Converting the Bad Boy ✔

Chapter 48

Damian's POV

Nights became restless, filled with dreams of the dreaded future. I wasn't doing well in uni, not as well as I had hoped. But it wasn't because I wasn't smart enough; I was distracted.

"Dude, are you okay? You don't seem like yourself lately," my friend Ahmed stopped me with a hand on my shoulder, looking concerned.

I forced a smile and shook my head. "I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all."

Ahmed didn't seem convinced. He knew me too well. "Damian, you're not fine. Don't lie, it's haram."

I sighed. "I know, but I don't want to burden you with all my problems, Ahmed."

Ahmed waved my words off dismissively and put an arm around my shoulder, even though he was a little shorter than me. He was probably my best friend here at uni, the only guy who really understood me. "That's what I'm here for, man. I can handle a little burden," he shot a smile at me, a smile so genuine and caring I almost choked up with tears.

"Okay, but first let's go pray Zuhr."

I was praying more these days, if that made sense. Or maybe I was just more dedicated, because I was at a time when I wanted to be closer to Allah, because only then would He grant my prayers.

The reality of it all was sinking in. My mum didn't have long left. It pained me to see her so weak, barely able to feed herself anymore. But the worst part was when she held my hands and whispered, "I want to stop the chemo."

"What?" I honestly had thought Mum would want to fight all the way and never give up, even when it got hard. But that's the thing - we always overestimated our own strength until it caught up with us, and Mum's strength could only last for so long.

"Damian, this chemo...it's making me weak. If I am going to die, I don't want to die from the chemo. Not when it's only prolonging my reunion with Allah."

Since Mum had become Muslim, she was even more religious than ever, continuously praying to Allah during the night. But she didn't pray for herself. She prayed for me and Dad. She prayed for our health, when hers was already at stake.

"Mum, are you sure that's what you want? Why are you giving up? You can still fight this, you know, it's not too late," I was angry at her choice, and my anger only made me even more emotional. My voice had cracked, and Mum watched me with her grey-blue eyes, which were more grey than blue, as the colours drained from her face as did the life, slowly ebbing away day by day.

"No, Damian, listen to me. I cannot fight this anymore. Allah has chosen my destiny, and if I go against my own destiny, I go against the will of Allah," with every word her face blurred, until I realised that my eyes had filled with those stupid tears again. They were unwanted visitors that trespassed across my vision, no matter how many times I wiped them away.

"Mum, I don't want to lose you," I could barely say those words without sounding like a warbling idiot, but if there was anyone who I could afford sounding like a warbling idiot in front of, it was my mother.

"I know, honey, I know," as she stroked the back of my hair and cradled my head in her bony arms, I felt so small and weak. I was the weak one here, not my Mum.

She always had a way of soothing me, even in my darkest times. Even when I used to snap at her and argue with her, even when I told her I hated her (I still regret saying those words to this day) she never turned against me. Since my dad was always out late at his job, it was always just me and mum, hanging out. She knew me better than anyone else in this world, and the fact that there'd come a day when she was no longer here scared the crap out of me.