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Dandelion: Hope, healing, and resilience
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I'm in a garden full of dandelions. Strange, since it's still November, but this is a dream, and anything is possible.

Rays of sunlight dance across my vision as I shield my eyes and squint across the field. A lone figure is sitting at the far end, and something propels my feet towards the figure.

As I approach, I hear the sound of rushing water and realize the field is overlooking a cliff face. I spin in a circle and take it all in for a moment, peace settling in my heart at the light breeze and the glittering sunlight and the rustling dandelions accompanied by the sound of water.

When I turn back to the cliff face, I stop short, heart thumping rapidly against my chest. Because the figure sitting at the edge of the cliff is as familiar as the reflection I see in the mirror every day.

He's wearing a clean white shirt and trousers and gazing into the rushing water below, but I can see his side profile. Brown waves fall softly against the back of his neck, his face sports a neatly trimmed beard, and the hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Arafat?" I whisper breathlessly.

He turns and my breath catches in my throat, tears immediately welling in my eyes. The ghost of a smile on his face blooms into a grin, and my heart aches so bad that for a moment this feels too real.

"Hi," I say shakily.

"Hey, yourself," he replies. The sound of his voice is the most comforting thing ever. His eyes—his familiar, beautiful brows eyes—twinkle as he pats the space next to him. "Come sit."

With trembling limbs, I settle down next to him. I hold my breath, afraid that if I speak too much or jostle too much, he'll disappear.

"You're so quiet," he murmurs conversationally.

I turn to him, inhaling sharply when our eyes lock. "I've missed you so much, you have no idea." My voice breaks as I whisper, "I need you so much. We need you so much."

Arafat shakes his head, a strange smile on his face. "You don't need me anymore. You just miss me."

"That's not true. I—"

"It is," he insists, and for a moment I think he's upset until I see the content expression on his face. "You didn't even need to hug me right now. You've grown up."

His words throw me off momentarily. "I didn't touch you because I'm afraid you'll disappear. And I can't stand losing you again."

He laughs, loud and boisterous. I miss the sound so much that fresh tears prick at my eyes. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You're stronger than that."

I shake my head. "I'm not strong at all."

"That's the farthest thing from the truth." He reaches over and squeezes my hand. "You're doing so well on your own."

"On her own?" a voice scoffs from behind us. We turn to see Ihsaan walking towards us, folding his arms once he reaches us. "Taking care of this churail is a workout in and of itself. She's a handful."

Arafat chuckles as I gape at Ihsaan. For a moment it feels like old times, the three of us bantering and arguing as siblings.

Ihsaan settles down next to me and raises his brows. "What?" he says indignantly. "Did I lie?"

"Yes!" I hiss. "I'm a handful? Have you tried having a conversation with Ihsaan Amanullah? It's a headache!"

Ihsaan mocks me in a high pitched voice as he fake strangles me in a head lock. I scream for him to let me go as a breathless laugh bubbles out of me.

"Guys, guys," Arafat says in a placatory tone. We straighten and turn to him as he sighs. "Cut it out."

The three of us simply sit and listen to the rushing water below. Ihsaan swings his legs back and forth over the cliff face, and Arafat sits with his hands at his sides, eyes closed and head bent towards the sun.

"Hayat and Ihsaan," he murmurs. We turn to him, but he doesn't seem to be speaking to us. He seems to be lost in thought as he continues, "Hayat and Ihsaan. Our parents knew exactly what they were doing when they named you guys."

My brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

Arafat opens his eyes and locks gazes with me. His eyes are sparkling as he says, "Hayat. Life. Allah put it in you to bring life to this family over the past couple of months. You took care of everyone and pulled everyone out of a dark place even though you were in a dark place yourself."

A shiver runs through me despite the warm breeze. His words echo painfully against the walls of my skull. I focus on the sound of the water to reorient myself.

