He was everything I always told myself I needed and yet he was nothing I wanted.

-Sweet_Sultana

* * *

KADUNA, NIGERIA.
January 1st, 2017.
12:00am

"Three...two...one, HAPPY NEW YEAR," Hanna, Jabir and I screamed in unison. I smiled staring at the faces of my best friend and my boyfriend through my computer screen. We are video calling. Hanna said goodbye first leaving me alone with Jabir.

"So, uhm-," I trailed off, not knowing what to say. It was still awkward between us.

I had finally plucked up the courage to call him last week and tell him I want him back; if he wants me too. He'd ended the call abruptly, leaving me feeling all shades of awkwardness only for him to show up minutes later on my doorstep sporting the goofiest smile I had ever seen and a very bold yes written on a cardboard paper. It was truly pleasing. 

"So-," he teased, mimicking my voice

"Goodnight?" I asked softly meeting his eyes.

"Goodnight." He drawled lazily shutting his eyes.

Smiling, I turned off my computer.

It was our thing; for him to shut his eyes whenever I wanted to leave. He said it makes the pain of separation easier. However instead of sleeping, I found myself reminiscing about the last few months.

To say it had been hard would probably be an understatement, for it hadn't been just hard, but was also suicidal; waking up each morning hoping it was night already, thinking of death more than anything and just simply wishing your days away.

Yes, it was positively hellish. 

They; Aman and his twin, Amar my ex husband, had dropped me off after driving for three hours. No word was exchanged again between us; I had made sure of that—I had my eyes shut and my head rested against the car seat on a feeble attempt to depict I was asleep. I knew they knew I wasn't asleep but I guess they had the decency to let me be, not that I was thankful; I hated them both for the ordeal they had put me through.

My mum had been waiting by the door for me; Aman had phoned her. It had felt weird and awkward and creeped the hell out of me; listening to my mom's voice on Aman's phone but I pretended not to be. I really didn't want to know my mom's connection to these whole nightmare.

And when the car had stopped hours later in front of my house, I stepped out of the car without as much as a glance and ran straight into my mom's arms.  She'd hugged me tightly as she felt my tears ran down her back.

I finally felt safe!

I was, however, soon confronted with the questions I had earlier convinced myself I didn't need when I heard my mom on the phone as I stepped out of the bathroom.

"If as much as a hair on her head was harmed, I will make sure you pay for it." She hissed and hung up the phone.

I didn't confront her though. The answers scared me and I didn't think I was strong enough for the truth. Not yet anyway.

It had however not stopped me from mopping around for days with red, puffy eyes and watched as my ma stared at me as if she was waiting for me to crumple and shatter to pieces. I was fairly certain my heart was on the verge of stopping those days after my return home. I know I said I didn't want any answers, but the  questions were all but killing me.

My mum worried a lot but it was always I'm fine, no matter how hard she tried to find out what was happening to me or speak to me about what had happened. I just wasn't ready and whenever the probing gets almost over bearing, I just smile and lock myself in my room. It always worked.

And as for Hanna, I avoided her almost like the plague. More so Jabir; he was after all my all time favourite friend. There was always a good enough reason why I should be excused whenever my presence had been needed.

Three days after I came back home however, I finally stepped out of the house. It was either that or Dr Ahmed and I really wasn't ready for his analysis of my meltdown.

Talk about a lesser evil.

It was better, at least for me.

I spent all day looking around our neighbourhood wondering about every one's life-except mine. I wondered if the man I saw laughing with two other people was happy. I wondered if the small girl clinging to her mother's skirt as they walked out of the super market was happy. I wondered if people were really happy, because I suddenly didn't understand the world anymore.

Everyone seems to be busy, all the time; some in their cars, some walking to their cars while others are on foot. And it seemed to me as if they were just moving too fast. Or maybe it was I who was moving slow. But other than that, it was so quiet.

However after walking aimlessly for hours, I found myself on the main road. Not wanting to go back, at least not yet, I hailed down a bus and got in. And when it took off, I found myself thinking about the last time I was in a bus and before I could stop myself, I found myself staring out the window and up the sky. I let out a breath of relief; there was no trace of rain.

For some reason, the thought of being caught up in a storm terrified me.

When the bus stopped moments later; probably to let a passenger out, I paid my fare too and stepped out, realizing too late where I had stopped. It was the road that led to REHAN PUBLISHING or at least where it once was.

It suddenly felt funny how a few days ago, I had ran down this path like my life depended on it and today I don't even want to be here.

Yes, it was indeed funny!

Monday had begun with its own kind of nightmares, but here I was, Saturday, with no thought about my Monday issues. It's really crazy, no matter how much I thought of it. It's almost surreal how fast the worries I had thought were once insurmountable had became inconsequential and it still scares me a lot.

