As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (70)

I fall to my knees in front of him. I breathe in gasps, my desperation hindering my lungs. “I won’t forgive you, Kenan. You can’t come into my life and show me the colors and tell me about your dreams and just risk it all when we’re six days from leaving!”

“Because I might be arrested?” His voice breaks.

“Because you made me fall in love with you!” I retort, my heart beating harshly.

My eyes burn with tears that streak down my overheated cheeks. His overflow as well, like two rivers dripping from his chin, and he covers them with his arm, his lower lip trembling.

I refuse to look away, to have any answer from him that isn’t what I need to hear.

I whisper, “You can’t do this to me. My heart won’t take it.”

He lowers his arm, eyes shining. “I love you too.”

His voice comes out soft and quiet, but it’s all I hear. Even if there were a hurricane ripping through Homs, he’d be all I hear. Every taut muscle and nerve cell in me unwinds and I sink lower in the soil, feeling the little grass blades nudging me.

“Then do this for me,” I plead. “Please. Do this for me.”

I want to reach for him—to hold him—but I won’t. There’s no ring on my finger and we aren’t promised to each other.

He doesn’t reach for me either, even though it’s clear from his expression he wants nothing more. But he does lean forward until there’s no space for a flower stem to fall between us.

“Salama,” he breathes, and my heart trips, picks itself up, and trips again. Under the silvery moonlight, he looks magical—magnified by his kindness and beautiful soul. He doesn’t deserve the cruelty this world has to offer. “I won’t record.”

I clasp a hand over my mouth and brush away the relieved tears. “Thank you.”

He smiles. “Don’t cry.”

“You’re crying too!”

A laugh escapes from him and I manage to beam, my facial muscles stretching stiffly. But the moment passes quickly when I look to Khawf to make sure he’s keeping his promise. He looks amused.

“Well, that worked out,” he chuckles.

Kenan’s gaze drops to my restless fingers. “Salama, may I ask you something?”

I wince slightly, anxious. “Sure.”

“I’ve noticed how jumpy you are sometimes,” he begins slowly. “Your eyes dart everywhere, as if you’re looking for someone. There was also, uh, what happened earlier. Are… you all right?”

There it is. It was going to happen eventually. I bite my tongue and Khawf laughs this time.

“Will you tell him, Salama?” he says. “Or are you scared he won’t love you anymore?”

I shudder and a sinking weight settles on my ribs, concaving them. My stomach is hollow with nerves. How do I tell him about Khawf? I want to. That want started when he first showed me the sunset. Like a whisper at the back of my head.

I stare at the scars on my hands, tracing the silvery slashes.

“Salama?” Kenan says. Concern is wrapped in every syllable.

I look up at him and try to keep my breathing steady. I’m not ashamed of who I am and the struggles I go through. Khawf is an integral part of my life who has shaped so much of who I have become these past months. I won’t deny that it would feel like a punch to the gut if Kenan flinched away from me after I tell him. But if we’re to have our version of a real life together, I don’t want to start it with a lie.

“I, uh…,” I begin, then clear my throat. “No. I’m not all right.”

“What are you saying?” His tone is fearful. For me.

I sit back against my spot and reach for a little plant growing between the cracked concrete, twirl it between my fingers. I say the words quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid, exposing my secret. “Since last July, I’ve been having… visions. Hallucinations, I guess.”

I pause, staring at the plant’s baby leaves, but the only sound I hear is Khawf’s slow clapping. He looks impressed and there’s a glint of pride in his eyes.

I peek at Kenan under my eyelashes and catch the surprise in his expression.

“Visions?” he asks, and he glances a few feet from where Khawf stands. “You mean you’re seeing things that…” He falters.

“Aren’t real,” I finish for him. “Mostly I see one person.”

Khawf straightens his back and dusts off his suit. “Oh my God, are you going to introduce me?”

I ignore Khawf and continue. “Khawf. He’s been in my life since Mama died. I fell pretty hard on my head that day and, I don’t know, maybe a head injury coupled with my PTSD has affected the relationship between my brain’s frontal lobe and sensory cortex, but I won’t be sure until I can get checked.”

Kenan looks stunned. “Khawf?”

I nod, throwing the plant away, and force my tone to stay calm. “He shows me memories. My regrets.” I leave out the degree of trauma I feel after each one. He doesn’t have to know all the details. I take a deep breath. “I’ve learned to live with it.” I exhale. “Now you know.”

I hug my knees to my chest, burying my head in my arms to hide my teary eyes, my heart shivering with what he’ll say. It’s taken me a long time to accept Khawf, and I have no idea if Kenan will be able to come to terms with it. If he’ll see me and not someone haunted by her mistakes.