Bye!"

Before I can comprehend my thoughts, her door flings open, I take a step back. Her grey big eyes widen in surprise as she stares at me. Her mouth forms an 'O'. I don't know what clicks in me but I find myself slinging my arms around her shoulders.

She hesitates; however, she hugs me back. We stay in this embrace for few minutes, before I pull apart, and push her lightly, back in her room - closing the door behind me.

"Maahirah!" That's the first word that escapes her mouth. I don't reply to her as I take in her room. It's the same. Everything pink. Her walls painted creamy white kind. A dark pink, plushy carpet is spread on the floor. The sheet of her bed is pink with a hot pink duvet. Her closet baby pink. The walls of her room are empty and barren.

My eyes meet her grey ones. "Fadiya! How do you do?" I sit on the blue bean bag which I assume she brought from her brother's room.

Fadiya ties are luscious black hair in a pony tail."I'm good."

I look at my clasped hands on my lap. My long, slim fingers are mocking back at me. You know why, because long nails always bothered me. It was my pet peeve. But, now staring at my fingers makes me realize that I've become careless as long nails poke at me.

"Maahirah?" Fadiya waves her hand in front of me.

"Yeah?"

"I know, that you and Aayan had a talk yesterday. He told me about it."

My wide eyes stare at her exterior."What?" I've no idea why I'm surprised. That was obvious, wasn't it?

"Maahirah....."

"How well do you know Aayan?" I cut her off.

"Well enough!" She nods her head.

"How well?"

"We've been friends," She sighs."for four years. We met through someone A-someone you know very well. S-that person made a pact with us. That person asked me to take care of you and to look out for you when we entered high school. That person asked Aayan to enter in your life in senior year because, well, because."

"Because?" I press on.

"Well, because you needed more Defenders!"

Defenders? "What the hell are you defending against?"

"Um, something someone anyone." She smiles, mischievously.

I blink."Uh, what?"

She marches over to me with two swift strides, and sits next to me."Maahirah, I just want you to trust me - like completely. Allah reveals things in their due time. You needn't be afraid of anything because you're strong - like headstrong. Fierce. A fighter in a positive sense. But, at the moment, you're just clueless. Once when pieces will fit together you won't need Defenders, you'll be your own Defender." She smiles at me."Give me your phone. Now."

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Hope and hoping.

Hope is a weird word and hoping a stupid trait possessed by all the beings in this world. We hope. It dies. Well, at least mine dies. A hope is something which you cling till the end. A hope is something which helps a person survive on a desert because he hopes that there is a way out and soon enough he'll be a freeman. A hope is what a student has - waiting for his result so he can make his career. A hope is what toddler has when he takes his first step as he wishes to walk.

When a person wants to do something in life he attains a hope. He knows without hop he's nothing. Four letter word. Yet, so powerful and inspirational. I was hoping too but mine died as soon as it flourished, ignited in my veins.

When I entered Fadiya's house, I had a hope that I'll find my answers today, not all of it but twenty percent of it. But, instead I come empty hand. Barren. Confused.

Hoping needs patience. And, I'm tired of being the patient one. Patience is useless when I'm so near in fitting the puzzle. I know, my clues are dangling in the air but I'm unable to grasp or see them. What's the use of patience? In one way or one day I'll lose this patience. And, I think it’s today.

Opening my room's door, I slam it shut, really loud. Silent tears fall as I grab my pillow off my bed and aim it at the wall across from me. It falls and I still didn't feel better. Pulling the sheet off my bed, I let it trail down. Turning to my dresser I throw everything down on the plushy rug. A wrecking sob escapes. Ripping my hijab off and my jacket, I fling it on the floor. Sitting on the carpeted floor, I bring my knees closer to my chest and hug them with my arms around my legs. Tears prickle down my cheeks and I weep for the first time in six months.

I weep for everything. All those emotions I had been feeling from the past weeks. Rage. Fury. Betrayal. Everything. I cry for the stupid 'defending me task.' I cry because I'm fed up from all this secrets going on around me.

And, most of all, I cry for myself. For being weak, pathetic, loser, useless, idiot and for not being the one I want to. Strong. Fierce.

This is one of those nights where I cry myself to sleep. To hide away in my blanket where no one will see me, and I'll be in my own little world.

This was just the same night where I cried myself to sleep, but with different reason…..

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