And as I stood there contemplating my fate, I couldn't help but think of  Aman and the strange fate that brought us together.

It was true that I wonder about him most times, though it was often shrouded in guilt and pain, and no matter how much I try not to think about him, I always catch myself wondering what it would be like to meet him again or what would have happened if I hadn't met him or what would I have discovered if I had listened to their version of the truth.

Where does Aman star in the story? Who is Amar to me? They both seem important to my life, but how? Where is the line between Aman and Amar in my life? How do I know who amongst them had my heart?

However one thing was certain; I really needed to meet him one last time. Even though the reason why eludes me at the moment. I just needed to.

Curious, I walked down the path to the company. Maybe he was there, maybe he wasn't. Maybe I am crazy, maybe I am not. Who knows these things clearly?

But I was going there anyway.

* * *

I was confronted by a sealed gate and no one in sight. Aman clearly wasn't here; nobody was.

What were you expecting? A voice asked from deep within my consciousness and I find myself voicing the question.

Yes, Reima, What?

However for a moment, I just let my hands rest on the gate. It wasn't because of any special reason or anything, I just wanted to feel a part of something, anything, and this gate which had opened up to the dreams of a lot of people seems like a nice place to hope.

I think I get it now;why companionship was important to humans. It was because of loneliness. Nobody deserves to be lonely. It wasn't just sad, it was plain torture, and messed up, and hellish and definitely worse than being jobless and single at twenty-five.

Not that my singleness and joblessness bothered me anymore; nothing does anymore.

And after hours of wandering and wondering, I went back home—it was no use dwelling over an already lost dream. I needed to pick myself up and start thinking of my next course of action because the sad truth was, I was still single and Jobless, and time was, unfortunately, not on my side.

I decided soon after that, however, to let him, them, go and focus on my life; which soon proved to be easier said than done.

It was difficult and probably the hardest thing I've ever done, but I had somehow pulled through. Thanks to therapy, my mom, Hannah, Jabir and Aman's letters; they had all given me a reason to live again albeit all my pain and troubles.

Writing had helped me a lot too; it still does whenever the wind of pain breezed through my heart, and I ended up writing a book, though I haven't finished it yet, but I have a publisher who was willing to publish the book. I called it;

'100 letters; Love and Love.'

I guess they were simply my way of venting out all the bad blood loitering my system. I never imagined it would get an amazing review as it had on my blog the first few days I posted the introduction; People actually liked it. I guess it was what gave me the courage to keep on writing, at least my story would find home in the heart of people, and hopefully help someone find a way back to their love, even though my own had sad endings.

* * *

I reached for the manuscript of the book lying on the desk and slowly opened it. I never read the letters once I send them, but today seem like a day to begin closure on that short, but nevertheless, amazing part of my life.

PROLOGUE

My dearest Maryam,

Whenever I imagined the end of my life, I always thought of fireworks; bright, loud and merry. Yes, that was exactly how I wanted to go-with a bang but this wasn't it at all. I can feel myself nearing the end, but there was no light, only darkness and more darkness. There was no sound either, just silence- a remorseless, cold silence that seems to Pierce the very fabric of my being.

No, I wasn't really dying, dying; at least not from anything deadly like cancer or any incurable disease, but I was dying nevertheless.

I strangle in the darkness my once bright memories were plunging me and the clichéd light at the end of the tunnel was just that, light at the end of the tunnel; nothing more, nothing less. Truth was, there was none in sight for me and if 366 days of torment was no certain proof of that, I guess nothing would ever be.

True to your words, you are gone; gone completely from my life. You had moved on, just as you had threatened and yet here I am trapped somewhere in time immune to the change in its tides.

In here, the day fearlessly embraces the night and the cold harmattan breeze you had left had been relieved by the hot and unforgiving March weather. And when the rains had rose from its depths, I had stood unmoved and perhaps even, unchanged. November had come with its nudity; stripping the world of it's beauty and yet here I stood, at the same place I was a December ago. Nothing had changed for me and yet so much had changed.

Move on, you'd say? But how was I suppose to do that? How do I end something which was out of my hands from the very beginning? It had begun with our choices and I had made mine as you've clearly made yours. It might not have been the best and have somehow lead us here, to this, but strangely, I feel no regrets. Falling for you-even though it now feels like opening a Pandora box; a box which should have never been opened, is singly the most amazing happening in my life. However, not even that was enough to shield me from the pain your leaving was causing.

Would I find the solution to my insanity in your letters? Would my world suddenly make sense again? Honestly I don't know. Maybe that was why I hadn't read them. Or maybe it was the only place I could see you anymore, my last refuge, and I didn't want to lose that; at least not yet.

