As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (98)

“Hey,” I whisper, moving over a bit to create more space. “Sleep on my shoulder.”

He glances up and shakes his head, but when I grab the front of his sweater and guide him down he offers no resistance. My bony shoulder is not much of a cushion but at least my hijab is soft.

“Salama,” he whispers. “I’m fin—”

“Shh. We’re one step closer to eating knafeh. Dream about that.”

He sighs and it takes him all of three seconds to fall asleep. I pray the Panadol eases his pain.

I look up to the sky, watching it slowly swap its colors for dark gray, signaling the end of my old life and the beginning of an unknown one. I distract myself by watching the clouds take their time dissipating after the sun, like handmaidens following their queen. The moon rises instead, throwing his haunting glow down onto the black water. The waves rock gently against the boat, their vibrations spreading through the metal until they reach my skin.

People have started to drift off one by one. But my mind, despite being more drained than it has ever been, is wide awake. I can’t stop watching the stars emerge through the darkness, and I realize that the last time I saw these constellations I was with Kenan in the abandoned ruins of my home. It’s hard to believe it happened less than a week ago. It feels like years. Eons.

I focus on the stars, connecting them with imaginary lines until I really see the silvery thread my mind is conjuring.

He’s here. I look down to find him sitting on the edge of the boat, dangling his feet in the water, his back to me.

“Quiet night,” he remarks, and I shiver. He looks painfully beautiful in the moonlight’s shadow. My heart jumps.

“What are you doing here?” I frown. “Didn’t you say you’re bound to Syria?”

He turns my way, swinging his legs inside. “So eager to get rid of me?”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t have time to mourn your absence, what with being terrified out of my mind the whole way here,” I snap, even though my being here at all was only made possible by his influence. By my brain taking charge.

He smiles.

“Did you lie to me?” I ask. Will he really keep his promise and leave me alone? I shudder, thinking about waking up one random morning in Germany only to find him hovering at the foot of my bed.

He shakes his head. “We’re still in Syrian waters.”

I glare at him.

“I won’t be with you in Syracuse. I promise,” he says with a laugh.

I ponder his words. “That’s not true,” I whisper. “You’re a part of me just as you’re a part of everyone here.”

He gestures to the darkness. “And all those claimed by the sea. All those who have become bone and dust.” He sighs. “It’s true. I told you before, when you asked me where I’d go. I’m everywhere. But I won’t be there with you physically. Not like in Syria.”

I shiver. “Everywhere,” I say, tasting the word on my tongue. The answer to his existence was there all along.

I can see history woven between his irises. “Everywhere. Since the beginning of time, I have awoken in people’s hearts. I’ve been given many names in countless languages. In yours, I’m Khawf. In English, Fear. In German, Angst. Humans have listened to my whispers, heeded my council, and tasted my power. I’m everywhere. In the breaths of a king executed by his people. In the last heartbeats of a soldier bleeding out alone. In the tears of a pregnant girl dying at her doorstep.”

I look away, wiping an arm over my eyes. Layla. My sister.

Khawf says gently, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then why does it feel like it was?” I whisper, letting my tears trickle down my cheeks. Grief isn’t constant. It wavers, tugging and letting go like the waves on the sea.

He smiles sadly. “Because you’re human. Because no matter what, you have a heart so soft it easily bruises. Because you feel.”

A low cry escapes me.

“But it’s not your fault,” Khawf continues. “Remember what Am said? If you’re meant to be in Munich, you’ll be there, even if the whole world is against you. Because it’s your fate. It wasn’t Layla’s. It wasn’t your parents’ or Hamza’s either.”

Fate. A complex word that holds many doors leading to countless pathways in life, all controlled by our actions. And so, I hold on to my faith—in knowing that both Layla and I went above and beyond to survive. In knowing she’s in Heaven—alive with Baby Salama. In knowing I’ll see her insh’Allah when it’s my time. That I’ll see Mama, Baba, and Hamza.

“In my heart, I know it’s not my fault,” I murmur, glancing up at the pearl-encrusted skies. I’d give anything to hug Layla right now. “But it’s going to take a while for my mind to accept that. And it hurts. More than I can bear. I just… miss her so much.”

“I know.”

Khawf suddenly stands up, and my heart jumps to see him balanced on the railing, whispers away from falling. But his posture is straight, perfectly balanced.

“You’ve grown this past year, Salama. I’m rooting for you, you know. You’ve overcome so many struggles and I’m humbled by them. You might not consider me a friend, but I think of you as one.”

“You’re leaving?” I ask, my stomach dropping.