"Ihsaan," Arafat continues, smiling as he stares into the distance. "The pursuit of excellence." He swivels his head towards Ihsaan, who has gone very still beside me. "You've been striving towards excellence for months. You strive to be excellent for our parents, for Hayat, for yourself. To be honest, you're too hard on yourself, but you're trying to achieve beauty and perfection in everything that you do. Sometimes a little too much."

Arafat is quiet for a moment. Then he begins to dust himself off as he stands. "Hayat and Ihsaan," he murmurs again, smiling wistfully down at us. "Life and the pursuit of excellence. The perfect complements to one another."

He turns and begins to walk away. My eyes follow him as I cry out in a panicked voice, "Where are you going?"

Arafat slowly turns, eyes locking on where Ihsaan's arm is still wrapped around me from when he was fake strangling me earlier. He smiles a mysterious smile. "It's time for me to go. You don't need Arafat anymore."

The words aren't tinged with pain or nostalgia. Instead, they're full of satisfaction as he continues to watch us.

Then his smile blooms into a real, heartstopping one as he turns and begins walking. A couple seconds later, he disappears in the twinkle of the sun's rays and the rustling of the dandelions, almost as if he was never there.

. . .

I'm left feeling disoriented and deeply saddened by my dream, so when Abeer asks me to hang out, I don't say no.

Initially, when I opened her text message, I was a little shocked by the amount of time it had been since I last texted her. I scrolled through our conversation and noticed that over the past couple of weeks, she has been initiating almost every conversation. At first it was pretty frequent—every day or every other day—but later, as my texts became less frequent, so did hers. The last message I received from her before today was five days ago.

This makes me uncomfortable in a way I'm unable to explain, not only because of the weird distance I'm starting to notice between us but also because I'm embarrassed to admit I didn't notice it sooner. I was so caught up with staying in touch with her brother that I forgot to stay in touch with my best friend.

This feels strangely similar to the days right after Arafat died, during which Abeer was constantly meeting and texting me but eventually gave me space when she realized I didn't have the desire to keep up any friendships.

This time, however, is a little different. Her text to hang out had lacked its usual enthusiasm, as if she expected me to say no. Nevertheless, I mustered the strength to agree despite not being in the mood to do anything today.

I bid my mom goodbye and make my way down the block. Ihsaan promised he would practice driving with me over the weekend, so Abeer is picking me up today. I asked her to meet me at the entrance of the neighborhood so I could get some steps in.

I don't know if it's a coincidence or if, subconsciously, my body was propelling me in this direction anyway, but I've taken the longer route and am suddenly outside Mikaal Zaman's house.

I freeze on the sidewalk next to his front yard, stunned by the sight of him. It's so strange seeing him outside of a lab coat or professional clothing; he's dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, knee deep in the grass and sleeves rolled up at the elbows as he tends to their garden.

I watch as Mikaal shovels soil into a large plant pot, patting it down with his bare hands. Gardening gloves lie haphazardly on the side, as if he had attempted to make use of them but preferred getting his hands dirty instead.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm walking towards him, wiping my clammy hands on my coat despite the cold November air. I stop a couple feet from him, rooted in place by an unnamed force.

I'm suddenly strangled by the sense that if he were to turn around and look at me, I would burst into tears. I don't know why I feel this way every time I'm around him, as if I'm an abyss of vulnerability and his presence is like a torch in the dark.

He hasn't noticed my arrival yet. As he wipes the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm, a strange feeling tugs at my heartstrings.

All this time, I've been telling myself that Mikaal Zaman's presence brings me comfort because he reminds me of Arafat. But I don't think that's true anymore, and I think I've been doing myself a disservice by trying to deceive myself. I can no longer avoid the truth, can no longer ignore the way my heart thumps in a peculiar way when he's near or the way I'm blanketed with tranquility when I speak to him.

Some part of my heart feels something for Mikaal Zaman, and I can no longer hide from myself.

The moment the thought surfaces, I'm met with a relief so great it feels as if a boulder has been lifted from my chest. It seems I've been hiding from the truth for far too long.

