It was Zaakhir, my gut feeling. It had to be.

Tala's language skills had been limited to conversational English and the chances of her writing a coherent letter were slim. It surely could not have been Faizan, Yassar, Rafaa...or even Ahsan.

All four of them had been executed in front of me.

The only possibility was that it was Zaakhir, a supposedly well-learned man. As far as I knew, he had not been killed at any point in the past two years and was still on the run.

The majority of me wanted to throw the envelope into the nearest sewer, but a tiny part of me was curious.

But, not curious enough.

I immediately stuffed the letter into my book bag and promptly stood up, the contents of my partially unzipped bag fell to the ground. Internally groaning, I stretched down to retrieve my unkempt assortment of books and papers when a hand reached down to grab a small white paper for me.

"Thanks," I mumbled, extending my arm to grab the paper when I was greeted with a cold smirk.

It was the same boy with whom I had argued earlier.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" He asked nobody in particular. Classes were being dismissed and a number of students strode in and out of the building, paying little attention to the tense exchange between the boy and I. He flapped the paper in my face before flipping it so I could see the front. I froze. "Aww, how cute. You keep a picture of your boyfriend in your bag?"

I had not realized that I put Ahsan's picture in my book bag to begin with. My face flushed and I could feel the heat rising all the way up to my forehead. "Give that back."

"Did living the terrorist life in the Middle East cause you to forget your manners?" He asked menacingly. "I guess so," he answered his own question, "I doubt those people practice proper etiquette when trying to blow up a town."

"Carter!" A girl rushed over to where we were standing and stood by the boy. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing much, just dealing with a terrorist sympathizer," he replied smugly.

Though I had half a mind to break down in tears right there, I swallowed, mindful of the people around us, and spoke in a hushed tone. "Can I please have it back?"

"What's that?" Carter exclaimed loudly. "You want your boyfriend's picture back? Is he a terrorist too?"

Every head turned in our direction.

During the time of the execution, Ahsan's face, as well as that of the others, was all over different forms of media. Though now, it had been well over a year and Carter did not seem like the type of person to use any news source whatsoever.

However, that did not mean that he was not capable of riling people up.

"Carter," I mumbled, my face reddening with each moment. "Can I please have the photo? I've never done anything to you-"

"Really?" He interjected, as some people stopped in their tracks to blatantly eavesdrop. "Comparing me to Hitler and calling me a terrorist in front of an entire class is nothing at all!"

My shoulders slumped in near-defeat. My choice of words had been wrong in the midst of my anger, but he was just as horrid to me. However, I was in no position to resume the dispute here. I just needed the photo and had to run out of the place.

"I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I told him softly, blinking away the hot tears. "Can I have it back now?"

"This?" Carter questioned, holding out the photo with his two thumbs and index fingers and tearing it from the top. "Sure, you - can - have - it - back," he said, shredding the picture right down the middle with each word. He gathered the pieces in his fist and threw them at my face.

I watched in horror as fragments of my heart slowly glided to the floor.

Ahsan's face was torn.

I crouched down, trying to pick up the pieces. I did not even try to stop the tears from falling this time.

Carter lazily turned on his heels to go when Marc appeared out of nowhere, pinning Carter's throat to the wall with his forearm, with Nat closely behind.

"Who the hell do you think you are, you piece of shit!" Marc said through gritted teeth to Carter.

Nat's eyes flickered from me, surrounded by the small pile of photo shreds, to Carter, whose oxygen supply was being forcefully cut off. She gripped Marc's upper arm, trying to yank him off of Carter, but he had stayed put. "Marc! You're suffocating him! Let him go!"

Only after giving me a quick glance, did Marc finally let go of Carter, but not before roughly pushing him out of the way. The latter massaged his throat and hurriedly ran off with the girl clinging to his side, and the crowd dispersed. Marc and Nat swooped down to the floor on either side of me.

"He...he ripped..." I sobbed, allowing Nat to pull me in for a hug.

"Shh," Marc whispered, kneeling down and gathering the photo pieces in a pile. "Let's get you home."

"Don't throw those out," I said, as the three of us stood up. "I want them."

"Uhm, sure." Marc gave Nat a sideways glance before putting all of the pieces into the outer pocket of my bag. The three of us exited the building together and went into Marc's car without a word.

***

Once Marc had reached my house, Nat had invited herself over for the night when she saw that it was empty. My parents were still at work, Hamad was at his dorm, and Hydar had gone out to buy groceries - all according to Hydar's text. Both Marc and Nat were uneasy about me staying home alone after the earlier incident, and so, Marc had driven off and Nat was presently rummaging through my closet for pajamas.

"Hey Hayat, where are your clean towels? I wanna take a quick shower before I change into these," Nat said, holding out a pair of pajamas that I did not know were in my possession. "Then we can forget about assignments and have a movie night!"