Or maybe I am simply scared; What if you don't want me back? What if you never loved me? What if I was never enough? What if I have lost my chance with you forever? Yes, I am truly scared.

Why then am I writing to you suddenly? Well, I wanted you to know that I was going to read all those letters you sent me. Yes, finally. All hundred of them. No more hiding! No more excuses!  Why? Because I fear I can never really move on if I didn't.

Wish me luck!

Yours forever,
Mukhtar.

From the moment I began to read the first line in the first paragraph, I felt claustrophobic, as if my heart was about to tear out from its cage due to an enormous influx of feelings;  the pain all simply came bouncing back from whence the wound was new. It felt as if I was reading Aman's letters all over again.

And when I reached here, I stopped reading. It was getting harder to see the words when tears clouded my eyes. I felt like a wreck, with nothing but pain and tears.

I got up and went to the kitchen. I was in desperate need of a hot cup of coffee; I think the caffeine would help. My mum had met me in the kitchen while I was waiting for the water to simmer.

I turned towards her and her eyes widened with concern. I knew she would catch on easily so I decided to let it out before she did.

"I'm fine, ma." I said. "It's just the new year euphoria and I was going through some stuff and got a bit emotional. I'm just getting a cup of coffee." I reached for the gas switch and poured the coffee into a mug. I then headed back to my room.

She followed me into my room. "Its two a.m."

I took a deep breath bracing myself for what was coming next.

"-and it is becoming the norm for you. I don't think I like this new behaviour of yours, especially when it is clearly becoming a bad habit."

I forced out a smile on my face."Mum, I am absolutely fine. I just needed closure on some things in my life right now and that was exactly what I was doing."

I heard her mumble something which almost sounded like, 'It was high time', before she walked away, bidding me a good night and a happy new year.

"A happy New Year?" I mused softly, that was definitely what I was hoping it would  be.

I took a swig from my coffee and then cracked open the book again.

LETTER|1|

February 14th, 2018

My Captain,

          I was sitting on the swing at the backyard this morning listening to the symphony of the birds as they chew on the last of the grains you'd fed them before leaving home this morning when I was driven by an unquenchable yearning to simply talk to you. I don't know, but listening to them chirp kindof reminded me of how silent we've grown these past few years and I couldn't help but wonder how we got here.

           The wind was kind; resting easy on this cool February morning. It was unlike anything we've experienced in the past few days, much like what our lives had become Captain; cool enough to feel but never strong enough to really change anything. Almost like an afterthought.

          Maybe that was why I kept thinking of the time when our being together created tsunamis; a time when we were more than a mere feeling, a time when our laughter had filled the spaces in our lives, a time when we shared everything and now, I don't know, I feel like there is nothing left between us save this choking emptiness and stifling silence. And so as I dialled your number, filled with these fears and loneliness, I couldn't help but feel lost when you didn't pick up after countless rings.

          However I wasn't deterred.  I picked up a piece of paper and decided to write you a letter and let loose whatever fears, and regrets, and loneliness, and pain ravaged my being. But as the pen touched the paper, I realized I didn't know what to say. I tried; again, and again, and again, but nothing came to mind, just an echoing emptiness.

          Perhaps it was because I've never really talked to you. Perhaps it was because I was always the listener; the one who was always expected to understand. I don't know, but I just couldn't. And yet I really wanted to and so I forced myself.

          At first, I wanted to begin by asking you how you were or even if you are okay; we never talked about these things anymore.  However, I soon realised that I didn't really want to know. Truth was, I was scared, 'cause for the first time in the decade I've spent with you, I realized I wanted it to be all about me-I know you would very much agree on that. It was probably long overdue.

           However talking about me wasn't easy either. I kept thinking about time, emptiness, loneliness... love and ultimately, you.

        I've always been scared of losing you, perhaps more than I even loved you. I was always scared that you would one day leave me or realize you never loved me. That I wasn't good enough for you. And these feelings have become a part of my being for so long that I can't really differentiate my feelings and my fears. I guess they've somehow merged into this unrecognizable being that I've become.

      And now I am afraid I don't know who or what I am anymore, Captain. And I realized that scared me far more than losing you. I always knew I didn't deserve you but atleast there was justification; I was in love. Now, there's nothing. Just a wrecked shell of what once was.
         
          Maybe that was why I had dropped the pen and paper and picked up my bags and without a second thought, I had left.  There was nothing left in the house to make me stay anymore.

          I can't say that I'm sorry I left, but I am truly sorry for hurting you. The time I spent with you was the brightest and the most happiest time of my life. I hate that it lead us here.

With regret,

Maryam Muhammad Maishadda.

I stopped reading, shut the book, cried for a few minutes, unable to contain my emotions, and then took another swig and began again.