I Love Him!, page 1
I love him, mama!
“My heart tells me this is the best and greatest feeling I have ever had. But my mind knows the difference between wanting what you can’t have and wanting what you shouldn’t want. And I shouldn’t want you.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Glass.
Before all, I have to thank Allah for giving me every single thing I usually ask for. Thank goodness!
To my mom; without whom I would not have been taught to believe in myself
, and to work hard to get what I'm dreaming of .
To my dad; without whom I would not have learned to be what I want to be, and never know how to be strong.
To my sisters; Amal, Samra, Abla, and Soundos the best sisters I can imagine.
To my brothers; Nabil, Saad, Saif El-Dain the blessings that god gifted us.
To my sister in law Najia my fifth kind sister.
To my beautiful little nieces Asma, Rahma, Mohammed who completed our family.
To my smart and creative editor, Mohammed Navi, who edited all of my pieces of writing without getting tired, understood my day dreaming series and supported me every single second. Cheers to YOU, Ivan!
To my Canadian girlfriend the one who shares the same dreams with me. I like you, Louisa!
To my great teachers;
Mr. Hachelaf Ahmed Abd-Elhakim; without his faith, support, and constant encouragement I could never have done that.
To the one who believed in me, Mr. Salem Khadroune.
To Mr. Mihoubi Ahmed, who edited my articles and supported me a lot.
To Mrs. Sarah Harath; without whom I would never have taken a forward step in writing.
To Mr. Kebach Tayeb; who had every confidence in me; all the time.
To Mr. Daoudi Mourad; the one who woke up the talent of writing inside of me.
To Mr. Mustapha Ben Chaa; who gave me the right pillars of self-confidence and how to plan for my future goals.
To Mr. Ali Nouar; who encouraged me to go through adventures till I get my dream fulfilled.
To Ms. Cherigieun Anissa who helped me whenever I needed her.
Special thank to all of my friends without exception.
To my classmate Ammar Mejdoub who worked on the cover of this book. Thanks a lot, brother!
To those who thought that I will never do this!
"Forgive me!" Ahmed cried out in pain while clinching into Aisha's hands begging her to stay.
Aisha’s skin had changed from beautiful light brown color into a complete tenebrous shade of darkness. Her brown almond eyes along with her long eyelashes had all withered away; that special piece of life within them was gone. Aisha had always been special, very tall, very slim, but today, after seeing her today, she looked like a flattened bag of bones. It was months ago; my mom had called me worried that Aisha “started cutting off her hair!”. And since then her soft attractive feminine facial features began to change. She was still beautiful with her little full lips and perfect shaped nose. She was always gorgeous in a natural way; rarely relying on makeup. She was a woman with a big heart, kind spirit, and a sharp mind, she had an unbelievable passion for learning; she was it, my younger sister, an educated beautiful woman.
Now we were watching her dying. For a moment everybody ceased making any kind of sound. Her eyes were closed and her mouth gradually commenced to be opened. She looked cold like the snow that unexpectedly devoured a little flower. Aisha stopped moving and when I listened to what I thought was her last breath, I quickly glanced away from the direction my tears would fall, while my mom had now approached her, hugging her dead body and screaming in agony.
Mohammed our brother stood up and walked outside to the balcony, like an auditory impaired pillar, he stood still, looking back at her, until, he opened his mouth to an unstoppable cry of the loudest tears I had ever heard; my father placed his hands over his face; crying and praying over her. Everything was disoriented, bitter and cold. Everything had changed; no one could comprehend what was going anymore, why did she have to die? Abdullah, Aisha’s husband, was also in agony holding the arms of his mother Amal.
It was also a few months ago that I had heard that Amal, Abdullah's mother, started taking care of their son, Youcef, for more than eight months when Aisha's situation was beginning to get worse…
All at once her chest spammed as she coughed rising and falling, then again, before slightly grabbing our mother; with the last of her breath she said;
"There is no god but God; Mohammad is the messenger of God!” and with that, she died.
And never again did she move. Nor would I ever hear her voice again!
Yet the only thing I could remember was, how she kept saying, "I love him, mama!” but I never understood what she meant.
My mom would begin to cry loudly whenever Aisha admitted that; I never understood why.
No one knew who that guy was; the guy Aisha loved. Maybe it was her husband Abdullah, but why didn’t she say his name?
Days had passed after Aisha’s death, and mom began accusing Ahmed for what had happened; “she is right he was the one who ruined her”. But something was not right; I knew there was more to Aisha’s story. A few days before she died, she asked for me, while under critical condition, she wanted to tell me something in private; something important.
“What is this, Aisha?”
"Sarah; keep this book, my diary, don't show it to anyone!''; she said hardly.
It took me five years to read Aisha's diary as at first I was hesitant that she may not like me when I read it, but then I remembered that she gave it deliberately to me. This meant that she trusted me, even when I read it; her story would remain a secret forever. Honestly, I was really eager to know the reasons that led her to stop eating and to start crying every single day. If I remember correctly it was all after returning back from New York; refusing to marry Abdullah, losing hope in everything after marriage, and deciding not to consult a doctor when she got sick even her son was not a strong impulse for her to survive.
I was kneeling in front of Aisha's grave; this time I persistently stared at the grave, every single second I shared with her passed across my mind; I genuinely couldn't make the tears stop, and my regrets about when I didn’t help her and stay with her the time she needed me the most started hurting me. I was replaying every memory and every event we had together. I was fragile; breaking at the simple touch my hand made with the ground. I was reading her name on the grave again and again because till now I don’t believe that she is my sister who's lying down calmly without making noise; without calling me,
"Hey; fat lady!"
I was crying and sobbing; gulping for breath. Unintentionally, I found myself hugging the grave like if it was a dear person that I needed their hug for so long. The tears ran down my face and fell into the dust of her grave. Everything seemed dark, frighteningly eerie, and dreadful, but the time I hugged her grave I felt a sense of serenity and tranquility that I had not felt for ages. I was telling her about everything that had happened after her death;
"Youcef is studying now; our dad said that he has the same passion for learning as you had; his eyes are magnificent bright and round…Your husband Abdullah hasn't known any woman as far as I know… but I myself got a baby girl; I named her Aisha…Ahmed our brother has gotten married, mostly because our parents wanted that; he has suffered a lot after your death as he took all the blame on himself…Mohammed traveled to France since he found a good job there''; my voice trembled; I was still in pain.
Suddenly, I stopped talking; wishing she wouldn’t ask about our parents who entered a gloomy space to live in after her death. They are living in deep sadness, day and night, also feeling guilt for her death; praying const
I was holding her diary; contemplating again and again whether I should read it, and looking at its cover on which the name; "Alex" was written hundred times; the eagerness and curiosity had finally killed me.
"I need to know what happened to you, Aisha"; I said seriously.
After a while, I opened her red book quickly; and started reading it with the soft voice I use when I read stories for my daughter before she sleeps at night;