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Lavender: Peace
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We trudge across the frozen grass, my parents holding hands and Ihsaan holding one of Aneela's hands and one of mine.

There has always been a strange, unexpected sort of peace every time we visit the graveyard. This is one of the largest Muslim graveyards in the tristate area, and it's surrounded by trees on all sides. Bare branches are coated with snow, occasionally sprinkling to the ground when a light breeze drifts across the graveyard. Visitors all share brief greetings and sad smiles as we pass by one another.

In summer it was even more peaceful. Ducks roamed around, waddling away every time we got too close. The scent of fresh flowers was constantly drifting through our noses. The trees swayed in tune with the breeze as our clothes rippled around us. If you needed water to pour over the grass on the graves, you would dash to the little cabin nearby and fill it with hose water. If you needed a chair to sit on, you could grab any of the ones nearby. If you wanted to sprinkle Zamzam over the graves, families would leave bottles of it near their loved one's graves.

There's a sad but comforting communion amongst all the visitors.

The graveyard is like a strange, melancholy garden. Only alongside planting flowers, we plant tears and memories in the mud as well.

I'm carrying a bouquet of peonies, Arafat's favorite flowers and symbolic for healing. Once we arrive at his grave, I grab two chairs from nearby and gesture for my parents to sit.

I take a deep breath, removing the peonies from the bouquet and sticking them into the mud atop the grave. I brush the snow off the gravestone and rest my hand against it.

Our beloved
Arafat Amanullah
Loving son and brother.
Always remembered, always in our hearts.
"Every soul will taste death." (Qur'an 3:185)
DOB: 4/7/1999. DOD: 6/3/2024

Every time I visited the graveyard after Arafat's death, tears pooled rapidly upon immediate entry. But today feels strange. Today I feel almost at...peace as I rub my hand comfortingly along the gravestone.

Aneela joins me, resting one hand next to mine and squeezing the other around my arm reassuringly.

Or perhaps she needs comfort as well.

We all hold our hands up in du'aa, our combined voices a warm thrum in the bitter January cold.

Once we're done, I settle down on the ground, ignoring the sludge of snow and mud. Ihsaan and Aneela join me as our parents sit on chairs behind us.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for Princeton University. The semester starts in a couple days and move in week begins tomorrow. My belongings are all packed and ready at home, and I'm a bundle of nerves.

The past couple of months have been challenging and heartbreaking, to say the least. Arafat's death rattled my family so hard that we became unrecognizable, to ourselves and to each other. My dad buried his grief in his work, my mom seldom left her room, and my brother became distant and wary. It seemed we would never be able to resume life as before.

Things have obviously drastically changed since then. We're definitely not the same happy family as before, but we're finally coming to a good place. Arafat's absence has ripped a hole through our hearts, but we were able to find our way back to each other to mend it. Despite the challenges and the ache that accompanied us every day, we managed to take a deep breath and pull through until the next day. And then the next day. And then the next day. Until we stopped living just to get through it and began living for each other and for ourselves.

A pang still resonates within our chests when we hear his name. We still pause and have to reorient ourselves when we receive mail with his name on it. Stunted laughter often dies down when it begins to feel as if a presence is missing out on it.

But.

Tentative smiles have morphed into halfhearted jokes and laughter. Sadness and tears have morphed into fond memories. Agony has morphed into painful but steady healing.

I rub my hand along Arafat's name on the gravestone, letting out a deep sigh.

Despite being insanely anxious about leaving my steadily healing family behind and attending Princeton, I'm also filled with a tentative happiness. My parents sat me down and had a long talk about turning over a new leaf and focusing on my education. They reassured me constantly that they would be okay and not to worry about them. Ihsaan playfully mussed my hair and said he would finally be rid of the churail in his house. Aneela grasped my hands and murmured soothing words.

Had Arafat been here, he would have been over the moon with happiness. I focus on that and the memory of him to ease my distressed heart.

I look at my four family members, my gaze drifting across Papa's arm around Mama's shaking shoulders and Aneela's hands grasped in mine and Ihsaan's.

Dream Arafat's words come back to me. 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.

My eyes flit to Ihsaan, tracing his 5 o'clock shadow as his lips move in du'aa. Ihsaan. The pursuit of excellence.

Hayat and Ihsaan. Life and the pursuit of excellence. The perfect complements to one another.

