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~Mourning bride (flower): I have lost all~

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Mourning bride (flower): I have lost all
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I receive a birthday party invitation from my old best friend Abeer. The flyer is all vibrant and pink — so like Abeer — and her excited text reads: please, please come. i miss you so much. and it'll be so nice to hang out before the semester starts. I scroll through all the similar texts I never responded to.

Normally people would feel upset that all their friends will begin and likely end college at the same time, possibly without them because of their unfinished requirements and credits.

But I've succumbed to the numbness that pulls me under every day. Nothing matters anymore. I don't care that the people I used to be friends with will be starting their semester in the fall while I'll be starting five months later in spring. I can't even remember why I ever wanted to go to college in the first place.

God, I don't even think I have friends anymore. Every time I saw some of them after the funeral, they would look at me with such intense grief in their eyes it became uncomfortable to stay in their presence for too long. Because once you're a girl who's lost her brother, you're always going to be the girl who lost her brother. Once you're the family who's lost their eldest son, you're always going to be the family who lost their eldest son.

So many of them tried connecting with me afterwards. But I couldn't bear the thought of meeting them, hanging out with them, trying to pretend like everything was normal and I was happy-go-lucky Hayat all over again.

Too much had changed for me not to let go of them.

It didn't hurt, if that's what you're wondering. It didn't hurt at all. After Arafat's death, nothing really hurt the same way anymore. It was just his loss every day, further tearing open my already gaping wounds. Sometimes sprinkling, sometimes pouring lemon juice into them. Electrifying my insides and rendering me numb, powerless, speechless.

I used to be the kind of girl everybody knew. Even those who weren't my friends. "Hayat? Oh yeah, I know her" — this was a constant mantra if the topic of conversation ever shifted to me. I befriended every girl in sight, chatting them up to all the cool, trendy interests until they would link their arms in mine and traipse through the halls with me towards class. Being pampered by my parents and brothers especially led me to live the most carefree life any teenage girl could dream of.

And I had real friends. You're probably thinking that the friends I made so easily were likely superficial or shallow and wanted nothing more than to talk about makeup and cute outfits. Some of them, yes, I'll admit. But others, not so much. Others were friends I cherished and enjoyed hanging out with and telling my secrets to.

But after Things Went Downhill, none of those friends mattered anymore. Nothing mattered. God, I can't tell you how I even got up from bed on some days when my very legs would tremble with the truth that hit me harder every day: Arafat was dead.

Gone forever and never coming back. There would be no more of me rushing to him every time Ihsaan teased me incessantly or pissed me off. No more of me asking him for money he so willingly gave without wondering what I needed it for. No more of him putting his arms around me and kissing my temple just to irk Ihsaan — who found our affection of one another "very cringe." No more car rides and —

Car rides.

God, every time I think of him dying, my brain automatically tries to envision it. And my heart can't help but tear itself apart.

How much pain must he have gone through? What had been going on in his mind when the other car struck his car? Had he known that day was the last day he would see his family, fist bump his brother, kiss his sister's temple? Had he known that was the last day he would take someone's vitals at the clinic or update someone's medical records?

Had he known that was the last day his family would ever be happy?

Thinking of it breaks me all over again. This is what nobody tells you — grieving for someone who is dead is like shattering yourself to pieces only to attempt to rebuild yourself the next day. Then shatter. Then rebuild. Then shatter. Then rebuild. A horrible, agonizing cycle.

So forgive me if I don't give a damn about attending classes or accepting a birthday party invitation from an old friend or speaking to anyone more than a few necessary words. Forgive me if I don't want to get rid of the dead, wilted plants on the terrace or step out of my house or drive the car Arafat gifted to me two weeks before he died.

Forgive me if I don't give a damn about anything anymore.

. . .

Assalaamu 'Alaikum (peace be upon you),

i apologize for the super delayed update. i've had such a busy semester with classes and work and other commitments that it's so difficult to find time to write. please keep me in your prayers.

thanks for reading <3

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