Hayat Amanullah was always the pampered child in her household. With loving, hardworking parents and two older brothers who were more like best friends, Hayat was never neglected of anything. She had no sense of responsibility, no worry in the world...
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~ Purple coneflower: Healing ~
The frustrating realization I'm starting to come to terms with is that pursuing medicine is going to be difficult.
I've been talking to Aneela constantly, flipping through Arafat's old materials and textbooks, doing tons of research, and a plethora of other things to try to map out possibly the next couple of years of my life.
I find myself constantly wishing Arafat were here. I have so many questions that only he would have been able to answer. I tend to be in a constant state of missing him—that never really goes away and I don't think it ever will—but the feeling has been heightened lately.
But since I've been talking to Rameez more and more frequently, I've noticed that I feel...happy and at ease again. It's foreign and kind of terrifying, but the fact that I'm able to feel something other than grief provides me with a sense of relief I didn't realize I was yearning for.
While doing my research one day, something prompts me to open my Princeton acceptance letter again. I simply stare at the screen for a few minutes, sharp tears pricking at my eyes.
I am obviously well past the deadline to accept and enroll, but even if I wasn't, I wouldn't be able to attend. It's about an hour's drive from my house, and that alone comes with a host of issues: 1) I don't drive anymore, so someone in my family (probably Ihsaan) would constantly be burdened with chauffeuring me. 2) An hour's drive means I would spend most of my day on campus, and I can't afford to leave my mom or the house for that long. 3) I technically got a full ride, but dorming is completely out of the question. I'm needed here.
In no world would attending Princeton work out for me.
My despondent thoughts are interrupted by the jingle of Ihsaan's keys as he enters the house. He makes his way to the kitchen and plops two bags of takeout on the island. His tired eyes rove over the mess on the kitchen table—my laptop, textbooks, other materials—and his brows incline.
"What's going on here?"
"Salaam to you, too," I huff, folding my arms.
"Sorry. Salaam. What are you doing?"
"Just figuring some college and premed stuff out. Aneela's been helping me."
At the mention of Aneela, his shoulders immediately tense, but he reigns any emotions in with calculated practice as he nods. "Sounds good. Do you wanna take a break and eat? I brought shrimp and rice."
I squeal, and Ihsaan's expression goes from tense to amused. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Yes, let's eat. Papa's almost home. I'll get some juice from the pantry."
I make my way to the back side of the kitchen towards the pantry while Ihsaan opens the takeout boxes. I rummage through the pantry for a couple minutes, but am unable to find the boxes of juice Ihsaan bought a couple days ago.
