Sometimes love isn't the answer. And sometimes love isn't the problem. It's just somewhere in between.

-Sweet_Sultana

* * *

|Letter 2|

April 21st, 2018

Captain,

It's me, again.

I'm sorry for not meeting you and for not picking up your calls. I'm also sorry it took me two months to write to you again. I wasn't emotionally ready. However, here I am again, on the pages of this paper, hoping I can help lighten up the pain my abrupt departure was causing you. Or at least try to.

I still don't understand why I left; I mean people don't up and leave from where we come from, and I don't know if I would ever do, but I need you to know that it isn't your fault;not completely anyway.

I have demons, Captain, some really scary and terrifying demons which I
have always known or rather believed you couldn't save me from. You were, after all, someone who couldn't even save himself from the demons that ravaged his sleep nor the once that hung heavy during the day.

Yes! I knew about your nightmares. I couldn't not know. The piercing screams, the drenched sheets and the shivering, who did you think held your hands through all those nights? I should have confronted you about them, like almost everything, instead of treating it indifferently, but I couldn't or rather wouldn't. I was too scared then. However now I know differently.

My excuse for it all was that I was young and dumb and now, I guess I am just older and dumber. I know I shouldn't have left you, like how I should have confronted you all those years, but like I said earlier, I simply didn't know how. Or rather I feared you might catch on my hypocrisy on the whole secret thing.

However know this Captain, there is no neat, concise answer as to what led us here. At least none I can think of. All I can tell you is that I didn't know how to handle being loved by you and the harder I try to make sense of it, the more confused and pained I was and in the end, it lost it's meaning and I lost my way.

Don't forgive me, Captain. I can't forgive me either.

Maryam

"She didn't know how to handle being loved and I didn't know how not to love." I found myself musing as I closed shut the manuscript. I never realized that until now.

Jabir...Irrfan...Aman and now Jabir again. I couldn't help but wonder what they have in common.

They're all broken, a voice in my head replied, and they all have secrets.

And perhaps Jabir is the most broken of them all.

Surprising, and yet true. And he wasn't just my cousin's crush or my ex boyfriend, he was much more than that.

Jabir is my favorite man in the world

And I love him, endlessly.

* * *

We had met for the first time in the middle of March, seven months after the death of my dad when I had ran away from my Uncle's; I had been forced by Uncle Audu to come stay with him and his family. My mom had been grief stricken and had done nothing when he'd all but dragged me to his car and we'd drove for three hours to Katsina from Kaduna.

I had no friends and his daughter, Raihana, had clearly shown me that she didn't want anything to do with me and with no school to get my mind off things, I felt tortured—not that living with Uncle Audu's indifference, Aunty Zulai, his wife's disdain and my cousin Raihana's contempt wasn't torture enough. I simply missed my mom and I wanted to go home.

However that wasn't the first time I had seen him.

The first time was a month ago during Raihana's birthday party. He is the elder brother of Farida, Raihana's BFF however we weren't properly introduced— Raihana wouldn't let me anywhere near him and I have never seen her angrier than the day she'd caught me staring at him at her party.

That day, the sun had gleamed mildly with the wind blowing gently-a far cry from its blustery melody from the night before. The air was filled with mixtures of mouth watering snacks, homemade drinks and homecooked meals.

There was music, laughter, and lots and lots of goodies for everyone and there he was with his reluctant
smile and fiery raven eyes looking very much bored.

He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.

His eyes had moved and unfortunately met mine, and for those brief seconds his met mine and lingered, I was enthralled. I suddenly had this fantasy of
growing up and marrying him, it was probably farfetched, but if you were like me who at such a young age had ravenously devoured books by Shakespeare, Austen and read the famed Madame Bovary for the tenth time, trying to figure out its scandal, then you'd probably understand.

I still remember his laughter as it echoed faintly rolling around the house that day, like he was the only person in the party, swallowing
all the voices around him.

The thing was I was infatuated.

* * *

After a few miles of walking aimlessly, I found myself lost and hot; thoroughly soaked with sweat.

"Reima!" I heard someone call from behind me. "Wait up!"

I turned and watched my caller curiously as he covered the distance between us.

He was dressed in a black Jersey and blue jeans, which clung to his body making him look even thinner than he was as he jogged toward me. I shifted uncomfortably; I wanted to be left alone, moreover we weren't even close. I didn't even know he knew my name.

