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Pennyroyal (flower): Flee away
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I don't know how it happens and for a couple moments I have no idea where I am. But when I become consciously aware, I realize I'm in the middle of the road in my neighborhood, and the headlights of a honking car are piercing my eyes.

I gasp, cold dread filling my insides. My head whips wildly around at the dimly lit streets. I look down at my bare feet and shaking hands, and a surprised sob escapes me.

A car door slams and I flinch, stumbling backwards.

"Hayat?"

I freeze in my tracks at the familiar voice. Too dazed to place who it is, I shield my eyes against the piercing headlights.

"Hayat, is that you?" A figure approaches me, and I rub my eyes and begin to back away quickly. In my haste I trip over the hem of my pajamas and fall backwards, palms scraping against the asphalt.

"Hey, hey." The figure holds up two hands and walks closer slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. He bends down, and the headlights finally illuminate his face.

Mikaal.

For the second time in a week, he watches me with concern etching his features. "Hey," he says. "It's just me. Are you alright? You scared the hell out of me, running onto the road like that. What are you doing outside right now?"

Words fail me. I have no shoes on, I'm sitting in the middle of the road, and I'm in my donut pajamas.

Mikaal's gaze trails to my bare feet and disheveled appearance and his eyes widen with renewed shock. "Oh God, Hayat, are you okay? Are you . . . were you sleepwalking?"

"I don't — I don't" — I lift my scraped, shaking hands and glance uncomprehendingly at my appearance.

Then I burst into tears.

"Okay, okay. It's okay. Come on, let me drop you off to your house." He stands and gestures for me to do the same. I stumble to my feet and mumble incomprehensible words through sobs, to which he replies by nodding or saying "okay" continually, reassuringly. He dashes to his trunk and pulls out a pair of men's shoes, gesturing for me to put them on. He keeps his distance but ushers me towards his car, and I limp the few steps, hissing lowly every time my feet touch the ground.

Mikaal returns to the trunk again and retrieves a throw blanket. Without touching me, he drapes it carefully around my shoulders.

It's at that moment that I realize I'm in my donut pajamas, nothing short of indecent in front of a man who isn't my father or brother. I tighten the blanket gratefully around myself, trembling as I slip into the backseat.

Mikaal shuts the door and gets in the driver's seat. "Oh man, Hayat, if I hadn't been here . . . " The brotherly concern in his voice is unmistakable. After all, he's practically watched me grow up. He takes a deep breath. "Are your feet okay? Sorry, I know it's kinda nasty wearing someone else's shoes."

I nod wordlessly, unsure of whether he can see me in the darkness but too shaken to form words.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. To patch up your feet."

"No!" I all but shout before taking a deep breath. "No," I repeat slowly. "I don't want any trouble."

"Trouble? Hayat, your feet are — "

I shake my head vigorously.

"I'll do it myself if you don't want — "

"No, please," I whisper, lips trembling. He seems to want to say more but quiets at my insistence.

"How did you even . . . when did you realize you were sleepwalking outside?"

I inhale deeply through quiet sobs. "When you honked."

Mikaal sucks in a sharp breath. "Oh, man. Was this . . . the first time you sleepwalked?" I nod shakily, detecting the clinal tone of his voice. After all, he is a med student.

A couple seconds later, Mikaal pulls into his driveway. I glance at him in confusion. "Give me a second," he says. "I'll be right back."

I wait quietly as he enters his house and converses with someone — his mom? — at the door. He disappears inside.

I take deep breaths to reorient myself and glance at the time on the car dashboard.

1:17 AM.

God, how did I not realize I had gotten up from my bed, unlocked the door to my house, and walked a few blocks away? I've never walked in my sleep — that's something my mom used to do a couple years back. So what prompted it now? And what if Mikaal hadn't driven by when he did? Where would I be now?

My distressed thoughts are interrupted when Mikaal rushes back to the car with a paper bag in his hands. "Sorry, I just needed to grab this." He backs out of his driveway and makes the two minute trek down to mine before shutting the car off again.

For a moment, we're both completely silent before he murmurs, "Your house door is open."

I begin to cry all over again, although I'm not sure I ever stopped.

"Oh — hey, it's okay. I didn't mean to — " Mikaal shoves a had through his hair and furrows his brows. "Just be glad you're okay and I was there when I was, Alhamdulillah. Come on, let me walk you to your door." He walks over to my side and opens the car door.

There's an awkward moment where we register that because I'm unable to walk properly, he will have to aid me.

