The Price of Hope

five | lie you say

His eyes speak in secret to mine. They know each other's lies. He hides the midnight poetry and dreams of a lover he never spoke of, and mine carries the knowledge of naked truth. He knows nothing about what I know of his thoughts and feelings.

"Hey, wait up, friend."

Concealing my smile, I stop on the sidewalk, waiting for him to step off his bike and catch up. "Why are you still here, Syed?"

"You know my last name," he says, playfulness dancing in his curious eyes. "For someone pretending to be a stranger, you aren't very successful in the task. Have you been stalking me?"

I stop to glare at him, kicking his shoe with mine. "Everyone knows about you, little artist."

"No," he says, bumping my shoulder with his and gesturing towards my house across the street. We cross the street with him walking on the side of traffic. "You know nothing about me. At least not how I want you to know."

The flutters come back, but I swallow them along with the truth that I may have an idea how he wants me to know him. "Well, now we've become friends."

Are we friends now? Is that what I want? It's not all he wants this much I'm aware. He may not be very open about his approaches toward me but I know for sure how he feels about me. I feel like a thief whenever his eyes search mine for something other than unfamiliarity. I know his secret and it becomes quite difficult to hide them when he's being so sweet.

"If that's what it takes," he says, shielding his curious eyes with the sunglasses. "I've never had a girl as my friend."

I twist my lips in a smirk. "Are you telling me I'm an exception?"

"No," he says, kicking at a lone pebble. "I'm saying you're the only one. You're not an exception, Ariha Sharma. You're special."

"Are you trying to flirt with me, Rehan Syed?" I stop to toss a glance at him.

"What if I say yes?" He says. A weighted moment passes before he says, "You look cute, so damn cute when you're flustered.

At this point, I'm not sure why am I even trying to pretend that I don't enjoy his company? I kick his shoe, blushing all shades of red. "Stop it. I'm not flustered. I'm bored with your cheesy pickup lines.

Laughter pervades his voice as he opens my home's wrought iron gates for me. He watches me as I step inside, my body brushing him for a few seconds. It makes me aware how comforting his scent feels. I look away from his smiling face. He has one of those infamous boyish grins he casts on the girls swooning over him. "See you tomorrow after class, my friend."

"I'm off tomorrow." I gulp. I bite my lip, trying not to feel anxious about why I can't go to school tomorrow.

"Don't do that," he says, interrupting my chain of thoughts.

I'm puzzled. "Do what?"

"Bite your lip." His voice is so ragged now, so raw and raspy it vibrates through my racing heart. He reaches over, using his thumb to release my lip from getting assaulted by my teeth then retreats as if coming out of a trance. As he looks away, I realize his eyes were on my mouth the whole time. "Just don't bite your lip like that, okay?"

"Uh-okay," I whisper.

"And don't be a stranger at school." He exhales a breath, running his hand through his messy hair.

"I should better get inside." I gesture over my shoulder.

Tossing a glance behind me, he hums. "Your mum is shooting daggers at me. I don't think your parents approve of you talking to Muslim guys like me?"

I shake my head, taking a quick look at my mother's watchful eyes. I know why she isn't pleased to see a guy standing outside my house. And it has nothing to do with his religious origin. "My parents aren't racist. They don't want me to get into trouble is all."

"Could've fooled me," he says. A silent moment passes between us before he starts walking away from my house, backward with his hands inside his jeans pockets. "Do I look like trouble?"

"Not really." I laugh as he bumps into an elderly man walking down the sidewalks. "But you might get in trouble if you don't look back."

Flashing me a grin, he watches me laugh at him. "Fucking music to my ears, Starfish."

***

"Are you scared for tomorrow?" Ma asks me, leaning against the doorframe of my room. She watches me as I pull off my cap and brush my fingers over the light littering of hair.

I shake my head, throwing the cap into the hamper and going back to my homework. I've been trying to solve some integrals for the last one hour but all my damaged brain can concentrate on is the evening spent with a certain Rehan guy.

Why did I have to take his offer and hang out with him? I blame Aarya for it, but the truth is I do not entirely despise the idea of hanging out with him. That's what is messing with my head. I can't feel like this for the guy I'm setting up with my best friend.

My mother places my pills on the study table and heaves a deep sigh. "Is it that boy from earlier?"

Yes, it is the boy. Turns out I really like his poetry and his soul deep smile. I like when he calls me Starfish, knowing I'm a liar. He's not a stranger to me. He has never been. But it's only going to break his heart if I don't push him away. I have to keep my distance with him.

"Ma, do you think God really hates me?" I ask, swallowing the pills she gave me and feel the bitterness soaking my throat. It has now become a part of me, the pain, the hopelessness and bitterness of the medicine that keeps me hanging in between them.

Her face turns pale and I can see how she struggles to answer my question. By far the worst part of being at the door of death is watching the people I love the most hurting because of it. But if it breaks her heart, my mother hides it from me with a sad smile coating her lips. "Why would you think like that, Ari? You know it's not true."

I let her hold me as I sniffle against her chest, my tears soaking her yellow cotton kurta. She brushes my hair with her shaky fingers and I feel her pain through the ruggedness of her heartbeat. "I'm just so tired of it all. I don't feel very strong, Ma."

"It's just a normal routine checkup. Doctor Ray is hopeful about the surgery. I just..." Her voice breaks and I squeeze her middle to assure her. She can have her hope. I won't snatch her of that. "I know he won't let you die."

A checkup she says, some poking and prodding and questioning. The doctor says the MRI will decide how much time is left with me. Meaning, there's no point hoping that you can ever beat your fate. I'm not trying to either. It just feels too unfair to not be able to have a way out of hopelessness. The odds are just not in my favor.

My father keeps himself busy most of the day, but tomorrow he is going to be there at the hospital. If you are about to leave me, I will know, he says. I'm sure I'd know what and how it will feel, but my eyes are too blurry with tears to see him escape reality each day, every day and it's killing him too.

But he won't just give up. Not yet, anyway.

***

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