He caught up and we walked on in silence. I was relieved that he hadn't asked any question and seemed even relieved with the silence.

"I am running away from home." I said suddenly.

The thing that had driven me to confide in him was beyond me though; the
words had simply rushed out and I fear there was little I could have done to prevent them.

He stopped and faced me. He, however, didn't say a word but kept on staring at me and after a while, I was sure he wouldn't say a word when I heard his voice, almost like a faraway whisper.

"My stepmother wants me out of my dad's life."

I looked up at him and watched as understanding spread over his face. He knew I had been crying and was devastated, and yet he
chose to share his pain with me. I don't understand why, but he seemed to understand that what I needed was conversation right now. That moment of kindness was the exact moment that he became my
undoing. My very own rebound.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?"I asked my voice hoarse.

He looked over at me with a thoughtful expression.

"Reima," he said pointedly. "It isn't your fault that some people don't like you, like it wasn't mine that my stepmother feels threatened by me. They have their reasons and even though their reasons are not always clear to us, we also have a choice; to accept or not to, either way, whatever we chose, is the right choice."

I opened my mouth to respond, but his words had stroked me numb. He was right, it wasn't my fault and I had a choice.

"It's not your fault they think you evil." He repeated softly and I smiled.

There was something about the way he spoke them that made me realise he wasn't talking about me. And as I watched his pained eyes, I knew it wasn't feigned. He was sincere. It was a look I knew even at thirteen that I would never forget.

I looked up at the sky. The orange hue of the sun was slowly floating towards dusk.

"We better get going." I called softly.

"Home?" He asked softly.

I nodded. "Home."

Once we reached my uncle's house, he walked away
without sparing me another glance, but somehow I knew he meant well.

"It isn't your fault." His words echoed in my head and I found myself nodding my head realizing that I believed him.

And although it hadn't stopped the fear which had enveloped my being when I finally stepped inside; I felt like a fish caught in a fisherman's net, it made me feel lighter as I tiptoed into the living room hoping not to meet anyone and sneak my way to my room however a voice stopped me in my track. I realized that I had been shivering the entire time.

"Reima?" It was my mum's

I turned toward her with red, puffy eyes. Her own eyes widened with concern and she froze as she watched me run and hug her tightly. She held onto me almost as if she was waiting for me to
crumple onto the floor and shatter into pieces.

"Is there anything wrong?You look like you've been crying."She asked tentatively

"I'm fine, Mum."I said, hugging her closer. "I love you a lot."

She held me closer. "I'm the happiest woman on earth to have such an amazing daughter." And we both smiled. And at that moment, there was no greater truth or even love.

Maybe I should have known then; Jabir was a harbinger of good fortune.

Why?

It didn't even rain the day we met.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, I opened the letters again. I didn't like my train of thought and since I wasn't sleepy, I figured why not.

|Letter 3|

Captain,

Do you even read my letters? Probably not, right? However I can't seem to stop. Thankfully my therapist said it was a good idea, that it will aid my healing process. Seems like you are saving me, again. Like You've done ever since that day.

Do you still remember the day you'd saved me for the first time? I remember vividly. I remember the muddied ball hitting my head hard and soiling my uniform as it rolled down to the ground. I remember thinking how that was the least of my problems. Nor was the fact that it was done purposely by my step-brother, Zaid, and his gang of friends. It just didn't matter anymore. And I remembered feeling really tired of adding things to my already humungous list of problems anyway, especially Zaid-related ones.

What I remembered best however was thinking how you were my particular problem. Yes, you! My step brother's cool not-so cool bestfriend. You had unexpectedly blocked my path and shielded me from the torrents of balls that was due my way. It was a new development which had made me clueless, but whose repercussions I had very much feared. It was just one of those
things that weren't supposed to ever happen, like some glitch or something and I feared for myself for I had no idea how the circus would play out.

It had felt so unfair!

Normally the circus would have ended with the eruption of laughter after the ball had been thrown countless of times at me; it never stops until I was knocked off my feet, and I have learnt over the years to oblige you guys-it had been easier than standing up to you which had only made the whole bullying worse, but now, I didn't know where this particular scene fits in the noir movie which was my life. But from what I had seen of the schemes brewed by your devilish minds, I knew to expect the worst.

