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Lily of the valley (flower): Return to happiness

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I slide open the door to the terrace and take a deep breath.

The place is in ruins. Wilted flowers, upended wicker chairs, cracked pots strewn all over the floor.

I'm holding the gardening book Steph gave me, turned to the first chapter. It's titled Lily Of The Valley: The Flower That Prevails.

It gets its name from being incredibly tough and able to survive in all kinds of weather. It grows best in partial shade and has a crisp, slightly jasmine scent. It symbolizes love, purity, and a return to happiness. And it's often used in wedding bouquets.

Ironically, it also contains heart-active substances and is poisonous if consumed.

I'm startled out of reading when a voice behind me says, "What are you doing?"

I turn to see Ihsaan standing awkwardly by the kitchen island. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he's not meeting my eyes.

I turn away, last night's anger rising up my throat. "Nothing."

Silence. Then, "That doesn't look like nothing."

I snap the book shut and see him flinch in my periphery. "Do you need breakfast?"

He sighs. "Hayat, I can make my own breakfast."

"Okay," I shrug noncommittally, stepping forward onto the terrace.

Lily of the valley. Return to happiness.

My eyes rove over the chaos of what once used to be my greatest hobby.

"Are you thinking of starting again?" Ihsaan murmurs, walking over to stand next to me.

"Even if I was, it's not your concern," I say, stepping around him to head back inside.

"Hayat." He grabs my arm with one hand, using the other to tug at his hair. "Don't be like that."

I pull out of his grasp and fold my arms. "Don't be like what?"

He gestures between us, eyes trained to the floor. "Like . . . this. Cold. Distant. You and me . . . it's just us now."

"Oh, now you remember that it's just us?" My voice rises an octave, and his troubled gaze finally meets mine. My attempt at cool indifference fails; I scoff and shake my head angrily. "Where is this concern when you won't look twice at me? When you only talk to me to ask if I need anything? When you barely smile at me anymore, let alone initiate an actual conversation? When you lie straight to my face and expect me to be okay with it?"

Ihsaan's eyes are back on the floor, his toe nudging the edge of an upturned flowering pot. "That's not fair, Hayat," he says quietly.

"You know what else is not fair? Finding out two months later that my remaining brother takes anxiety medication. Having to extract major information out of him—such as his promotion—which he would otherwise never tell me himself. Knowing he's lying to me about some girl but not understanding why. That's not fair." My chest is rising and falling rapidly now, breaths coming quickly.

I start to head back inside when Ihsaan's voice roots me in place. "I told you." His voice cracks almost inaudibly. "Some secrets aren't mine to tell."

I scoff. "Okay, Ihsaan."

"Please try to understand." His hands are splayed outwards, posture helpless.

"No. You need to understand me, Ihsaan. I've tried to be sympathetic and considerate because I know you never expected to suddenly uphold so many responsibilities. And I know it's been hard for all of us. But God, you don't even talk to me anymore. You're so subdued all the time, and even if I try to talk to you, you brush me off." I throw my hands in the air, fuming. "And then last night, when I'm driven home by people I've known for years, suddenly you want to be the concerned big brother?" I shake my head. "You don't need to start caring about me now when you haven't been for the past three months."

"He was my brother, too!" Ihsaan shouts suddenly, eyes wide.

For a beat we're both absolutely silent, breathing hard and staring each other down.

Then, quieter, "He was my brother, too. And I lost him, too. You're not the only one who lost him." He breathes heavily, gaze searing into mine. "You still have a brother. I lost my only one. I lost the only older sibling I had, and suddenly I'm supposed to fill his shoes."

Ihsaan laughs without mirth. "And I have incredibly big shoes to fill, Hayat, do you realize that? Considering he was a going to be a doctor and the apple of everyone's eyes. And what was I? The jokester brother? The guy who didn't take his classes seriously enough?" Ihsaan blows out a breath. "Don't you remember what I was always saying before I graduated college in May? That I was gonna travel the world." He scoffs. "I never even dreamt of working in HR. I'm lucky I even obtained my degree and had enough prior experience to secure a job so quickly. Otherwise"—he rubs a palm against his face tiredly—"the plan was always for Arafat to be the grown-up guy taking care of the house, while I went and 'chased my dreams.'"

