Last Night

Junaid's voices rang in the background, his father's breakdown was no short of hysterical, and Bilal had found himself shunned at what he had just seen and heard.

"Baba, please- stop this!" Bilal had held Junaid's arms, holding his father up gently.

Bilal remembered how sweaty his father's face was, like dampened paper. With the help of Ghazala Auntie, who turned on the air conditioner, and set a water-filled jug tray on the side table, Bilal brought his father into the bedroom, laying him down on the bed. He sat by his father's side for hours on end.

He had tried calling both his brothers but remembered that Karim was out of the country on his honeymoon with his newlywed wife, Sadia. While Salih bhai was not picking up due to some offset with the signals.

Bilal raised his squinted eyes to his father- who remained still with shut eyes. The glowing light overhead, showed the shine of sweat over Junaid's face, his leathery, wrinkly hands over his chest.

Bilal felt a lump form in his throat. Is this how it's going to end, Baba? Is this where your life has come to?

The second thought that came to his head was to call Musa. But then, he remembered that Musa had his own troubles already on his shoulders. What would Bilal do telling Musa that the Uncle who hates you has gotten a heart attack?

Bilal half-blamed himself for all of it. But then, as his darkened gaze watched his father's chest heave up and down slowly. He wondered if it really was him?

What if it was all that load that his father uselessly took upon his heart? All that hate, jealousy, and ego?

Bilal felt sick of it.

Getting up to his feet, before he would depress over his father's situation, he left the room.

That was when he stood out onto the terrace, staring out at the stars and glowing moon. The night covered its flaws and the creatures of the night. All the evil escaped out in the night, finding it's shadows as security.

But the sun will rise soon.

The sun will rise overall lies, exposing them one by one. Milk and water will be separated. The truth, will one day, be seen as truth, and the lie will be seen as a lie. No more confusions, no more ignorance.

Bilal had had enough of this darkness, his fists tightening in frustration.

"Beta (son)?" Her crinkly voice sped up the hair on his neck.

Bilal turned around, only catching sight of Ghazala Auntie nearing him with a cup of tea, placed over a tray. "You've been here for about an hour." She said, peering over at him with those grey-lit, mother-like eyes. "You should sit down."

"I've been sitting down, all my life," Bilal said, dryly. "Now, if I'm standing, what's the problem?"

Ghazala's lips simply curved, she took her while to respond. "Now that you're standing... why don't you stand for prayer?"

Bilal's gaze snapped to Ghazala, her face half-shaded by the night, and half-lit by the moonlight.

"Did you say... prayer?" Bilal repeated, his brows inched closer. "As in... what Musa did? When we were kids?"

"As in, what every Believer does, Bilal beta," Ghazala said, softly. She placed down the tray on the glass table as she fixed her dupatta.

"Now's the time where we have nothing at hand, except dua, son. See how helpless we are?"

Her tone was amused, and concerned. "We don't even know ourselves if we'll be able to take the next breath, or, no."

When one expected her to mourn over this fact, she did nothing as such. Her wrinkles smiled, as she rubbed the edge of her dupatta over her lips, chuckling softly. She turned around, waddling towards the terrace door. "We're so helpless, ya Rabb. You created us weak, so that we should return to You for help...." she repeated only to herself.

Bilal felt his legs couldn't hold him anymore, sitting back down on the chair. He stared down at his steaming tea, as it let out wispy, shapes into the night. Prayer?

Pray to who?

Allah?

Bilal turned his gaze to the sky. The world shifted around him. Nothing seemed pointless. Nothing seemed purposeless. Certainly, he didn't feel purposeless.

His gaze rimmed with aching for answers, the questions he had shunned down all his life, his chest ached with beatings of his heart, his soul was thirsty, and he felt it- he felt it by the echoes of his heart.

____

"Why did we part, bhai?" Waseem had asked, looking up from his study desk towards Junaid who had just entered his bedroom.

Junaid snotted, looking around Waseem's bedroom. It was small, shabby. Wooden walls, and the wooden floor. Dusty, barely capable to survive dinners.

"I never parted," Junaid shrugged, pocketing his hands into his flashy, deep, dark coat. He made sure to show his rich, glinting wristwatch, as he pulled his hand a bit out. "You did, however. Married your dear, Sara, and shifted to Muree- out of the whole world."

Waseem's brows inched closer, his head tilting over the letter he had been writing on his desk. "I like Murree."

"Yea, surely, you do," Junaid flashed his brother a sweet smile. "Did Sara, though? Did she deserve coming here from a well-founded family? I sometimes, can't believe she married you, when you promised her nothing."

"Leave Sara out of this," Waseem said, curtly. "I'm here to talk about us, bhai. She's left this world and-"

"In your household!" Junaid let out, raising his hands emphasizing. "She was your wife! In whose hands did she die? Who had her responsibility, hmm?"

