As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (28)

Layla is sprawled on my covers, hugging my pillow to her chest. Her eyes are closed, her lips moving in silent prayer.

“Layla!” I cry out, and her eyes burst open, a choked sound escaping her throat.

“Salama!” she gasps. She jumps from the bed.

We collide into each other, my arms shaking as I hold her close, her hair in my mouth. But I don’t care. She’s alive and pregnant. Very much pregnant, her stomach bumping me.

She leans back, grabs my shoulders, and shakes me. “Where were you?” she demands.

“A patient couldn’t be moved from their home, so I had to go there and operate. Then a fight broke out between the FSA and the military, and I couldn’t leave,” I say, breathless.

Her eyes are rimmed red, her cheeks blotchy, but she takes in a deep breath. “Okay.”

“The patient’s brother brought me home. He’s, uh, he’s here,” I say, trying to be casual.

She glances over my shoulder. “Here? As in, in our home?”

I nod.

Realization slowly dawns on her and scandalous shock is in every word. “Oh my God, Salama. Did you spend the night at a boy’s house?”

I shove her shoulder playfully and she giggles.

“Stop it,” I mutter. “I was nearly sick with worry. Why didn’t you answer when I called?”

She looks at me pointedly. “You know I don’t answer unknown numbers.”

I drag a hand across my face, sighing. “Fine. Fine. Alhamdulillah you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

“I am.”

“I have to tell Kenan you’re fine. You can say hello if you want.”

She gives me an exasperated look and points at herself. The flyaway, fiery hair, the watery eyes, and the wrinkled clothes. “Say hello looking like this? No thank you, I’d rather stay here.”

I shake my head, smiling.

Kenan still has his back to me when I walk out. My eyes trail over his broad shoulders and the casual way his hands are in his pockets as he rocks back and forth on the heels of his boots. I stop and for one minute allow myself to imagine our might life in this dusty hallway. That I’m living my very own Studio Ghibli movie. That in this universe he and I have our own inside jokes, and my ring finger wears the golden band he gave me. Those thoughts make my cheeks burn, but I don’t care. I am owed this. I’m owed at least my imagination.

“Kenan,” I call. “You can turn around. Layla isn’t coming out.”

He does so slowly, his gaze still glued to the carpet.

“Is she okay?” he asks, finally meeting my eyes.

I nod.

His stare darts over the hallway as he takes in the shabbiness. He says nothing, and I detect sadness in his expression.

“Are you sure she’s fine?” he asks again. “I can go get you something. Like… bread or milk if they have it at the grocery.”

I shake my head. “Thank you. We’re fine. She’s doing good.”

He exhales. “All right. I guess… this is goodbye.”

I chew on my tongue, feeling a bit crestfallen at that word. How I hate it. Goodbye.

“Right,” I say instead.

He nods at me before opening the door and looks back one more time. “Thank you, Salama, for everything. You’ve not only saved Lama’s life but you’ve saved mine and Yusuf’s too.”

He smiles, green eyes bright and warm.

For now, I think.

He slips through the door and the incoherent thought that’s been forming in the back of my mind finally makes its way to my mouth.

“Kenan!” I shout. He stops a few feet away.

“Yes?” he asks, and I swear I can hear hope.

I walk toward him, rubbing my arms. I can save him and his siblings. I know I can.

“Record at the hospital,” I say when I’m close enough that I can see the two freckles on his neck.

He looks taken aback. “What?”

“Come to the hospital and record the injured. You say you want to help, right? Show the world what’s happening? Well, nothing screams injustice more than that. The protests are usually at night. And because it’s dark, the visibility isn’t that good. But at the hospital, you’d… It’ll be more impactful.” My voice trails off into a quiet whisper.

His eyes soften at my words and he stares at me for a long minute before saying, “Why?”

“Why?” I echo.

“You’ve made it clear you think what I’m doing is dangerous. Why do you want me doing more of that, closer to you?”

I crack my knuckles, looking for a way to drain the anxiety building in my blood.

Because when you see the people who are dying. When you see the mutilated children and you hear them crying with fear and pain. Maybe then you’ll know how lucky you are that you are okay. That you can leave.

Instead, I fix him with a cool stare. “My thinking it’s dangerous has nothing to do with the fact that I love my country and I don’t want to see more people murdered.”

His ears turn red and he covers his face with one hand. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean it like that. Look, I’m not forcing you. Do you want to do this?”