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Purple hyacinth: Regret
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I'm restless the entire night, tossing and turning and constantly checking my phone to see if Abeer has texted.

I don't expect her to, after the spitfire in my front yard, but it still hurts. Countless times I open our chat and try to formulate a text but lose my nerve and backspace everything.

Abeer and I have never fought like this. We would occasionally have playful arguments, but nowhere near as serious as this. Arafat would always say Masha Allah to our friendship, and Ihsaan would joke that we were like disgusting inseparable twin fetuses (the difference between my brothers was often comical).

After an uneasy and sleepless night, I pray fajr and trudge downstairs like a zombie. I spend until noon frantically cleaning the house and tending to my garden, burying my stress in my work. It's my dad's day off, and he's reading a newspaper and occasionally asking me questions like, "Shehzaadi, what are you up to?" and "Shehzaadi, how's the garden going?"

When I'm completely spent and can no longer find a poor chore to release all my frustration on, I settle down on the couch next to my dad and lean my head back.

Immediately he puts his newspaper down and places an arm around me, tucking me into his chest. I melt into him, closing my eyes and focusing on the sound of his heartbeat. Distantly I'm aware of the dishes clinking in the kitchen as my mom makes chai, and for a moment everything feels fine.

Ever since Arafat passed away, I feel like I've been thirsty for any form of love. Having been the laadli, carefree child of the family, adjusting to a cold, quiet life afterwards was painful and miserable. And even though we've gotten much better over the past couple of weeks, there's still a distance amongst my family, one I'm not sure will ever completely go away.

As I snuggle deeper into my dad's embrace, he kisses the top of my head and murmurs, "You okay, Shehzaadi? You've been on autopilot all morning."

I just nod, lacking the energy to even formulate a coherent sentence.

He sighs after a moment. "I know I haven't been here for you enough. For you, for Ihsaan, for Layla. I haven't been the father or the husband I should have been."

My eyes crack open and I lift my head to look at my dad. "What are you talking about?" I croak. "Don't say things like that."

"It's true. We had to stick together, but I left you all to fend for yourselves. I wasn't there for you. I thought that if I went to work as usual every day and forced a laugh here and there and pretended everything was fine, everything would eventually be fine." He tenses. "I was wrong."

I shift so that I'm facing my dad. Grabbing his other hand, I rub soothing circles on his palm. There's a rare vulnerability on his face, one he has tactfully kept hidden for so long. "That's not true, Papa. You tried everything you could to hold this family together. You've always been here for us. Everyone's just been..." I shrug lightly. "Dealing in their own ways."

He's quiet for a moment, staring blankly into space as I continue to rub his palm. Then a fissure appears between his brows as he turns to me. "We talked to Ihsaan last night about Aneela."

I straighten. No wonder Ihsaan has been holed up in his room all morning despite being off of work. "Really? What did he say?"

Papa sighs and places his hand over mine. At that moment, Mama enters the living room with a tray of chai and sets it on the table in front of us. She settles down on my other side and gently picks up my other hand.

"He said no," my mom says softly.

"What?" My brows knit. "No to what?"

"He says he won't do that to his brother," Papa continues. "We told him there's no pressure, but to think about whether he wants to talk to Aneela and see if she may be interested in getting to know each other for the purpose of marriage. But he was very firm about it. Kept saying he would never do that to Arafat."

"Wow," I breathe. I don't know why I'm surprised; I should've expected this from Ihsaan when he was so vehemently demeaning himself the day he confessed. "But...he really, really likes her. He's just gonna keep suffering?"

Mama rubs a hand along the length of her face and sighs. "Beta, we really tried. We obviously understand his feelings and we're not saying that his decision is wrong, but we really don't know what else we can do." She sets her chin in her hands and gazes somewhere far away. "Bichaara Ihsaan. My poor, poor baby. He's doing what he thinks is best for Aneela and for himself, but it breaks my heart to see him so helpless and heartbroken. I just pray that Allah grants him sabr and rewards him for his sacrifice."

"Ameen," my dad murmurs. "Sometimes the most noble thing to do is to let them go, even if you love them. Especially if you love them."