Nat's showers were never quick. I gave her a tight-lipped smile as I answered her question. "There's a whole pile of new ones in the bathroom closet."

"Okie dokie!"

I waited until she had locked the bathroom door before racing into my room to retrieve the envelope filled with Ahsan's pictures and running down the stairs. With my book bag still slung over my shoulder, I started up the fireplace in the living room, because it was unbearably cold, and strolled into the kitchen as I waited for the flames to grow. I hesitated in front of one of the cabinets where we normally kept medications. Both my mother and father had a new set of medicines they were required to take after their PTSD relapse and second heart attack, respectively. Because there were so many, my parents had not yet suspected that their daughter was the reason for some missing pills.

...pills that their daughter was taking on purpose, sporadically for the past month, so that she could pave the way to her own death.

I did not know what else to do.

Ideally, our family life was supposed to be patched together after being separated for so long, but it had actually shattered even more than before. Things were falling apart and it was truly my fault even though nobody would dare admit it out loud. A few months back, Hydar told us about a girl he had liked and things were going well between the two of them and between both families, that is, until they came over to visit and saw me. Apparently, the latest bit of gossip was that I had been thrown around among many extremists, that I was presently seeking refuge in my parents' home, and that I was unfit to be called their daughter's sister-in-law.

Hydar had furiously kicked them out right on the spot.

I had apologized to him countless amounts of times, but he had brushed off the matter as though it had been nothing. He had told me that he didn't like the girl that much anyways. It was clear to me that he was obviously lying so that I wouldn't drown myself in guilt even further. He never made an effort to communicate with her since then.

Then there were my parents, who seemed to be getting increased doses of medicine every few months. Had I stayed home and completed an internship here instead of halfway around the world, my parents would not have to go through any such pain. The only person who was mildly unaffected was Hamad and that was solely because he lived in a dorm. Apart from that, my presence was ruining the lives of my own loved ones.

In one perspective, I was no different than average terrorists: people who only brought grief and hardship should not even be alive.

I was one of those people.

Without dwelling upon the matter further, I popped three pills from my father's heart medication into my mouth simultaneously, swooshing them down with a glass of water. I was surprised, to say the least. When I had first dared to take a pill a few weeks back, part of me was so terrified of dying that I sliced the pill in quarters using a knife, hoping it would lessen whatever pain I would have to anticipate. I half-expected to promptly fall dead then, but I did not. The most I had gotten were nosebleeds, and after doing a bit of research, I found out that certain heart medications could cause them. Sometimes when a headache struck, I would helplessly be its prisoner. Often nausea would overwhelm me to the point where I vomited at least a few times a week. It must have been the adverse effects of the medicine. With time, I increased my own doses and here I was, tossing three full-sized pills into my mouth at once without a snippet of regret.

I was better off dead anyway. My parents would be able to transition back to their routinely lives and Hydar would finally be able to settle down without having me to weigh him down. They would all be happy.

Now all I would have to do would be to wait.

The large house was incredibly cold so I sat by the hearth of the fireplace, basking in its warmth. I set my book bag beside me and stared at the vivacious fire, fighting the urge to not stick my head right in its midst. Ahsan's photo envelope was still in my hand, and one by one, I pulled out the photographs and the shredded pieces and began to cry.

"Look what happened to me, Ahsan," I told one of the photos. "Look at the mess I've become. You told me things would get better with time, but look what happened to me. It's been nearly two years and I'm still stuck. I tried, but my mind won't let me go beyond that.

"I feel like a ghost, Ahsan, like I don't belong here. I'm unknowingly ruining my family's lives. Why should I continue to stay here? I tried to live normally by going to college and doing things I used to like doing, but it's not the same. People accuse me of horrible things and some people even think that my ten months in Syria was just a lie. I just can't do this anymore. I have no reason to. I'm trying to come to you and Saad. It's probably the only place where I belong now."

Gripping the pictures firmly, I held them close to my chest as though I was caressing an individual, and not an inanimate object. My lashes were clumped with tears and my vision became blurry. "I'm going insane, Ahsan. And you know why? It's because of you. Every lonely thought is because of you. My misery is because of you. And so, I...I need you to go," I whispered sadly to the photo of a beaming toddler. "In my last few days before these pills finally kick in, the very least I can do for my family is to truly act as though I am normal and unscathed. I can't bear to be the reason for their unspoken pain anymore. For that to happen, I really need you to go. I'm so sorry."

Dragging myself on my knees, I reached over and pulled away the iron screen that served as a partition between me and the fire. I exhaled deeply and did what I had planned to do before anything could change my mind. I stared at the photo from Ahsan's first birthday and held it over the fire, watching the corners curl and crumble into black ash. I waited in silence until his baby face was completely unrecognizable before doing the same to the next photograph...

...and the next...

...and the next...

...and the next...