Ihsaan shakes his head and chuckles humorlessly. His shoulders sag; his voice quiets. "I was the picture of immaturity. The definition of careless and reckless youth. So forgive me"—he pauses, breathes hard—"forgive me if I don't know how to do this, either."

He steps forward and shoves past me to head inside. I turn to watch him go, anger and grief and frustration crawling up my throat all at once. His words nag at me, pierce me somewhere deep.

He was my brother, too.

I lost the only older sibling I had.

I have incredibly big shoes to fill, Hayat.

I rub a hand across my face tiredly as my brother's anguished words echo in my head.

And I find myself thinking: But you still have me, Ihsaan.

. . .

Ihsaan and I don't speak for the rest of the day. And since he's off from work, it's even more difficult to pretend he isn't five feet away from me.

My mom is in the living room again today. My brother and I have silently but collectively decided to join her so that she doesn't retreat to her room.

My dad left for work about an hour ago, kissing each of our foreheads in turn. His eyes were sparkling when he saw my mom on the sofa.

That, despite everything, brought a smile to my face.

Currently Mama is watching a Pakistani drama on TV, occasionally chortling at the scenes. The first time she laughed, Ihsaan and I simultaneously gaped at her. Our eyes automatically strayed to one another to exchange a shocked glance before we remembered we were mad at each other.

I'm on my laptop browsing through Rallie University's majors and minors. I have absolutely no idea which degree I want to pursue, so I'm hoping some extensive research will help me figure it out.

That, and frantically texting Abeer my thoughts.

I'm in the middle of typing out a paragraph detailing my crisis to her when another message pops up at the top of my screen.

Salaam. How are you?

I hesitate, eyes flicking up to Ihsaan.

He's also on his laptop, face screwed up in concentration. He's doing a work project on his off day, too. Unbelievable.

His words filter through my mind again. I never even dreamt of working in HR.

I shake the thought out of my head and return to my phone screen. salaam, aneela, I type. i'm great, how are you?

I can't describe the guilt that overtakes me when I put my phone down and peer at Ihsaan again.

Before I remind myself of his deliberate lies.

Just then, Ihsaan's phone rings. He glances at the caller ID and sighs. "Hello?" He pauses for a moment. "I'm good, thank you. No, no, don't worry about it. What's up?" He makes a few clicks on his laptop, nodding along to the person on the other end of the call. "Yes, I see it. Mhm. Okay, so the reason you can't view those files is because you don't have access to them. Since you're an intern, Debra has to grant you permission to transfer the CVs to the folder. I'll send in a work order so that you're able to view and transport those files." Pause. "Yeah, of course. Don't worry about it. Take care."

I find myself holding my breath for the duration of Ihsaan's call. I don't think I've ever heard him speak like that—with such sophisticated language and a businesslike tone. And the authority in his voice . . . it baffles me. I mean, I know he works in HR in some fancy company and was good enough to be promoted after only a few months of work, but I suddenly realize I don't really know what he does. And I've never really bothered to ask.

It makes his words from this morning further haunt me.

Ihsaan catches me staring and pauses briefly before giving me a strained smile.

I quickly look away, not wanting him to think we're on good terms now.

Later in the evening, when Mama is taking a nap and Ihsaan is downstairs in the makeshift gym, the doorbell rings. I close the book I wasn't really reading and hurry to the door.

"Hey, girlie." Abeer enters, huffing as she carries a bag of fertilizer and two plastic bags full of gardening supplies. I rush to take them ff her hands, but she refuses my help. "I got it. Just let me know where to put them." I quickly lead her to the terrace, and she dumps all the materials on the floor and leans down to catch her breath.

"Thank you," I whisper, guilt washing over as I watch her. Abeer hates any physical activity or exercise, so I know buying all this heavy gardening material and bringing it to me must not have been easy for her.

She waves me off as she straightens. "What are friends for?"

"Really, I—"

"Oh, hush. Please don't do the whole formal 'thank you' thing." She bumps her hip with mine. "We're besties, aren't we?"

I bite my lower lip, trying to contain the emotions coursing throughout me at the word "besties." I don't deserve friends like Abeer, not after I ghosted her for months and suddenly welcomed her back into my life. And she's trying so hard—

"Uh oh." Abeer tilts her head. "I know that look. You're overthinking. Please stop—it's just a couple things. It was really no big deal. Plus, I'm pretty much free all summer, and there's nothing on earth I would rather do than hang with you."