I'm too distraught by Ihsaan's decision and my parents' words to respond.

How can one so easily let the person that they love go? Isn't love what Shakespeare and Austen and Dickens and Brontë wrote was worth dying for? Isn't love what someone should be willing to cross seven seas and fly to the moon for? Isn't love what one chases and embraces and holds tightly so as to never let go?

How is it possible to let the person one's heart beats faster for go? To tell the heart to quell the affection and infatuation in it? To convince the heart that what it desires might not be what's best for it?

Does it make a person stronger, then, or weaker? Does letting one's love go mean someone is doing what they think is right, or that they're not strong enough to fight for a different story?

I know my brother is anything but weak, but having witnessed the grief and heartbreak in his eyes when he speaks about Aneela, and then hearing about how he's going to let her go and continue to possibly suffer, makes me wonder.

Is he strong enough to put a stone on his heart and bid his love goodbye, or is he too afraid to fight for what could possibly make him a happier man?

. . .

True to my promise, I make plans to meet up with Rameez for our pasta date on Friday.

He keeps saying "date" and although I don't correct him (because what the hell, that's exactly what this is), the word makes me uncomfortable.

When he picks me up, I regurgitate my all-too-familiar lie of meeting Abeer by the neighborhood entrance to my mom. This time, however, it feels even worse, considering Abeer and I haven't been speaking for the past couple of days.

I thought it might be strange to hang out with Rameez when his twin and I are currently not on good terms, but surprisingly he doesn't broach the topic with me, sensing I'm uneasy about it. And he seems to be one of the few people bringing a smile to my face these days.

That, and I need to be in his presence to remind myself that he's the one I like, and that whatever strange feelings I have for Mikaal Zaman must have just been a combination of loneliness and him being there at vulnerable times.

When Rameez picks me up, I slide into the passenger seat. Before I know what I'm doing, I lean forward and embrace him tightly, burying my face in his chest. His arms wound around me automatically as he strokes my hair. "You okay?" he murmurs.

I nod, pulling back. For a moment a terrible discomfort suffocates me at my need for his physical comfort. I shove the feeling away and smile, holding up the little bag I brought with me. "World's best pasta," I singsong.

A corner of his lips turns up. "I can't wait to try it."

While he's driving, I tell him about Princeton, my wish to drive again, and the situation with Ihsaan and Aneela. I'm very careful not to mention Abeer—even though I'm burning with curiosity at whether she spoke to him about me—and he's equally careful not to bring her up. He listens to me rant, occasionally throwing in a word of advice or a follow up question, and when we reach the quiet, scenic hilltop we're going to be hanging out on, I laugh nervously.

"I'm sorry, I talked so much."

His brows knit as he chuckles. "Why are you saying sorry? I love listening to you."

A blush coats my cheeks. I duck my head to retrieve the bag of pasta as Rameez grabs a bag of food and blankets from the backseat.

We spread one blanket on the ground and place the food on top of it. Wrapping the other two blankets around ourselves, we begin unpacking the food. Rameez bought platters of gyro and a bunch of little snacks, including strawberry cheesecake—my favorite.

We spend an hour conversing and laughing and eating good food. He compliments my pasta so much that my cheeks remain heated the entire time I'm with him. Every time I'm in his presence, I feel as if the tightly wound knots in my body are unwinding.

Simultaneously, however, it seems that new knots continue to form. Knots of discomfort and...guilt? I can't put a finger on it, but it's as if spending time with Rameez is like sitting close to a fire—experiencing the warmth but also constantly in danger of burning myself.

To distract myself from my disturbing thoughts, I ask him something I've been meaning to ask for a while.

"Rameez, can I ask you something?" He nods for me to continue. "Do you remember Abeer's birthday party? When I was leaving, you approached me and...asked me how I was doing. We started talking sometime after that. Can I ask...we've known each other for years; how come you were suddenly interested in me then?"

Rameez tilts his face towards the sun, closing his eyes. For a stupid, distracted moment, I remember how Mikaal's kohl-lined eyes looked under the sun's rays the other day.

