As narrated by Amaani:
Meez gets up to follow Dee but I stop him.
“Leave her,” I say. “She went out because she wants to be alone. No sense in you following her.”
“Amz, I… I don’t know.. I feel horrible to be so excited for this when it’s upsetting Dee so much,” says Meez, sounding frustrated.
“Yeah, same,” agrees Sumayya and Zee in unison.
“She seemed to be coming around lately.. like, this past month, she’s been much happier and, like, alive.. you get me?” remarks Sumayya.
“And now it’s like she’s back at square one,” says Meez.
“Nauh Meez, give her some credit. She’s trying, you can see she’s trying not to let it get to her,” I say, disapprovingly.
“Square one wasn’t like this…” mumbles Zee, distractedly.
“But Amz, I don’t get it. Like, why is it affecting her? Like, what is making her upset? I mean, are you, like, feeling the same considering.. you know…” Sumayya trails off.
Yes, I do know.
But how do I explain to them that as much as my life is similar to Dee’s, it’s entirely different too.
“What do you’ll think would have happened, had Dee gone home and asked her parents if she could join us on a roadtrip,” I ask, knowing that they all know the answer.
A sad silence settles, each of us deep in thought.
“But then, why did she, like, suggest this to us last year, anyway?” asks Sumayya, frowning deeply.
Because he stopped for a while.
Silence prevails again.
They’re all staring at me, knowing that I probably can answer that.
Confidently staring directly back at them, I don’t allow my gaze to falter.
What do you do in a case where the only way to keep one friend’s secret, is to lie to the other?
“Guys, I know I’m a work of art, but it’s rude to stare,” I say smirking, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
They seem to get the message because no one pushes the subject.
A knock on the door distracts us.
“Come in,” calls Zee.
The door opens to reveal Aunty Shenaaz. She walks in and puts down a tray of snacks.
This woman can entertain bruh! We literally just ate a solid supper not even an hour ago!
“Aunty Shenaaz you’re too kind,” says Meez. “My stomach is extremely grateful!”
I shake my head. Meez!
“Shukran (Thanks),” I say to Aunty Shenaaz, smiling at her.
“You’re welcome my child,” she replies, smiling kindly.
Then she asks, “Where’s Deeyanah?”
“Didn’t she come to the kitchen?” I ask, frowning.
“She told us she’s going to get water,” says Sumayya.
“No, I was in the kitchen all this time, she didn’t come,” says Aunty Shenaaz.
“She’s probably just out at the back,” remarks Meez.
And sure enough, as I look through the sliding doors leading to the backyard, I see Dee sitting on the lapa swing, deep in the thought as the moonlight reflects on her face.
As narrated by Deeyanah:
Sitting out in the fresh air always helps. My mind is clearer; my body more relaxed, as my gaze remains fixated on the moon.
I marvel at it’s superb brilliance, it’s rare beauty.
384,400 km from the Earth.
4.527 billion years old.
And as it glows, knowing fully well it’s unique glory, part of it always remains hidden.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, something else strikes me.
How much more handsome was the prophet Muhammad (S.A.W) that Ayesha (R.A) described his face more radiant than the 14th full moon?
Surprised at my sudden line of thought, I get up to go inside. I really needed that glass of water.
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