I kept going until the twenty-four pictures, including the shredded photo, had all succumbed in the flames. A meek voice in my head told me to reach out and grab the pictures while they were on fire. I ignored it. There was no more damage to be done.

My breath seemed to stutter in my lungs before I let it go, feeling the strain from my body.

I burned every picture of Ahsan. I was fortunate enough to not be questioned by Hydar as to why the photos of a certain someone had been blackened out with a marker, and that was only because he never opened his yearbooks. I had even told Hydar to give away Ahsan's Quran to the local masjid a few months ago because I simply could not sit still with his tangible belonging in the house, let alone in my room.

I had actually destroyed every last bit of Ahsan's memory.

What have I done?

Is this what I had wanted?

Did I want Ahsan to be how Saad was to me now, distant and nearly forgotten?

Did I really want to forget everything?

No.

No, I did not.

With a sudden desire to try to bring him back, I silently screamed as I dug into the ashes with my bare hands, only to find out that he was really gone.

I let him go.

No!

Ignoring the fiery sizzle that radiated within my forearms, I pushed myself away from the hearth and threw my unzipped bag in frustration. The living room floor was littered with scattered books, pens, and...a mellow envelope. I bit down on my lip and crawled over to it.

Let's see what Zaakhir has to say just before I die...

I scoffed, thinking how overjoyed he would be if he discovered the position I've put myself in. My hands trembled as I carefully ripped one of the shorter sides of the envelope and pulled out a very verbose letter, which was scrawled in what seemed like the handwriting of a child.

It wasn't from Zaakhir.

25 January 2017

My dear Hayat,

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope receiving this letter at your university was not inconvenient for you, as I do not have your real address. Can you believe that it has been well over a year since we had last seen each other? Once my life had stabilized, I have been trying to find a way to contact you. Little Danyaal here has helped me a lot! It was his idea to find your name on the computer and your university showed up as well. Is that not strange, how so much information is right at your fingertips? Oh, you don't know who Danyaal is! I must rewind a bit...

After we had been confronted by American tanks and were separated, the children and I were taken to a medical center where they had briefly examined us. They told us to narrate the things we had gone through since we were taken from our homes. Those children, bless them, were crying so much that they could not speak. I had the most to say and I told them everything that I could remember. Soon afterwards, they had taken us to the refugee camps at the Syrian-Turkish border. Hayat, there were so many people there! It did not seem as though there were enough tents for everyone! A lot of people had to sleep on the dirt floor. But, it was safe. No terrorist had yet dared to slip by among the refugees. I was there for some months. Even though I was safe, it was not enough. Nothing was ever enough. There was not enough food or water and it was not very clean. Everyone there, save the tiny children who had no idea what was going on, was miserable. Everyone was trying to escape the havoc in their homeland in the search for something better.

I even met a family from Afghanistan. I do not know where that is, but the family told me that it was far away and that in their hometown, there was the influence of a group that was smaller than Al-Tho'baan. Can you imagine? I had escaped from one hell only to find out that the devil has set up dominions everywhere! I had thought that there was just Al-Tho'baan, but there are actually so many more groups like them! Why do they all think it is fine to ruin the name of Islam? Not only that, there were a lot of well-learned people here and they told me that there are Buddhists killing Muslims in Burma-Myanmar, and Hindus killing Muslims and Christians in India, and Jews and Muslims killing each other! There are so many more events like this, that I cannot even beginning to list them all out!

Can you believe it??

Is that what this world has come to? Do people think that killing is the solution to everything?

Killing, killing, killing! Is that all people care about? Do they not understand that killing does not solve problems? 

I do not know why people believe that causing pain will bring prosperity.

I heard that the reason many countries don't allow refugees in is because they do not trust us because of the other bad people. The Afghan family seemed nice, educated and well off, too. Even then, people were skeptical to associate with them and that was why they were stuck in a refugee camp. They were harmless, really! They had only wanted to keep their children safe and educated, and they would always tell me that they feel as though they have failed as parents. I did not know how to comfort them. How was I supposed to convince them that this was not their fault? The father had told me, "If I had stayed, I would have to kill or I would be killed." How tragic is it to be faced with those options! I do not know what became of them.

I had been stuck in refugee camps for some months. The Turkish government had been thinking about setting a limit on how many refugees could enter the country. I guess it is not fair to Turkish citizens to grant so many people refuge. I had been fortunate to be one out of many to be given access to enter Turkey. I had thought that my troubles would subside. However, they had seemed to flourish even more. Some people in Iraq and Syria hated me for being a Yazidi. Some people in Turkey hated me simply because I was not a Turk, and some even claimed that the refugees were stealing Turkish resources and jobs because we had been willing to work for cheap wages, unofficially. From all this, I have learned one thing: people will find a reason to hate no matter what. People hate what they cannot empathize with.