"It may have seemed sudden, but I think I've always been fascinated by you," Rameez murmurs, opening his eyes to look at me. He fingers the edge of his blanket as he speaks. "You're so kind, and intelligent, and thoughtful, and funny. And...freaking gorgeous. You got so quiet and subdued after your brother passed away. It physically hurt seeing you like that. And...I was never sure how Abeer would feel about it, and was always hesitant to bring it up with her, but by then we had graduated high school and I figured we were old enough to choose what we wanted for ourselves."

Choose what we wanted for ourselves. My heart jolts and an involuntary smile blooms on my face. I shyly train my eyes to the ground, focusing on the sound of the rustling leaves to stabilize my heartbeat. "So...you've always liked me?"

In response, he gently lifts my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to my knuckles. His lips curve up as he gazes at me and murmurs, "I have."

My heart is warring with itself. On the one hand, nothing sounds more enticing than allowing him to continue to hold and kiss my hand. On the other hand, the terrible discomfort has returned, as if I've stepped too close to the fire and burned myself.

Luckily I'm saved from having to extract my hand when Rameez lets go to grab his phone. He opens the front camera and extends his arm so both of us are in the frame. Scooting a little closer, he says, "We have to capture this moment."

He snaps the picture and opens it to observe it. We're both smiling, the sunlight reflecting on our skin and streaking through our hair. "Perfect," he whispers. He opens Instagram story and captions it good day, tagging me underneath.

Panic, quick and hot, flares in me when he posts the story. The knots have returned, tightly wounding themselves in me. I open my mouth to request him to delete it, but realize I don't have a reason that won't make me sound stupid.

That, and I cannot put a finger on why it's bothering me so much.

"Will Abeer see that?" I blurt out.

He looks up from his phone, and the smile on his face is so genuine that I feel a pang of guilt for disrupting his happiness. "Is that okay?" he asks.

I hesitate. If I ask him to delete it just for Abeer, that won't entirely make the discomfort go away. Plus, I haven't really told him what happened between Abeer and I because I don't want to make things awkward. Sure, I don't want her to see his story and become upset, but I also don't want to destroy his happiness. He seems genuinely happy about sharing this moment, and even though I'm wary about what people might think when they see it, I decide to let it go.

I smile. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Are you sure? I can take it down or hide my story from her if—"

"No, no!" I quickly interrupt. God, I don't want to be the reason he lies to his sister or hides the truth from her.

"Okay." He tilts his head. "You wanna go get some ice cream?"

I squeal, and his eyes light up. One of his adorable quirks is that he loves ice cream in cold weather, and I've found that I've started to love it, too. "I should probably say no since I just ate strawberry cheesecake like a fat whale and it's freezing, but I'm going to bury myself in quicksand and say yes."

"Oh, hush," he jokes, beginning to wrap up our supplies. "You only live once."

When we arrive at the ice cream shop, we order and Rameez pays. The shop is pretty close to home, and I find myself darting my head this way and that, hoping no one familiar walks in.

Once our orders arrive, we exchange our sundaes and rate whose is better. I'm in the middle of giggling and recovering from a momentary brain freeze when the bell on the door jingles and someone walks in.

It's Rumana and her friend. Oh, shoot. I quickly duck so as to hide myself from view. Rameez furrows his brows, reaching forward to touch my hand. "Are you okay? Is the ice cream too cold?"

Oh, you sweet, adorable guy. I shake my head. "No, no, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" And then he does exactly what I really don't need him to do right now: he moves from across the table and settles down next to me, wrapping an arm around me and twining his fingers through mine. He rubs soothing circles on the back of my hand. "You're freezing," he says.

"What?" My voice comes out too high, eyes zeroed in on Rumana and her friend as they order at the counter. We're sitting in the worst possible spot, too; if she so much as turns her head, I'll be directly in her line of vision.

"Your hands are really cold." Rameez continues to rub them.

I laugh nervously. "No, I'm fine, really. Can we go? I think I'm just tired."

If Rameez finds my behavior odd, he doesn't comment on it. He nods and stands, pulling me along with him. He doesn't remove his arm from around me or let go of my hand, and while normally I would find this endearing, right now I really just wish he would let go so Rumana doesn't see us.