Waseem's fists clenched over his pen. "Junaid bhai... you're stepping out of line. You're still boiling over the past? Sara wanted to marry me. It is what it is... now that she's gone-"

"Yea, yea, go ahead, Waseem." Junaid scoffed, eyes were red-rimmed. "Comfort yourself over that thought. While I lived in your shadows all my life, you finally know how it's like being the loser, don't you? Being the one who lost his light in front of the eyes of people?"

Junaid gestured around the shabby walls of Waseem's bedroom. "No one has, not even once looked your way, since your financial fall. Ever since Sara left you, no one has not once looked back to check over your children, except for Sara's parents."

Waseem's eyes squeezed shut. His head was dumped over his desk, his breathing hitched. "Junaid... bhai... I'm not feeling well." He said, the shadows of his brother's storm falling on him. "I called you... to help me- not to bring my death closer."

Junaid stopped short- eyeing Waseem, as he gathered few quick breaths from the inhaler. Junaid fell quiet, his lips pursed. "Now do you understand by what I meant, Waseem?" Junaid dropped his tone lower, stepping forward.

Waseem dared to raise his brown eyes, clashing them with Junaid's dark ones.

Junaid pressed his hands on the wood. "I warned you brother," Junaid hitched a cough. "Not to ever mess with your life. Don't take things too lightly. Now, where has all these prayers, and supplications have led you? What have you learned from those 'sheikhs' of yours, huh? What success have you been lecturing us all about? Have you seen what dump you live in?"

Waseem's eyes twitched- not of frustration but of pain. Pain to see that his brother couldn't see what he could. Light doesn't fall into darkness, it can only wipe away darkness till it's nonexistent.

"You're only taking things face-value, brother," Waseem said, lightly. "You only see what you want to see. I'm not a failure. I'm definitely not living in a mansion as big as yours, yea- I get it. But Alhumdulillah, I have a roof atop my head." Waseem got to his feet, focusing on the letter he had been writing. "Many people don't have that even."

Frustration reddened his cheeks, Junaid still couldn't see Waseem's peace disrupted. But he shook his head instead, stepping back with his hands raised.

"Fine. You fantasize over this..." he ran a bored gaze around the room once more, before it fell on a shaking table. He pulled out his leg and kicked it- till one of its wooden legs broke down. Feigning a pitiful look, Junaid said. "-garden of yours."

Junaid had left the room to check on Waseem's children, who were playing outside.

Waseem watched after his brother, his eyes growing weary.

"I hope so, InshaAllah," Waseem whispered, looking back down at the parchment. He rolled it up, before taking a ribbon from the drawers. "I'm waiting for that garden of mine."

____

His eyes snapped open. His chest heaved forward, and he choked resolutely. Images blurred in his mind, the sounds decayed.

His eyes rolled back before he composed himself. He looked around the room, small, and darkening. His hands panged on the bedsheets, calling out for someone to help him.

The door opened at once, and Bilal rushed forward, with his face trickling in water of ablution. He quickly filled a glass of water for Junaid, then, placed a hand on his father's back, helping him to straighten himself.

"Here, Baba, drink," Bilal whispered, soothingly- his eyes fixed on his father's tethering face, aching for breath.

Junaid gulped down the whole glass within seconds, once lowering it down, he allowed himself to cool down and take an easy breath.

"Better?" Bilal said, after a pause- once he thought Junaid had calmed himself down from his sleep terrors. Junaid nodded, quietly, staring forward into an abyss.

He was repeating the images of his memory, it still stuck to his head like the sweat rolling down his forehead. How vibrant was his dream.

"He was writing that scroll," Junaid hissed.

Bilal placed the glass on the tray when he had heard it. He turned around to peer at his father, and saw his father's expression was lifeless, he was no longer looking like that dominating CEO of his business, but rather, a weak, helpless, frail human at the edge of the past.

"Who was?" Bilal frowned deeply, reaching out to rub his father's back. "It must've been a bad dream."

"Not a dream, it was reality. It has happened before."

Bilal stared down at his father, unsure of what to say about this. He watched his father, crimple under the blanket.

"The scroll is in the desk," Junaid said, moodily, laying back down on the mattress, and staring at the ceiling like a ghost. "In my office room, in the drawers- I'm sure you'll notice the black ribbon around it."

When Bilal was overtaken by this sudden confession, wanting to question further- Junaid had stopped him short, with his hand raised. "Where is Musa right now?"

"He's..." Bilal faltered for words.

"You can give him the scroll," Junaid said, curtly, turning his face away abruptly. "Let this last weight of scroll be relieved from my shoulders."

Bilal didn't say anything for a while, not moving an inch from Junaid's bedside.

His gaze moved to the glow of the lamplight. "You know what would be a better way to relieve this off your shoulders, Baba?"

Junaid's eyes were stuck on the other wall, as Bilal looked over at his father, continuing. "You know what would truly heal the past if you want to take the chance?"

Junaid still did not say anything.

Bilal sucked a breath- he needed to try. He had to. "If you come with me to give the scroll to Musa, together."

Asalamualaykum,

Just a little flashback to make sense of everything. ☺️

- e . a