As if he feels my eyes on him, Ihsaan turns to me. Grief shines in his eyes, but he cracks a tentative smile when we lock gazes.

And despite the anxiety about leaving roiling throughout me, despite trying to find some semblance of comfort by rubbing my hand against Arafat's gravestone, Ihsaan's smile and the sight of my family huddled close together eases my troubled heart.

I take a deep breath, smiling back at my brother.

We'll be okay. I know we'll be okay.

. . .

"Boohoo," Abeer says, sticking her tongue out at Ihsaan as he and Papa unload the car and sets the boxes on the sidewalk of the dorm building.

"Yeah, yeah, wait till we take these to the dorm," Ihsaan huffs. "I'm gonna make you carry all the heavy ones."

"Joke's on you, Ihsaan bhai," Abeer says, looping her arms through mine and Aneela's. Then she pouts, chin trembling and worry lines etched into her forehead as she begins blinking rapidly. "We're just girls."

"I find it disconcerting when you do that," I comment, eyes roving over my best friend's features.

She breaks into a smile as my parents chuckle.

"Ihsaan," Aneela says gently, extracting her arm from Abeer's. "Let me help you. They're not even that heavy."

Ihsaan holds out an arm to stop Aneela from getting close to the boxes. "How about"—his lips curve in a teasing smile—"you sit there and look pretty."

Aneela rolls her eyes, but a blush creeps across her face as she grins at Ihsaan.

He blinks in a disoriented fashion, reaching up to place a hand over his chest. "Actually," his voice comes out breathless. "Don't do that. I'm suddenly weak in the knees."

Abeer squeals, clapping her hands together and pressing them against her cheeks. "They're soooo cute," she whisper-shouts. "Masha Allah."

Two hours later, once all the boxes have been transported to the dorm room and everyone has helped me settle in, we return to the car. Mama's eyes are wet with tears as she recites a prayer, Papa has his arms around her shoulders as he gives me a watery smile, Aneela and Abeer are smiling encouragingly at me, and Ihsaan has a poorly disguised expression of heartbreak on his face.

I take turns greeting all of them, my eyes shining with tears. Mama and Papa hug me and whisper words of comfort and encouragement in my ears, telling me how proud they are of me. Aneela and Abeer do the same, throwing in a joke or two to get a giggle out of me. When I get to Ihsaan, he takes a deep breath and lifts his head towards the sky.

"I hate goodbyes," he groans.

"Me, too." Before I'm able to say anything else, Ihsaan reaches forward and crushes me against his chest, his arms tightening around me as if the ground beneath us is crumbling. I return the embrace with just as much enthusiasm, burying my face in his chest and closing my eyes.

"You're gonna be the greatest academic weapon history has ever seen," he murmurs against my hair.

I laugh hoarsely. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Ihsaan pulls back and places his hands on my shoulders. He stares intently at me as he says, "Be stress-free, focus on your education, and make good friends. If anyone makes you cry, give me a phone call and I'll break their face—"

"Ihsaan!"

"Just kidding. Sort of. But you got this, okay? Don't worry about anything at home. I'm here. I will take care of everything." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and smiles. "You need this. This will be so good for you. It's the qadr of Allah."

I startle at the words, emotion crawling up my throat. I swallow thickly, reaching up to clutch a hand against my chest.

Both my brothers have come to say goodbye.

"Group hug!" Abeer says, clapping her hands. Then her gaze darts to Papa and Ihsaan. "Actually, uhhh, family group hug first, and then Abeer hug."

Everyone chuckles as my family huddles together one last time. Then I give Abeer one last hug before I wave to everyone. For a moment I pause, branding the image of my smiling family and best friend in my mind's eye. My parents' arms around each other, Ihsaan and Aneela's arms around each other, and Abeer continuing to wave excitedly at me.

When Arafat died, it seemed as if our life stopped suddenly. Like our happiness was a pendulum, and it was struck by a sudden, shocking external force that made it stop oscillating back and forth altogether.

As I turn around and make my way to the dorm building entrance, a content smile blooms on my lips.

Our pendulum has finally begun to swing again.

. . .

Assalaamu 'Alaikum,

A little cheesy, yes, but who's crying with me?

Omg my heart. No words. Can't function. Can't think straight. Just—thank you all so much for everything.

Epilogue to come!

Thanks for reading!