"Um, is it okay if I — " He gestures between us and I nod, beginning to extract myself from the blanket until Mikaal shakes his head. "Keep it on." I oblige, and he reaches down and lifts my arm to place around his shoulders. A strange feeling shoots through me at touching a man who isn't Ihsaan or Papa.

Together we walk — I limp, he walks while supporting my weight — to my house.

We're halfway there when Mikaal huffs. For a moment I wonder if it's because of my weight but I'm proven wrong when he says in an uncharacteristically angry voice, "This is stupid. You need to come to the hospital. You're clearly hurt more than you're letting on."

Those words pierce me somewhere deep. I shake my head. "No, please. I don't want to worry anybody."

When we reach the porch, I step quickly away from him and brace myself against a pillar. Mikaal shakes his head angrily. "Taking care of yourself isn't 'worrying anybody.'"

I remain silent in the face of his very un-Mikaal exasperation. Sure, I used to see him in different gradients when he was with my brothers — as all friends see of one another — but Mikaal has always been nothing but nice to me.

He shoves a hand through his hair and sighs."Arafat would've killed me if he knew . . . " He trails off, sighing. "Wait here for a sec."

Mikaal jogs back to his car as the force of his words settles on me. Does he feel obligated to care for me because I'm the little sister his best friend left behind, therefore Mikaal's little sister as well? After all, he has always seemed like a third older brother to me.

My confused thoughts are interrupted when Mikaal reaches me and lifts the paper bag he retrieved from his house. "As a med student working in a hospital, I completely disapprove of your stubbornness. But since I know you're dead set, here." He holds out the bag, and I take it with knitted brows. "Wash your feet with soap and warm water. There's Vaseline and some non-stick gauze bandages in the bag. You probably have those at home, but I figured just in case." He shrugs. "And wear thick socks at home until your feet heal. But look, if it gets worse, you really need to go to the doctor." Mikaal is quiet for a moment.

"Hayat . . . be careful, okay? Maybe sleep with your mom or put an extra lock on the house door. God forbid anything like that ever happens again . . . " He trails off before sighing and backing away. "Well, I'm gonna head home. Take care. Salaam."

Only when he's halfway to his car do I realize I've been standing mutely the entire time he's spoken to me. A panicked cry lodges in my throat at having him leave without expressing my gratitude.

"Mikaal!" I shout. He turns, and the porch light illuminates his face. There's a quizzical frown upon his brows.

What I want to say is "thank you." What comes out is, "What were you doing out right now?"

He gestures to his car. "I had a late night shift. And just needed to finish some things up."

"Oh."

He waits for a moment, as if expecting me to elaborate. And I know there was something I wanted to say, but for some reason the words are lodged in my throat, failing to come out.

"Good night, Hayat." He turns and walks back to his car.

Only when Mikaal is starting his engine and backing out of the driveway do I remember. That I'm wearing his huge shoes and wrapped in his soft blanket.

And all I wanted was to say "thank you."

. . .

My phone pings with a text message.

loved seeing you last night <333333333

btw you're still the most adorable squishy lovely human being and i want to see you again >_<

I regard Abeer's texts for a moment before sighing and locking my phone screen. I'll reply later.

This morning, my dad glanced at me weirdly when I shoved another pair of socks onto my already covered feet. "Cold?" he'd mused.

"Yeah," I had nodded vigorously. "So cold nowadays."

He'd glanced outside at the August sun and regarded me for a careful moment.  I held my breath until he murmured, "Well, okay then. Let me turn up the thermostat."

Papa had been easy to deceive. Ihsaan, on the other hand, isn't going to be.

That's why I prepare his breakfast while he's showering and have it set on the table before he's making his way downstairs.

"Good morning," he says, waving.

"Morning," I chirp a little too cheerfully from my spot on the dining table.

He eyes the food gratefully. "This smells amazing."

I nod wordlessly, typing gibberish onto my laptop.

"Did you eat already?" he says in between chews.

"Yeah, I was hungry a little while ago. Had some cereal."

Ihsaan's eyes bore into mine as he eats, and I shift under his gaze. "When are you gonna eat real food?"

I scoff. "Cereal is 'real food.'"

"You know cereal just makes you hungrier afterwards, right?"

"Okay, Dr. Amanullah." I halt as soon as the words leave my mouth, eyes darting up quickly from my computer screen.

Ihsaan pauses mid-chew, the unsaid words hanging between us.

That was Arafat's nickname. And in a couple years, it would've become the way he'd be addressed by everyone.

For the next few minutes, Ihsaan eats quietly and I pretend to do work on my laptop. When he stands, I panic. I always walk him to the door. If I don't do it now, he might think something is up.