I had however stood there, rooted in fear, at a loss on what to do or rather what was expected of me to do. I knew Zaid, he wasn't one to let go of an oppurtunity to humiliate or even beat me up, and with this unexpected turn to events, I was sure it wouldn't end in just harsh words and soiled uniform. I shuddered at the mere thought of the terrible things that awaited me.

"Are you alright?"

Those were the first words you said to me. At first, I hadn't realised those words were directed at me. So I had hurriedly glanced back to see whether you were referring to someone else. It had felt just so unusual, so alien that it hadn't been registered on my consciousness. It was as if my brain had thought it had been exposed to some malware, or something of the sort. But when the same words were repeated again and your dangerously brown eyes intensely looked into mine, I snapped back into consciousness immediately and found myself nodding vigorously. "Yes, ffiiinnneee." I had answered quietly

Yes, I was fine. How can I not be? I remembered thinking as I bent down immediately and began gathering my books. I couldn't not be fine even if I wanted to.

"Here," that your dangerously low voice had interrupted my thoughts again. I remember looking up fearfully at you, only to find you were also crunched on the ground beside me and was handing me some pages of my book which had torn off.

I had pulled out my arm cautiously, not putting it off you to do something sinister to me; it wouldn't be the first time I had been bullied by you people anyway, but you'd unceremoniously dropped the paper on my outstretched hand and stood up, leaving me more and more confused and agitated-Zaid's friends were never nice.

I sat there a few more minutes longer, unsure of what to do whilst subconsciously preparing myself for mayhem. I remember hearing angry voices at a distance which seem to be getting closer to me every passing minute, but I can't make out what the voices were saying-I had been too terrified anyway to pay attention.

"Will you get going or will you just sit there all day?" You had asked. And I had looked up blankly at you, not able to comprehend what your mouth was saying.

"Yes?" You eyed the direction to my school.

My brain and my body however doesn't seem to be in sync with whatever was happening there that day. My instincts however told me you were freeing me from the clutches of my fear of an impending doom and offering me a way out of the hollow I was about to be sucked into, but my brain, at that moment couldn't understand why you were doing so. It seemed too good a thing to be coming out from something so rotten, almost an impossibility.

And so, I had forced myself to relaxed, letting my brain to return back to work and allowed my body to fend for itself, and with no further ado, I had scrambled to my feet and ran as fast as my legs could carry me towards school, too scared to do anything but run.

I simply couldn't believe my luck. However I feared if I looked back, that would probably be the end of me. But I did anyway. That's however a story for another day.

However from that moment on, you have always been there for me. Maybe that was why I always forgive you easily, because I know you, you whom nobody even knew, not even you I dare say. But you were like an onion for me; because of how easily you made me cry, I sometimes forget you're made of water.

But I have watched you at your worst-when the pain, and nightmares, and loneliness had persisted, I have seen you breakdown, consumed by the fears that hunted you and I've watched you pick up the pieces and try to mend them together again. Your pain had always distracted me from mine. That's not bad, right? I hope not! The truth was...I basked in your strength, in your weakness and forgot to live through mine.

Some days, living through you doesn't seem so bad-it makes me feel alive and happy...But on other days, it made me feel weak, worthless even. I was suffering from a strange kind-of melancholy. I fear being with you, and I fear being without you, almost as if my soul was restless with itself. Everything about you interests me, even your broken soul and your impenetrable silence, but it wasn't enough to hold me-like a jigsaw puzzle, some pieces were still missing.

Sometimes, I find myself tracing your steps, or even reading the books you've spent the previous night reading. They don't fill the void left by your silence, but in a weird way, I feel much closer to you in these moments than I've ever felt in your presence. Silly, isn't it? But you've always made me feel silly, special, in your own evasive way.

You remember that day I had cried because Gus had died in the movie Fault in our stars leaving his Hazel behind? You had hugged me tightly and said you would never leave me and I believed you 'cause at that moment, I knew you were it for me. Some days like today, I'm glad for those memories we've shared. I was never certain we would be together forever though-I never let myself fall completely. Maybe part of me always knew we weren't meant to last, but I've always known that you'll always be a person I'll always miss.