My discovery both terrifies and confuses me; terrifies because I don't know how to deal with it, confuses because I also feel incredibly attached to and infatuated by Rameez Khan, so how does it make sense to harbor feelings for two guys at the same time?

"Hayat?" Mikaal's voice breaks me out of my epiphany. I blink, registering his widened eyes and stiff posture. "You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing?"

My heart is racing like it's in a car show and it's determined to win. I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut and reopening them in an attempt to bring myself back to normalcy.

Mikaal is watching me expectantly. My eyes dart around the little garden, desperately searching for a topic of conversation so I don't look like a dumb fool. I zero in on the plant seed packet lying next to the plant pot and blurt out, "You should use a smaller pot for petunias. When they start growing, you can transfer them to a bigger pot."

A cleft appears between his brows, his expression morphing from surprised to baffled. His eyes dart back and forth between the large pot he had been adding soil to and the packet of petunia seeds. Finally he says, "Thank you. I'm not a pro so I just do this when I get the time, but you just saved me from a lot of trial and error."

An awkward silence hangs in the chilly air between us. I'm distantly aware of my phone buzzing in my pocket, but I pay it no heed. Instead, I'm mesmerized by Mikaal's lightly kohl-lined eyes. How did I never notice before that he has the most expressive eyes?

"Did...you come here to tell me that?" Mikaal's lips are turned up at one corner, but the line has reappeared between his brows.

Having no other excuse that won't make me look even stupider than I already do, I nod quietly.

He gives me a dubious look because we both know there's no way I saw the packet of petunia seeds from the sidewalk, but thankfully he doesn't extend the topic and simply nods. "Well, thank you again, Hayat."

Hayat.

My heart jolts, and suddenly I remember Arafat's words from my dream.

My phone begins buzzing again, and Mikaal's eyes zero in on my pocket. "I think someone's calling you," he murmurs.

My throat tightens, the strange urge to cry resurfacing. I take a deep breath and hold it in, pressing my lips together tightly.

But Mikaal makes the mistake of gently asking, "Are you okay?"

My eyes burn with the promise of tears and my chin wobbles. I'm suddenly overcome with the desire to blurt out everything I'm feeling to him.

Thankfully, some rational part of me forces me to swallow my words. I nod tightly and spin on my heel, quite literally running away from him.

I don't look back. Not once, even though everything in me aches to see the expression on his face. But I keep running until I see Abeer's car idling by the curb. I rush up to the passenger side and open the door, but am met with an unpleasant surprise.

Rumana looks up, giving me an amused look. "Hi, Hayat."

I dart a furious glance at Abeer, but she simply smiles.

It doesn't, however, reach her eyes.

She didn't mention that Rumana was coming. If she had, I wouldn't have agreed to hang out. Or maybe she had mentioned it, but I didn't pay attention. I was already in a weird mood from my dream, but I thought that since Abeer knew me like the back of her hand, it wouldn't be a problem spending time with just her.

I didn't factor Rumana into the equation.

"Sorry, I already claimed shotgun," Rumana says playfully.

I slam the door with a little more force than necessary and settle in the backseat.

"Where were you?" Abeer says. "I called a bunch of times—"

"Sorry," I say in a clipped tone. "I met a neighbor."

Abeer looks as if she wants to say more, especially regarding the sour mood I'm in, but thinks better of it and begins driving.

We chat for a couple minutes, in which I give minimal responses and feel like a third wheel. Objectively, there isn't anything about Rumana that should anger me, but I find my judgment clouded by her statement at her birthday party, about it being strange that I cook for my brother. Thereby, almost everything she says seems to be tinged with scorn, or perhaps I'm just imagining it and can never look at her the same way again.

It's crazy how one thing can be the sole cause of dislike and shift your entire perspective about someone.

When we arrive at the food place, I'm thankful for the opportunity to be out of this car. Abeer comes over to my side and links arms with me, and for a moment I feel infinitesimally better until she loops her other arm through Rumana's.