I smile, blinking to fight the moisture in my eyes. "Where's the receipt? I'll Venmo you."

Abeer rolls her eyes. "Don't worry about it."

"Whoa, whoa. You promised. You said you would allow me to pay you back."

"Pay her back for what?"

Both of us turn at the sound of Ihsaan's voice. He's wiping the sweat from his forehead with a hand towel and watching both of us quizzically.

"Salaam, Ihsaan bhai!" Abeer chirps. He responds to her greeting and turns back to me, a question in his eyes.

I toe a nail on the wooden floor of the terrace, refusing to meet his gaze. "Abeer bought some gardening supplies. I . . . asked her to."

It's so quiet for a few moments that I'm unable to resist looking up. I immediately wish I hadn't, though, because the crestfallen expression on Ihsaan's face is almost too much to bear.

"I asked you this morning—" He purses his lips, stopping himself. His eyes rove over the supplies on the floor of the terrace before he looks back up. This time, he directs his gaze only to Abeer. "How much was everything?"

"Ihsaan bhai, it's—"

He pulls his phone out and types quickly. "Abeerxoxo, right? I think I have your username saved from the last couple of times."

Abeer nods quietly, eyes darting between the two of us. "Forty-eight dollars," she murmurs, relenting at the fierce emotion in Ihsaan's eyes.

"Sent. Let me know if you received it."

Abeer pulls out her phone and nods. Ihsaan throws me one last loaded look before he walks back inside the house.

I fight off the guilt dredging around my heart.

Abeer turns to me, eyebrows raised. "Um, do you wanna explain what just happened?"

I shrug, bending to pick up the fertilizer. "Nothing."

"I'm pretty sure that was not nothing, ma'am."

"We're just not seeing eye to eye on some things." I pick up the plastic bags and start to extract the materials from inside.

"I sensed a lot of . . . hurt," Abeer says slowly.

Lining up the gardening supplies on the ground, I shrug noncommittally. I'm too hasty, however, because I accidentally knock the watering cans over, resulting in loud, startling clangs.

I close my trembling hands into fists.

Abeer leans down and places her hands over mine. "Hayat. Look at me." I try to blink away my tears but am unsuccessful as they escape my eyes and trail down my cheeks.

"Hayat, what's wrong?" Abeer tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Please talk to me."

I shake my head. "Nothing, I just—" My voice cracks. "He's keeping secrets from me."

"And? That's not all, is it?"

"And I just . . ." I sniff. "I missed my brother, and I said some things I shouldn't have. I upset him."

"Hayat, listen to me . . ." Abeer turns to the sky, huffing out a breath. "Your family . . . your family suffered an enormous loss. And you're all dealing with your grief in your own ways. This is not the time to be hard on each other. This is the time you need each other the most."

"I'm trying!" I say indignantly, voice cracking. "I try with him all the time. It's like he . . . doesn't care at all. He wants to keep things to himself. He just wants to be left alone."

Abeer squeezes my hand. "Like I said, everyone deals with grief in their own ways. Think about it. Ihsaan bhai lost the only brother he had. And you know the responsibilities brothers carry in our families. He's . . . probably overwhelmed. Trying to juggle so many different things at once. Don't you think I've noticed it, too? Ihsaan bhai is a completely different person now."

I bite my lip. Abeer's words are a mirror to Ihsaan's from this morning. If even she, as an outsider, was able to notice these things, have I just been selfish and unfair? Have I only been looking at things from my perspective?

Abeer wraps her arms around me and embraces me tightly. "Hayat," she whispers in my ear. "Don't let the pain of one brother's loss push you away from the brother who is still here and cares so damn much about you."

I squeeze my eyes shut at her words, unable to respond but finding comfort in her embrace nonetheless.

. . .

We're halfway through cleaning the terrace when Abeer gets a call from home and has to head out. She wraps me in a tight hug and whispers, "Love you, sis" in my ear before leaving.

My mom is waking from her nap just as I'm shutting the front door. She rubs her eyes and blinks up at me. "Who was that?"

"Abeer. Did you sleep okay?"

She nods. "Did Abeer eat before going?"

"Yeah, I fed her some rice."

"Good. Did you guys eat?"

I hesitate. "I'm not sure where Ihsaan is, but I ate with Abeer."

Mama's brows furrow. "Not sure where Ihsaan is? What do you mean?"

