As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (71)

Kenan doesn’t say anything for a while, and I let him have that. He needs to unravel the words I’ve just said, understand what they mean for him. For me. For us.

“Salama, look at me,” Kenan finally coaxes gently.

Reluctantly, I peer through the folds of my sleeves.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He smiles. “You’re my Sheeta.”

Joy reclaims my heart and I feel foolish, but I say it anyway: “You’re my Pazu.”

Kenan looks away, a shadow falling over his cheeks, and he presses a hand to his forehead. Then he twists toward me.

He looks nervous, but a different kind of nervous. “Salama, I want to do this right. Even if we don’t have our families fussing over us, chaperoning our dates and whatnot. Even if Khawf is around. And I don’t want to wait until we’re in Munich to do this. I don’t want to do it on a boat. I want to do it here. In our home.”

My internal temperature rises. “Do what?” I stutter.

He swallows hard and slips his hand into his pocket. When he opens his palm, a ring sparkles on it. “I want to marry you. If you’ll have me.”

“What?” Khawf snaps.

“What?” I exclaim, the air vanishing from my lungs.

He fights a grin. “Is that a good what or a bad what?”

My mouth falls open. “I—I didn’t think you’d do that here!”

“Proposing on the revolution’s anniversary?” His eyes twinkle. “I’ve been planning this for a week.”

“You’re impossible,” I breathe, pressing my hands to my cheeks.

Kenan bites his lip and says, “I thought you’d say something like that. Salama, you and I live our lives second by second. We might live to ride that boat to Syracuse. We might settle in Munich. We might learn German, paint our apartment in vibrant shades of color we haven’t seen in Homs in a long time, and build a life. An amazing life. You’d become a pharmacist all the hospitals would trip over themselves to hire, and I’d draw our stories. We’d have our own adventures.” He looks away bashfully, stumbling on his words. “We’d write a book. Together. But… we also might not survive these six days. We might be buried here. Anything can happen, and I don’t want to wait anymore. No one knows the future. But I know how I feel. I know how you feel. So let’s find our happiness here in Homs. Let’s get married in our country. Let’s make a home here before we make one somewhere else.”

His words illustrate a universe of what ifs, mights, and maybes that feel possible. I want this universe so badly I feel its fire burning through me.

He holds the ring up and with hesitant eyes and blushing cheeks asks, “Salama, will you marry me?”

I stare at him. With every other situation in my life, I dissect all outcomes to the bone before deciding. But with this? The decision is as easy as breathing. It feels like how peace probably does.

But even breathing can be painful sometimes, and if I say yes, Kenan and his siblings will be a part of my heart forever.

It will become real.

I stare at the ring and find that I don’t care about whatever uncertainties lie in our future. All I know is that I love him and that even in the darkness surrounding us, he’s been my joy. In the midst of all the death, he made me want to live.

The answer slips easily from my lips.

“Yes,” I whisper, wiping my tears away, feeling my heart glow. “Yes.”





THE SUN’S RAYS ON MY FACE JOLT ME AWAKE AND IT takes me a second to realize I’m not at home. A bird flies above me, its silhouette streaking through the pale blue sky. My gaze follows it.

That’s right. I am home.

Beside me, Kenan stirs in his sleep, and I glance at him. His chest rises and falls steadily, comforting me. He winces and I hope it’s because the ground is unkind to his back and not due to nightmares. His hair is longer than when I met him, and his scruff is more pronounced. I wonder how it would feel to run my fingers through his hair.

My nerves spark when I remember last night. I take the ring out of my pocket and hold it high, admiring it in the light. I didn’t want to wear it in the darkness where I couldn’t see how it glitters on my finger. It’s rose gold, encrusted in the middle with a line of white gold, perfectly modeled to resemble tiny diamonds. It’s beautiful and simple and what I’d have picked out if I had been in the shop.

“It was my mother’s,” Kenan says, and I jump.

He sits up as well. His eyes are bright and a morning blush blooms on his cheeks.

The ring suddenly feels heavy in my palm. “It’s so beautiful,” I whisper. “I… I don’t know what else to say.”

He smiles sadly. “You don’t have to say anything.”

I shake my head. “I’m so sorry about your parents. I—I would love to have known your mother.”

He fiddles with his fingers. “She never really understood why I decided to become an animator instead of studying medicine, but she supported me anyway. And even then, she knew me so well. Just from seeing you at your brother’s wedding, she knew we’d be perfect for each other.” His eyes gloss over for a second, then he shakes his head. “She would have loved for you to have her ring.”

“I’m honored to wear it.” I try to slip it on my finger, hoping it will fit. But it doesn’t. My fingers are made of skin and bone, and it hangs loosely.