This is going to be so much fun.

. . .

I slam the car door and storm up the walkway towards my house.

"Hayat!" Abeer shouts, chasing after me. "Hayat, stop!"

I ignore her and keep walking until she grabs my arm and spins me around.

"Hayat!" she says exasperatedly. "Stop, will you? Please tell me what's wrong."

I fold my arms, eyes tracing my best friend's tense features. The curls under her beanie are framing her face, and for a moment I'm distracted by the split ends. Abeer always complains that each season brings on a new host of worries for her curly hair. Frizzy hair in the heat, dry hair in the cold.

"Will you tell me what's wrong? Abeer repeats. "Or will you just stand there?"

Her unyielding tone is like a spark to a flame. My face twists in disgust as I spit, "Are you really asking me that?"

For a moment there's stunned silence between us at my uncharacteristic vehemence. Then Abeer turns her head towards the sky and closes her eyes. "Yes, Hayat, I'm really asking you that."

"If I need to explain it to you, then you don't really understand me," I murmur, beginning to turn away once more.

She opens her eyes and grabs my arm again, her grip like an iron vase. "Can you stop doing that? I'm trying to understand what the problem is. Can we just talk?"

"Fine!" I shout. "You don't see the way Rumana talks about me, as if I'm throwing my life away? Sure, I'm not going to college right now like the rest of you are, but I kinda have"—I laugh bitterly—"extenuating circumstances. And it's no one's business what I do, whether I go to college or not, especially not Rumana's."

Abeer releases her hold on me and trains her eyes on the ground. "I don't think she meant it like that," she says quietly. "She was just worried about you—"

I scoff. "Rumana, worried about me? Since when does she give a sh** about me?"

Abeer's surprised eyes meet mine, either at my question or at my uncommon use of profanity. "Don't say that, Hayat. She's always been a friend to you before...before your brother passed away."

"Why are you taking her side?" I hiss venomously.

Abeer stiffens, eyes hardening. "I'm not taking sides. I'm just trying to figure out the problem and diffuse the tension."

I shake my head. "Right, and this has nothing to do with your sudden love for your new bestie."

Abeer steps back, eyes wounded. "That's not fair, Hayat. Rumana has always been my friend, but I've never treated either of you differently. You're both important to me."

"Yeah, except she's more important to you now." I turn away, trudging up the walkway to my porch.

"What did you think would happen?" Abeer's voice rings out, rooting me in place. I slowly turn and lock eyes with her furious gaze. "You were grieving after Arafat bhai and you didn't want to talk to anyone no matter how much I tried, understandably. I wanted to give you your space because..." Her voice cracks, and my resolve quivers. "I knew you would come back when you were ready, but things changed, Hayat." She blows a curl out of her face exasperatedly. "Rumana...Rumana was there for me when you couldn't be. And I know sometimes she can have...strong opinions and be a little blunt, but...she's become a really dear friend.

"But that doesn't mean I've ever differentiated between you two. You're equally important to me." Abeer shakes her head and laughs mirthlessly. "But now...even when you and I finally reconnected, you're becoming distant again. It gets exhausting being the only one trying, you know that? Always being the first to text and make plans and see how you're doing. I mean, you blamed me for inviting Rumana today but if you had told me you didn't want her there, I would have understood. You just..." Her eyes grow sad and weary. "You talk to my brother all the time but it's like you don't care about me anymore unless you need me."

My chin wobbles, her words striking me somewhere hard and deep. I step forward and open my mouth to counter her words but realize I have no defense. She's barreled all my walls down, leaving me exposed and vulnerable as the truth of her words hits me.

"You know what the saddest part is, though?" Abeer scoffs. "When you need me again, I'll still be here. I'll always be here for you."

She turns and heads back to her car, and I'm left feeling as if the ground has shifted beneath my feet.

. . .

Assalaamu 'Alaikum,

Yikes. Did you see this coming?

On another note, who's your favorite character and why?

Thanks for reading!