"No, no, he's home," I reassure her. "Just . . . he was working out, so I think he's still down there."

Mama stands and rubs her face tiredly. "Let me go see what my bacha is doing."

I startle at the endearing term as she heads downstairs.

My phone pings with a text, distracting me from pondering over the gradual change in my mom over the past couple of days.

It's Aneela. I'm good, too, Alhamdulillah! How's your summer break going?

it's alright, I reply. just trying to figure out college things for the spring semester.

Oh, are you taking a break for the fall semester?

yeah.

That's great! I hope you're able to revitalize and spend some time with your family before college.

I rear back in shock. Excluding Abeer, everyone else who has heard of my gap semester has either wrinkled their noses or raised their eyebrows in a not-so-encouraging manner. Especially the classmates at Abeer's birthday party. As if I was doing everyone a disservice by following a different timeline than theirs.

I type out, yeah. also just not sure what i wanna study or do at all lol.

Ah, I remember those days. If you ever need advice or just wanna talk about anything, you can always reach out to me! Doesn't have to be college-related :)

I cock my head to the side, rubbing my chin. Not that I don't appreciate this girl's amiable nature, but her overly enthusiastic and seemingly random kindness towards me is a little unsettling. I can't help but be confused by it, as well as wonder whether there's another motive behind it.

And since Ihsaan refuses to tell me anything about her, I'll just have to take matters into my own hands.

actually, I type. i hope you won't mind if i take you up on that offer. i really would appreciate the advice, preferably from someone already experienced.

Of course! she replies immediately. Would you like to talk over the phone or meet in person?

I hesitate. meet in person, if that's okay. but i don't drive and i wouldn't want to bother my brother when he's off of work. if you don't mind, can we meet at my place whenever you're free? i understand if you're unable to, tho.

Three dots appear, then disappear, then reappear. I can't help but feel that it has something to do with my mention of Ihsaan.

Finally, Aneela says, Of course. I'm free tomorrow after my shift at the hospital. Is 3 okay?

perfect, thank you so much. I pause, fingers hovering over my screen, before typing out, looking forward to seeing you.

Likewise!

I should probably cook something nice tomorrow. After all, I'm asking Aneela to take time out of her busy schedule to help me with college stuff. Or rather, pretending that that's my motive when really I want to figure out what her connection to my brother and I might be.

Ihsaan would probably flip out if he knew she was coming over tomorrow.

Just then, Mama and Ihsaan stroll into the kitchen. He has his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she's holding on to him with a smile on her face. He says something to her, and her responding chuckle echoes throughout the house.

The sound warms my heart.

"Mama," I say. "I'm having a friend over tomorrow. She's helping me with some college stuff."

Ihsaan's eyes bore into mine. "Who's the friend?"

"Oh, just someone. You probably wouldn't know her."

Ihsaan looks as if he wants to say more, but becomes distracted when his eyes dart to the terrace. "You guys cleaned up the terrace?"

I shrug. "Just a bit. Still have a lot left to do."

My mom glances at me, eyes sparking with an emotion I haven't seen in a long time. "You're gardening?"

I look down, color rushing to my cheeks. "I'm trying to start again. Let's see how it goes."

"Do you want help?" Ihsaan murmurs.

I peek up at him, still embarrassed from our fight this morning, and rattled from Abeer's words afterwards. Don't let the pain of one brother's loss push you away from the brother who is still here and cares so damn much about you.

"Yeah," I whisper. "Sure."

For the next hour before Maghrib, Ihsaan and I work on the terrace. He does the heavy lifting, I do the cleaning. I come across several scattered Post-Its—now moth-eaten and covered in dirt—and stash them in a box. I don't read them—I've already cried enough today.

It's quiet as we work, the occasional rustle of movement and thud of flowering pots the only sounds. But it's a companionable silence, because every time I look up, my brother is there, constantly there, doing one thing or another. And every time he catches my eye, he gives me a soft, tentative smile.

And for now, that's more than enough.

. . .

Assalaamu 'Alaikum (peace be upon you),

Wow. It's been six months since I updated this story. I'm so sorry to everyone who was waiting, and I hope I'll be able to update more often, Insha Allah (God willing). I missed these characters <3

Translations:

Bacha: Child

Alhamdulillah: All praise and thanks be to God

Thanks for reading!