Chapter 6

I headed home, feeling emotionally drained at the thought of returning to see my brother’s icy stares. I was determined to melt that ice; I couldn’t bear all this sadness and fear inside me without sharing it with someone.

When I arrived home, I found my brother had already packed his bag and placed it by the entrance to the guest room, silently telling me to prepare for our trip back to our hometown without needing to say a word. I didn’t like this silent command and preferred to confront him and settle the matter once and for all.

I rushed up to his room on the second floor and entered without knocking. He was busy organizing some maps and packing them away.

I greeted him, “Peace be upon you.”

“Peace be upon you,” he replied, without even looking at me. I didn’t let it bother me because I was determined to melt the ice and return things to how they used to be.

Gathering my courage, I asked, “Hossam, how long will this coldness last? Is all this distance because of Faisal? What have I done to deserve this punishment? Have I committed some offense against you? Is exercising my right to choose who I marry an insult to you? Don’t I have the right to have a say in who will be my lifelong partner? Hossam, this is marriage—how can I marry someone I’m not convinced about?”

He finally spoke, “And what’s wrong with Faisal? Forget the movie and TV show clichés; they’re overused and trite. I’m not upset about Faisal. Faisal is the kind of man any family would want as a son-in-law. I’m sad for you because you lost a man like Faisal over flimsy reasons. I hope you don’t repeat these reasons with another man, or you might end up like your aunt, who rejected the best of men and ended up marrying the worst of them. You know her situation well. Don’t let your looks and family name deceive you—a good man is hard to replace.”

“I hope a man comes your way; I won’t say with the qualities of Faisal, but even with a quarter of his qualities. If that happens, I’ll thank God and force you to accept him, and I hope you won’t object.”

I replied, “From this hand to that hand, whatever you command, I’ll obey—just end this coldness.” I went to him, kissed his forehead and cheeks, hugged him tightly, and tears streamed down my face. I wiped them away with my hands, and Hossam teased me, saying, “Am I that important to you?”

I answered honestly, “More than you can imagine.” Then, jokingly, I added, “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Laughter filled the room, signaling the return of our brotherly love. Please, Faisal, stay away. I want this fear inside me to disappear.

I couldn’t relish this moment of brotherly joy for long because my brother’s phone rang, announcing an incoming call. For some reason, my heart started pounding with dread and fear. When my brother mentioned the caller’s name, I realized why my heart was beating so violently. My fear grew because I had come to dread my own emotions, which had started manifesting in reality.

Oh, fear, why have you settled in my heart, refusing to leave? What kind of occupation is this? Go away, please—I can’t bear you any longer.

My brother’s voice brought me back to reality when he said, “Faisal wants to say goodbye; he’s leaving for his homeland.” As he spoke those words, he glanced at me as if to say, “You won’t find anyone like him.”

I wasn’t sure if that’s what his look meant, or if my fears had made me imagine it. To make matters worse, I was reminded of my aunt, who had so many suitors that my grandmother rarely left the guest room. Unfortunately, as she aged, she ended up marrying a man she would have laughed at ten years earlier if someone had told her she’d accept his proposal.

Would I face the same fate?

Oh God, don’t leave me to my own devices for even the blink of an eye. You know what’s in my heart and what my intentions are. Please save me from this situation and make things easier for me.

These heartfelt prayers poured out from the depths of my soul as I retreated to my room to pray, even though it wasn’t prayer time. I desperately needed to be in the presence of God, for He alone could ease my burdens.

When I finished praying, I looked up to find Hossam leaning against the door, staring at me with a look I couldn’t decipher. He broke the silence by saying, “Pack your bag; we’ll leave in an hour.”

I rose from my prayer rug, removed my prayer robe, and started packing my suitcase, emptying my closet, and sorting what I needed to take with me and what I could leave behind.

Once I was done, I put on my abaya. In my hometown, I wore a head-covering abaya, while in the city where I studied, I wore modest clothes with a headscarf.

We got into my car, and Hossam took the wheel because, according to our city’s traditions, it’s frowned upon for a woman to drive. Hossam left his car in a parking garage, where a friend would pick it up later.

As usual, our journey was filled with talk about university life—what had happened to him, what had happened to me, especially after three months of coldness. We didn’t notice the time or the distance until we saw the sign welcoming us to our hometown, and the familiar scent of our city’s air greeted us.

