Hayat Amanullah was always the pampered child in her household. With loving, hardworking parents and two older brothers who were more like best friends, Hayat was never neglected of anything. She had no sense of responsibility, no worry in the world...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~ Perwinkle (flower): Nostalgia/remembrance ~
That night, I dream of Arafat.
It's a memory, one from just a few days before his death. He's entering the house and holding something behind his back, grinning at me and waggling his brows.
"Guess what's in my ha-and," he singsongs.
I stop chewing my food, narrowing my eyes and scrutinizing him. "A grenade?"
"God, Hayat." Arafat shakes his head. "Seriously."
I gasp. "Strawberry cake? Oh, my God, Arafat, you're the best."
He flinches. "Not strawberry cake. But I'll get you that, too. Later."
I pout. "What's better than strawberry cake?"
I turn to look at my parents, who are both sitting at the dining table and exchanging knowing smiles. My gaze flits to Ihsaan, who's busy fixing his broken Xbox controller. He glances up for a moment and rolls his eyes. "Drama queen," he mutters.
Arafat approaches me and says, "Okay, close your eyes."
My eyes narrow, darting between both of my brothers. "Is this another one of your stupid pranks, Ihsaan?"
Ihsaan's jaw drops. He looks at my parents, raising his hands defensively. "See? You tell me to be nice to her, but she's mean to me all the time. I mean"—he gestures to himself—"Look at this face. Does this look like the face of a prankster?"
Scoffing, I raise my brows. I open my mouth to retaliate, but Arafat sighs, nudging my shoulder. "Ignore him." He leans closer and whispers, "Do you think I would be part of one of his dumb pranks?"
I giggle, and Ihsaan throws his hands up in mock anger, shaking his head. My mom chuckles and pats Ihsaan's hand affectionately.
"Okay," Arafat continues. "Now close your eyes." I do as he says, and he grasps my arm. I sense him not so subtly whispering and rapidly gesturing to my family members, and then their footsteps head towards the front door.
"Bhai," I say. "What's going on?"
"You'll find out." Arafat lets go of my arm, using his hands to shield my eyes. "Just follow my directions and don't open your eyes until I tell you to, okay?"
"O-kay," I draw out, heart beating in anticipation.
I sense him leading me out the door, the warm spring air kissing my skin. Arafat removes his hands from my eyes, then whispers, "Okay. Now open your eyes."
I do as he says, and for a moment I attempt to register what I'm seeing. Then I scream in delight, jumping up and down and turning to give Arafat a soul-crushing hug.