And I'll always hope for you to find a way out of your darkness. A day when loving would just be that for you, loving, and not some sort of escape.

I wasn't healthy for you; I wasn't even good for you. I was water which couldn't douse out your fiery fires and me leaving you was a good thing, trust me. It's sad, but it was the truth. I am a person whose light couldn't get to your darkness.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we were simply unfortunate. Nevertheless, I am a storm I'm glad you don't have to endure anymore.

With despair,

Maryam Muhammad Maishadda.

I paused. I knew when I began reading this letters again, it'll awake something I had tried so hard to put to sleep, but with each letter, it seems as if the feelings never even rested and are coming back in full force to torment me. It was as if I could feel their pain mingling surreptitiously with mine.

I took another swig and read the next letter.

|Letter 4|

Captain,

It hurts, alot. And I feel like I'm dying. Was this it for us? Letting go of each other? How did we become poisonous to each other and an unsettling addiction?

Why do I feel guilty for craving the things we once had? Like smiling at the morning tides because it bloomed with endless possibilities and infinite hope, or how you'd spend hours staring at me whilst you pretend to read the book you've been waiting for months.

I liked that a lot; how you made me feel more special than anything else in your life, like I was the Sun to your earth. Or even how we'd watch the sunset, glad for the end of a day we had been blessed with. With you, twenty-four hours was never enough, there was infinite number of things I always wished we did at the end of each day-and that hadn't changed even now. But now, I simply wished we had lived more wildly, more fiercely-the memories never seem to be enough

And yes I remember that day too.

"Maryam, wait...Stop!"

You had called frantically after me but I had hastened my pace anyway, determined to create more space between us. Hoping to make it to the next corner and then I would be on a road where it wouldn't be so scary and all shades of awkward. Moreover it was for the greater good.

It was two weeks after the whole unexpected knightly day and I haven't seen you at our house or anywhere around. Zaid had been unreasonably quiet; irritated, yes, but quiet and I remember thinking how much I liked his pranks and loud outbursts to that. It was like the calm before a storm and having been under that specific storm for quite a while, I feared it was definitely going to be terrifying.

I also remember thinking about my affinity with boys that liked to corner me in alleys. I didn't think I gave that weird-freakish-scaredy innuendo.

"MARYAM!" You grabbed my Hijab, forcing me to halt.

I knew you would catch up with me if you wanted to, I just didn't know why you would want to. You were on your bicycle, sporting on an all a white costume; a white sleeveless shirt with a hoodie, a knees length white trouser with legs on the brakes. You also had on white sneakers and a white and green stripped socks. I remember thinking how you had looked great, though you were the exact person I shouldn't be seen around with.

"Can we talk for a minute?" You asked, your eyes pinning me down.

I had nodded slowly and you had let go of my hijab, but for a few more seconds, none of us said anything.

"I have your diary," you had blurted out finally.

I had looked up frighteningly at you. I didn't understand why you would have that. It had been missing since...

Oh no! Since the day you'd helped picked my books.

I remember wondering why you kept it? You could have easily left it on the ground and I would have found it- I had searched endlessly for it in the past two weeks.

"...and I read it." I looked up again, this time alarmed. I didn't understand why you did that? It held my most private of thoughts and feelings.

"Not all," I took a breath of relief, "-but most of it."

Not page 10, please God, please, please God. Not page 10, I had kept on praying earnestly in my mind, I felt as if I would die of embarassment if you had.

"...and I'm curious about something." I kept my head down, twitching my fingers nervously, hoping, wishing and praying.

"Page 10..."

I had closed my eyes in disappointment. I was doomed.

"...is torn off, and I would really like to know what's on that page."

Wait, what? Torn? He didn't read it. Thank you, Thank you, thank you God, I had squealed inwardly in excitement.

"Maryam?" Your voice penetrated my thoughts and I looked up at you. You were staring expectantly at me and I didn't understand why.

"I'm listening," you had coerced softly.

I evaded your gaze, at a loss to what to say to you. This was the longest we've spoken in the four years I had known you and all the others had only required just a yes, no, okay or simply a nod;

Is Zaid home?

Where is Zaid?

Can you tell Zaid I'm waiting for him outside?

Tell Zaid I can't come in.

Zaid, Zaid, Zaid...