To my utter dismay, however, we aren't quick enough. Rumana and her friend finish placing their order before they turn in our direction. Rumana's eyes immediately find mine, and for a moment her expression morphs into one of shock as her gaze travels from me to Rameez, then clocks the way his arm is wrapped around me and our fingers are entwined.

Her brows rise as she walks towards us with her friend.

Sh**, sh**, sh**.

"Hi, guys!" she chirps, and maybe I just hate her a little bit right now considering she was the reason for mine and Abeer's fight, but there's an amusing lilt to her voice that causes my blood to boil.

"Hi," I huff. "We were just heading out. See you!"

I try tugging Rameez away, but he gives me a bewildered look. I know my behavior is strange, but I really can't stand Rumana and her speculations right now.

Her friend breaks the ice with, "Hi, I'm Sana. You're Hayat, right?"

I nod, forcing a weak smile.

Rumana's eyes continue to dart back and forth between me and Rameez. A slow smile spreads across her face. "So are you guys, like, a thing?"

Oh, my God. New knots formulate in my chest, and I let out an embarrassing titter. "Oh, shoot, my mom's calling me. We have to go. It was nice seeing you guys!" I ignore the dubious look on Rumana's face and tug Rameez away.

Only when we're safely in his car and driving away do I finally breathe again.

"Are you okay?" Rameez says. He gives me a perplexed look. "You were acting kind of strange back there."

I nod quickly. "Yup, fine. I just didn't want to talk to Rumana right now because of the whole thing with Abeer..." I trail off, sensing he doesn't believe me.

"Are you sure it has nothing to do with not wanting to be seen with me in public?" he remarks casually as he pulls into my neighborhood.

Oh, sh**. He's really too perceptive for his own good.

"What?" I let out a high-pitched laugh. "No, of course not."

Rameez parks in front of my driveway and turns to me. He seems to be contemplating something before he says quietly, "Hayat, I don't want whatever is between us to be a secret."

My body tenses. We've been skirting around whatever is between us for a while; I was hoping we could just continue as we are without putting a label on anything.

I've been thinking about this for an embarrassingly long time. At random moments throughout the day, at night before sleeping. We're both only eighteen, but the past couple of months have made me feel so much older. I know it's too early for some sort of official commitment right now, but I've never really been the type to casually date or just be someone's girlfriend. And as far as I know Rameez, marriage is not in the books for him anytime soon. So that means that whatever this is, whatever we are, will be labeled something I'm sure to be incredibly uncomfortable with.

He covers my hand with his and watches me with a smoldering gaze. I feel as if I've stepped too close to the fire again. "Are you embarrassed about being with me?"

"No, um, of course not." My eyes lock on his hand wrapped around mine. "I just...I'm not ready for a public thing, I think?"

He removes his hand and sighs. "You're not sure about me."

"What?" I shake my head. "No, that's not true, Rameez. I just..." Something stops me from bringing up marriage, sensing the word is too heavy for this conversation right now.

"It's okay," he murmurs, fingering his steering wheel. "You can think about it."

"Rameez," I say in a placatory tone. "I don't need to think about it. I'm sure about you." The words are true. No matter what strange feelings I've been experiencing regarding Mikaal, the intensity of my feelings for Rameez is unmistakable.

He turns to me with a wounded expression. "Then what's bothering you?"

I bite my lip. How do I say that I'm not comfortable being someone's girlfriend and have only ever envisioned myself as a wife someday? What if that's not what he wants or is ready for right now? And realistically, we're both a bit young for that sort of commitment. But I don't want to be strung along or string him along in the hopes that whatever this is will become the real deal someday. Already the knots in my chest continue to multiply every time we're together; my brain knows what my heart doesn't want to admit, that this arrangement is making me restless and uneasy.

Rameez clears his throat and forces a smile, saving me from having to respond. "It's okay, Hayat. Get some rest and think on it. I don't want to pressure you into anything." He squeezes my hand before letting go.

Only when I arrive home do I realize I missed a prayer yet again.

. . .

Assalaamu 'Alaikum,

I've planned out the last bit of the book and there are about five chapters + an epilogue left! We're in the home stretch, babes.

Thanks for reading :)