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, "Ah, these cramps are killing me today."

Ihsaan shoots me a furtive glance before looking away. Ah, the bliss of male awkwardness regarding anything even remotely feminine.

"Maybe take a painkiller?" he says gruffly, busying himself in tying his shoes.

Despite myself, I hold back a bout of laughter. "Yeah, I think I might."

He grabs his car keys and is about to head out when I say, "Oh, I almost forgot! What do you want for dinner today?"

Ihsaan wraps and unwraps the laniard of the keys around his fingers. "Um, don't worry about it. I'll bring food home. Just get some rest."

I pause. "I don't mind cooking."

He shakes his head. "Just relax. You need a break."

I want to argue, but seeing the conviction on his face I backtrack. "Well, okay then." I contemplate my next words before daring to say them, "Have fun, Mr. HR Manager."

He cracks a smile, and warmth pools in my heart.

When Ihsaan leaves, I remove my socks and inspect the blisters. They look worse than they did last night, despite the fact that they actually felt better when I followed Mikaal's instructions last night. But wounds usually get worse before they get better, right? Something like that.

I clean my feet again and soak them in warm water for a bit before lathering on the Vaseline Mikaal gave. Then I bandage my feet and swipe two pairs of winter socks on.

For the next hour, I clean already tidy areas of the house and check on my mom. She's awake, but confined to her bed as usual. I make her breakfast and force her to eat it, and as I'm making my way back downstairs my feet ache so bad I have to pause to catch my breath.

Then the weirdest thing happens. The doorbell rings.

I furrow my brows, trying to catch my bearings as I slowly descend the stairs. Who could it be? We don't usually have visitors. Not anymore.

The effort of carrying the tray to the kitchen has me gasping for breath. By the time I've hobbled to the door and pulled it open, I'm in too much pain to greet the person standing in front of me.

"Hi!" Abeer chirps, wringing her hands. "I know this is probably weird, but I wasn't sure if you'd reply to my texts and I was so happy seeing you last night. I just wanted to stop by for a little bit. Hope that's okay."

Before I'm able to form a reply, I fall to the floor.

"Hayat! Oh my God, Hayat. Are you okay?" Abeer rushes forward and lifts me up, huffing. She manages to drag me to the sofa in the living room before heading back to shut the front door.

When she materializes at my side again, she presses hasty fingers to my forehead. "Are you sick? What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. I just got dizzy," I lie. "I wasn't — "

"Oh my God, there's blood seeping through your socks!" Abeer points to my feet and to my utter dismay, she's right. "What happened? Tell me what you need. Should I get you something?"

I want to cry in exasperation. Nobody was supposed to witness this. I bury my head in my hands.

A soft hand touches my arm. I look up into Abeer's worried eyes. "Please," she says. "Let me help you."

For a moment, I have the strongest urge to tell her to help me by going back home. But, too exhausted to deal with the repercussions of that, I sigh instead. "There's a bucket in the bathroom. Can you fill it with warm water and bring it here, please?"

She nods and quickly obliges. While she's occupied, I remove my socks and examine the damage.

It seems the blisters have opened, and blood is escaping through. My feet look worse than they did the last time I checked them. Which is annoying, because the Vaseline actually made them feel better.

Why give the illusion of being okay when in reality it isn't?

Abeer returns, stumbling towards me with the bucket of water. She's breathless by the time she sets it in front of me, and my eyes prick with an unfamiliar warmth at her huffs and puffs.

"Thank you," I whisper, hissing as my foot makes contact with the water. Abeer watches helplessly, lips pressed together.

"Hayat," she finally says. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"It's nothing, I just — "

"Hayat." At the curt tone of her voice, I raise my eyes to hers. My old best friend — a fierce lioness just as much as she's an adorable kitten.

"What did I tell you last night? I'm here, Hayat. Please don't push me away anymore. I'm here for you."

Our gazes are locked in a silent battle. Hers is resolute, unwavering. Mine is wary, reluctant.

Yet despite my hesitance, despite the tension coiling my insides, despite the dread that has settled permanently into the pit of my stomach, something in Abeer's eyes makes me withdraw my shield. I drop my weapons and stand defenseless, but of my own volition.

I sigh long and loud. "I was sleepwalking."

. . .

Assalaamu 'Alaikum (peace be upon you),

minute progress is still progress, am i right?

translations:

alhamdulillah: all praise and thanks be to God

salaam: shortened version of the muslim greeting meaning "peace be upon you"

thanks for reading!