Whatever words I had exchanged with you had always had the Zaid factor, that was, apart from our last run in and you'd asked if I was alright. And now you were asking me about my most private thoughts and was even expecting answers. That moment was the weirdest happening in my life.

"Yes?" I could feel you were beginning to feel irritated if the rise in your tempo was any proof.

"I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what you're expecting me to say," I had said in a low but audible voice.

"Tell me what you wrote," you insisted. "I know it's about me, I just want to hear it from you."

"No, it's not." I denied, but the look you gave me made it very clear that you didn't believe me. "Or maybe it is but it's none of your business."

I however put my hands over my mouth as soon as those words flew out, my heart racing frantically. I couldn't believe I'd actually said those words out loud, and to you. The way you stared open-mouthed at me too explained you were also shocked.

"I guess it's not, but I still want to know."

He wasn't angry? Why wasn't he angry? I spared a glance at you and saw you still had the same look you had a few minutes ago; curiousity tinged with a little amazement. But now, amusement also lightened your eyes and I couldn't decide which I hated more; your cold indifference or this awkward innuendo? When is everything going to go back to normal anyway? I wailed, I hated all the uncertainties more than I did the bullying, at least that I could ignore, this, my mind nagged at me endlessly about. What was your problem with me anyway? I had hissed softly, irritated.

For the first time in years, I felt anger; a raw, sharp claw of hatred clutching my being. I didn't know why now, nor why at you exactly, I guess I just needed to say some things and before I could restrain myself, I'd already began.

"I know you don't like me but this is kind of over the top rudeness." I paused, taking in a deep breath. "You read my diary, that too, without my permission but instead of pretending you hadn't just laid naked my thoughts, you are here demanding, no, threatening me to disclose some more of my most private mind thoughts. What are you? A beast? Or just a rude arrogant brat who doesn't know when to stop? In whatever way, stay the hell away from me!" I hissed and walked away, feeling more lighter than I had in years.

God, it had felt good to lash out.

I can't believe it took you twenty years to return back my diary. What I couldn't wrap my head around was that you knew what No. 10 was that day you had stopped me. I never could have guessed. It was however something I had wished we'd someday laughed about which we never did. Another item on my regret list I guess.

The first thing on the list is wishing I had told you how much I really love you. Especially on those nights when your voice had howled painfully and your heart had slammed savagely against your ribcage. And on those days when your smiles had felt as if they were lost and your soul was on the verge of collapse. I wished I had told you how much you had meant to me and not hide behind those similes and metaphors I was so good at. Perhaps if I had, we wouldn't be here. Perhaps...

Forgive me if I'm not making any sense. But you know I was never good at making sense and these days moreso. It is getting difficult for me to keep track of the days I feel alive. Most days, I'm simply breathing. My moods had become almost like the unpredictable weather, with my laughter coming and going as it pleases and my tears, a flowing river on some days and on others, a plain desert. But I never lose them completely, just like the memories of you; they always find their way back.

Maybe the feelings would disappear as the ink of these pages fades. Wishful thinking, isn't it? Or maybe as I pen down these words that had hung over us, my heart would stop beating slowly and thoughts of you would cease. Another wishful thinking, isn't it? But thoughts of you are like a cactus on a desert-it was relentlessly persistent.

I wasn't making sense, right? Well nothing in my life does anymore, but I keep on living anyway. Why?

Because living is the only choice I've got.

With love,
Maryam Muhammad Maishadda.

* * *

I was crying when Mum had came back into my room.

Apparently, I had stayed up all night. She was groggy and squinting. "You didn't sleep?"

I closed the book and pushed it to the side. "I'm just kind off confused about some things right now that I hardly even took note of the pace of time." I explained

She didn't say anymore even though I knew she was itching to say more and I was very grateful. I have reached my emotional limit for the day.

Sometimes, I wish she knew it all. My ma was a very strong woman and would probably come up with a very great course of action, but I've always felt like this was my battle and if I was to be anything I've always dreamt of becoming, it begins here, on how I could fare against this adversary.

I took a quick shower and prayed before the honey laden hands of sleep swept me comfortable away. I hadn't even realised how exhausted I was until I felt my muscles relaxing on the bed.

This was the first time in months I was actually sleeping without the aid of a tranquilizer.

I guess it's true; some things do get better with time.