To the rest of the world, we look like beggars trying to obtaining free things.

They do not know.

They do not know of the murders we had seen.

They have not felt the searing abdominal pain we had experienced from starvation and dehydration.

They have not felt hot blood dripping down their backs.

They have not screamed until their throats were coarse.

They have not flinched when they heard that they were due for another round of flogging.

They did not see children die.

They do not know anything that we do.

They simply do not know.

After saying all of this, you might be thinking that I have forgotten Yara. No, I have not. I think about her every day. I think about how happy she could have been. I think about how happy she deserved to be. Though we have had joyful moments from the time before we were captured, thinking about her had only brought grief. It drove me mad. There was even one day, upon arriving in Turkey, where I had stood on the edge of a bridge, ready to throw myself off. I did not know anybody. I did not have money, or a place to live. I had no food or water. I had no family or friends.

I really was going to kill myself.

Just when I was about to let go of the bridge's railing, a car screeched to a halt behind me and a middle-aged couple dragged me away from the edge. They both put me in their car and I thought I was being kidnapped yet again. But unlike the previous times, I had not fought back. I had obediently sat in the vehicle, convinced that they were going to sell me off and that they would pave the way to the death I had planned for myself. When the car had stopped, I had been prepared to be exposed to more cruelty, but I was greeted with the aroma of food and the scent of a garden instead.

I thought it to be rather strange as well.

They prepared food for me and gave me clothes. They told me to make myself at home. I couldn't even remember when had been the last time I felt at home. Initially, I had mistaken their actions as pseudo-kindness, but over time, I realized they were being genuine. They allow me to stay at their home for as long as I had desired. They let me join them for shopping trips. They taught me how to bake and cook different things. They paid a tutor to help me with schoolwork. Since Turkey had allowed for refugees to have work permits, the family had arranged for me to work in a bookstore for a few hours a week, just to pass the time. They had five children already, but they included me as one of their own, and I suddenly found myself with a true, happy family. They never asked for anything in return, they did not even ask for my story, though I told them everything over time. But you know what?

They are a Christian family.

While being with Al-Tho'baan, it was drilled into our skulls that all non-Muslims were evil and that they all hate us so that is why they should be destroyed. I knew they had to have been wrong, but I never thought I'd would ever be treated with such love and care from people we had been taught to hate. Because of this family, I learned to seek happiness again. Because of this family, I was able to make friends with people of all ages in my neighborhood. Because of them, I remembered how to smile.

I can only imagine how hard it must be for you. I have a feeling that some people might treat you badly over there because I went through the same, even to this day. It is not easy when a handful of people curse and hate you for being different. But we have to remember, they simply do not know the least of what we had gone through. That doesn't give them the right to treat us horribly, but some people are too stubborn to change their ways. I just people were more empathetic.

Poor little Danyaal is too tired from writing so much, he's only ten! He is my new youngest brother. I have three brothers and two sisters now. Danyaal told me that there is a way to speak to someone and see them on a screen. He called it video chatting. Perhaps when you get this letter, we can figure out a way to arrange for that. I would love to see you again, even if it is through a screen. I can show you my family and I can see yours! We can help each other get through life, Hayat. I'm hoping you will reply to this letter. Attached on the bottom is my email address (Danyaal helped me to make one). Please do keep in touch, I would love to hear from you.

I truly do think of Yara always and wish she were by my side throughout this journey. But, I cannot change the past. Life with Al-Tho'baan had permanently etched my soul, but I cannot let them take over my life. I was given a second chance at life, and it came in the form of a family that I had never had.

Just imagine if I had jumped off the bridge that day.

I would have been able to never experience any of this. I had all the reason to throw myself off that day because everything and everyone that had mattered to me was taken away from me.

Life is hard, Hayat. I know that, you know that. I think it may be safe to say that the two of us know hardship like nobody else. We cannot change the hindrances in our way, we can only pave a new path around them.

I rekindled with my reason to live again. I hope and pray that you find your reason as well. It may be delayed to the point where you may feel like it will never happen, but it will. Someday, eventually, it will. Even if it is for a fleeting moment, I hope you find your reason to be happy again, just like how I did.

With lots of love and prayers for a dear friend of mine,

Tala

"It's too late, Tala," I whispered, quietly watching tears drip from my eyes and onto the paper, as did the blood trailing from my nose. I should have read the letter the moment I had received it. "It's too late."

Pain throbbed so violently in my skull that I wished it would just crack open and relieve me from my anguish. My breathing came out in quick chuffs and my chest tightened.

This was it.

The tear-and-blood stained letter slipped out of my hands as the world around me meshed and swirled around. By the time I had heard several voices screaming out my name, I was far too gone. My eyes rolled back into my head and the last sound I heard was that of my head crashing to the ground.

Then, I was greeted with the oblivious and lonesome shade of black that I was all too familiar with.