Mending Broken Hearts

31. Pushback

June 2020

Madiha

At its best, life is completely unpredictable 

Never lose hope. Storms make people stronger and never last forever 

Only in the darkness, can you see the stars 

I stood alone in his kitchen, gazing in awe at the little white board attached to the double door steel refrigerator. Scribbled on it were the quotes I recognized all too well. I was the one who had found them on the internet in the early hours of the day, carefully chosen to convey the hope etched in my heart so it may bring a smile to his handsome face. Read by every one of the residents, even inspirational to many, they were only meant for one intern. 

Especially, that last quote. 

"You are my star, Omar," I whispered to the vacant apartment. As if the walls, imbued with the echoes of our love story, would carry my message to him, reassuring him even in my absence that darkness never scared me because within it, his love illuminated my world.

My stomach rumbled, a reminder that it had been hours since my last meal. It wasn't long after that, when I found myself sitting in the living room of the contemporary apartment, nestled on a crème leather couch. My feet were comfortably propped up on the footstool, and a steaming bowl of lasagna rested in my lap, as I gazed at the panoramic views of the bustling city of Chicago visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

What a sanctuary this place could be for us, I thought to my self. Me, him, cuddling on this couch against the backdrop of glittering city lights, kiss-

I took a deep breath, shook my head, clearing it of the visions my mind kept conjuring up. First when I noticed his slept-in bed and then now. There was no denying how physically attracted I was to Omar. But our time had not come yet, not matter how my skin tingled in anticipation. 

Instead, now was the time to fulfill the promise I had to made to him: I would never let him lose me. Maybe eloping wasn't the best option. Perhaps pushing back with everything I had, was what was needed. Picking up Omar's phone, I dialed a number. 

"Omar?" 

"It's me, Abu."

"Where is Omar?" was his immediate curt reply. 

"Where do you think he is, Abu? He told you he is going to his neighbor's apartment while I am staying at his."

"Fine. You can understand though why I am so worried about my unmarried daughter staying in the apartment of a man who claims to want to marry her?"

"Yes, I can. But..." 

"But nothing," he shot back. "Seriously Madiha, what were you thinking going to that protest in the first place?"

What I had been thinking was that racism against Blacks was such a norm in our desi communities that we didn't even see a problem with it. The aunties who said things like, kaaloun se dar lagta hai mujhe, or haye haye itne saare kaalay, or itne ajeeb lagte hain ye loag, would probably balk at being labeled racists. Yet, that is exactly what they were. (I am afraid of Blacks, so many blacks, these people look so weird) 

"I was thinking I had to represent the Brown community against structural racism," I told my father. 

"Itne barey barey lafz bolne aagaye hain tumhe. Tum Omar ki khatar gai thi na? Yeh uss ka plan tha, right? (You've learnt to use such big words. You went because of Omar right? This was his plan?)

What? Indignation filled me again. 

"No Abu. It was the exact opposite." I could feel my blood pressure rising. "Why do you always associate everything negative with him? I went because I wanted to, even though he tried to stop me. But when I decided to go, he followed me anyway because he cares about me. More than Faraz, or anyone else ever could..."