Our mother welcomed us warmly, as she always did. They say, “Which child is the most beloved?” and the answer is, “The one who’s absent until they return, the sick one until they recover, and the youngest until they grow up.”

That’s exactly how my mother treated us three. My brother and I, the absent ones, were her favorites during the holidays, but that affection would shift to our mischievous younger sibling for the rest of the year.

I haven’t told you much about my mother. She’s a widow who was left with a modest inheritance when my father passed away and a heavy emotional burden that she bore with patience. She also inherited sorrow, which she tries to hide from us. As for the emotional legacy, we were left young by our father, so our mother raised us with reliance on God. Now, she reaps the rewards of her patience—a son about to graduate from architectural engineering, a daughter in her final year of medical school, and a youngest son who rebelled against academic excellence to join a specialized computer institute.

As we gathered around the table, prepared by our mother as she does every year, she made us promise not to eat lunch so we could enjoy her feast. And what a feast it was, filled with laughter, beloved conversations, and family news, ending with our younger brother Omar’s dramatic declaration that he had reclaimed our mother’s heart, while we had been placed on the shelf until further notice.

In the midst of this joyful atmosphere, I forgot my fears and convinced myself that they were merely the result of the pressures I had been under due to my studies and being in the same city as Ahlam and Faisal.

I went to my room and slept soundly, more deeply than I had in three months. Is there anything sweeter than peace of mind?

Like most students during a break, I spent my time sleeping, helping my mother with house chores, visiting relatives, attending social events, and catching up with school friends after university life had scattered us into different fields. There were also occasional sibling squabbles, as they took advantage of my presence and free time, requesting that I iron this shirt or prepare that dish I’m particularly good at, sweet-talking me to appease my annoyance at their constant demands.

I didn’t mind the requests as long as they were polite.

But then came that day when I was dusting the trinkets and furniture in the living room, and I overheard a conversation between my mother and brother about Faisal’s visit. He had come with two of his uncles and his only maternal uncle to visit our elder uncle’s house.

Don’t be surprised by this; the families had become acquainted, and there were joint business dealings related to car trading, so I wasn’t surprised by this nearly annual visit.

It didn’t concern me, as it was a men’s visit, pure and simple—what did it have to do with me? Despite the deep friendship between my brother and Faisal, I had only spoken to him once, during that unfortunate coincidence. That’s how we were raised.

But my heart began to race with anxiety as soon as I heard Faisal’s name. I tried to calm myself down, reassuring my heart that the matter was over, and it should relax. But the anxiety wouldn’t leave.

My heart’s fears were not unfounded.

Two days after Faisal’s arrival in our city, my mother called me to answer the house phone, which rarely rang due to the prevalence of mobile phones.

I picked up the receiver, only to be met with sobs and broken words from someone crying bitterly. All I could make out was the word “Why?” between gasps.

All I could respond with was, “Hello? Yes, who’s calling? Hello…hello?”

Then, as the voice on the other end became clearer, I recognized who it was.

“Why, Mona? Why, of all people, did you stab me in the back? How could you take the wish of my heart?”

The shock paralyzed my tongue, and the voice on the other end didn’t stop calling me a traitor.

My mind was in turmoil, trying to convince me it was a nightmare, urging me to wake up, but her words—calling me a traitor—told me it was real, and I had to brace myself for days of misery.

Trying to steady myself, I asked her, “What are you talking about, Ahlam? Do you think betrayal would come from me? What betrayal are you accusing me of?”

She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Yes, it did come from you! Why else would Faisal and his family be at your house?”

I interrupted, “It’s an annual visit—you know that.”

She replied, “No, this is not like any other visit. My father is with them, and he told us that this visit is to propose to you, you loyal friend!”

I gasped, nearly losing my breath, and heard Ahlam on the other end say, “Pretend to be surprised, just like you pretended to be innocent with your questions, outwardly offering advice, but secretly plotting to betray me.”

“May God never bless you, traitor!”

The line went dead, leaving me cut off from the world, staring at the phone in my hand in complete shock.

So, the time for separation has come, my friend. Today, I finally understand how an innocent person feels when false accusations are hurled at them.