Leilah Usman awaits an acceptance from a university abroad so she can leave the country she never loved when she stumbles upon an ancient diary. Through the eyes of Mahrosh Irfan, she finds herself in a world so completely different from hers.
One w...
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She lay on her bed, fingers gingerly skimming through the pages of the diary.
"Leilah-" her mother opens her bedroom door, but she hardly hears her over the eagerness with which she opens the next diary entry. Her mother is telling her to go somewhere, but Leilah's thoughts are elsewhere entirely; somewhere years and years ago.
"Not now, Mama. They're about to get married."
Her mother frowns, "Leilah, it's Friday. I am going to the hospital."
That transports her back to her room. The vibrant colors of the 1930s, the emotions of Mahrosh and of Walid, handwritten letters, paintings. It all fades. Leilah looks at her mother.
Friday.
While her mother visits her grandmother every single day, Leilah routinely goes every other Friday.
"I'm coming," she says, sitting up on the bed. Asma nods at her and walks out. Leilah glances at the diary but no matter how much she wishes to read ahead, she knows she has to wait. The fruit of patience may be sweet but it is all the more difficult.
She closes the diary and pushes herself off the bed. Her visits to the hospital are already so seldom and Leilah knows she cannot compromise on them. She puts the diary on the study desk but as she moves to grab her jacket, something catches her eye.
The edge of a white paper sticks out from the back of the diary. Leilah's eyebrows draw together and she picks it up again, opening it from the backside. A single note, written on a small piece of paper and scribbled in ink that is beginning to fade now, peers back at her.
Leilah's heart skips a beat.
Dear Sarah,
I thought you would like to have this. You only know of fragments of the story, and you might have wished to know it in its entirety. I did not find this till a few months ago. The story is imprinted too well in my heart and I have no need of this.
I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive this old man. Let us forget what happened in the past and make amends. We are family, after all.
Leilah's heartbeat quickens. She turns the note over in search of a name but finds none. There is only a date on the other side of the note. 1988 -
Realization dawns on her and her eyes widen. Her mother mentioned that her grandmother's stepfather visited once when her mother and her uncle had been kids. Leilah reads the note again, and she draws a shaky breath.
"The story is too well imprinted in my heart," she reads aloud, her voice low. She turns the diary over, realizing that her Nano's stepfather might already have appeared in the diary.
"Leilah!"
She quickly puts the note back in the diary. "Coming!" She calls out, putting on her sneakers before she joins her mother outside.
Leilah is quiet on the way. She is racking her brains, her thoughts too preoccupied. The hospital visit only makes her heart weigh heavier. She stands by the door of the room while her mother moves towards her grandmother. "Look who's here, Mama-" Asma says, helping her sit up but as her grandmother's gaze lands on her, Leilah's heart twists in her chest.
There is no recognition in her eyes.
In her personal essay for the university admissions, Leilah wrote about Alzheimer's. She wrote about the disease; and her fear of it, linking it with her passion for photography, and choosing journalism as a major.
The rest of the day rushes by- Leilah sits on the sofa at the corner of the room, watching how her mother looks after her grandmother; participating only when her mother asks her a question or tells her to pass something. Some days, her Nano recognizes her mom - but she does not that day. Leilah's fists ball by her sides and she walks out of the room when her eyes begin to burn and her emotions get too difficult to handle.
Her emotions weigh heavy on the way back. The question of who the note in the diary is from brings her to the realization of how little she truly knows of Nano. And of how little her mother too knows of her.
Who are you, Nano? Leilah thinks to herself when she has returned to her room. She stands by the study table, her fingers grazing through the pages of Mahrosh' diary.
A page opens. It is one she has read before; a pasted newspaper clippings of Mahrosh' writings in the newspaper.
Who are you?
I wonder what you would reply with if I ask you that question. Would it be a name that you did not choose for yourself? A number, a job, or a hobby?
Perhaps you would name a place. Or a caste. You might list the things you own - nouns, verbs and adjectives. And these facts and figures of yours would form a list that you might think of as impressive.
Chances are, you misunderstood the question.
Because who are you? Behind that name and those numbers; behind the material wealth that you possess and the land you were born in - and please, don't be alarmed. Surely, there is a heart underneath this skin and it amounts to something. Surely, to be stripped away from your material possessions and societal connections does not bar you as nonexistent.
If you were to find yourself in the middle of a desert, empty-handed, would you still have an answer?
Who am I and for what purpose was I created?
Today; I beg of you - ask yourself that question. And the rhythm of your heart that pounds against your ribs, its melody will whisper you the answers.
For your answers lie within.
Leilah's heartbeat quickens. She looks up, and her reflection from the mirror across the room stares back at her.
Who are you, Leilah?
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السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته
So many questions, eh? Any guesses on who Sarah's stepfather could be?
