Hushed Confessions | ✔

{19} Sibling Goals

Sajdaa Taha

Silence. 

I never thought that such peace could be so deafening. Although, the air around Hamza and I was thick, neither of us did anything to break it. We allowed the suffocating nature of stillness to torment us in the late hours. I sighed, my gaze moving to the tree branch outside the window. 

I could see my reflection through the glass as the moonlight illuminated the highlights of my cheeks and eyes, the dusty brown seemed to lack colors, and I wondered if it was the effect of stress. The darkness outside only heightened my fear of the unknown. A killer was out there, a man who wanted me dead, a man with a cold heart, a man of bloodshed. He was dangerous. 

The thought brought chills down my spine, making me shiver. The air seemed colder, almost like I was being watched. The crickets went silent, the owls flapped their heavy wings away, and the rustling outside stopped. 

My fingers touched the scarf that was lightly wrapped around my head. One glance at the window and I knew I wasn't being irrational. I knew, deep in my heart, that those creatures were warning me. 

Someone was there. 

I couldn't imagine what type of force I had reckoned with in order to be targeted by someone so cruel. The numerous letters I had received and the text message that started it all made me wonder. Who had known me so well enough to do such a thing? Perhaps, it wasn't even entirely my fault.

"You still awake?" whispered Hamza.

I turned over to my side, facing his figure. "Yeah," I said. "What's wrong?"

"Everything feels weird."

Weird, I could have laughed. Life was more than weird. That small word wasn't enough to describe the recurring fear that kept plummeting my heart on a daily basis. Sometimes, I wasn't sure whether I should be crying or laughing, maybe even both. Life was like that at times. It was hysterical, almost too surreal like something right out of a book. Everything went by so fast. 

One minute I was singing nasheeds (Islamic songs) to my uncle, and the next, he was gone. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the horrid memories to go away. After all this time, the pain never left me, the pain still stung every time I allowed myself to grieve. It was almost unbearable at times. 

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I opened my eyes and stared right into my little brother's eyes. "Tell me," I urged him, softly. 

He sighed, his fingers ran through his tough black hair, reminding me so much of Ridwan. "I don't know, but it's just really hard to believe."

"I know what you mean."

"It's like the stereotypes weren't enough, but killing is a whole new level of messed up. We lost so much, Sajdaa, our family," he gulped, "they've sacrificed so much. Why do we keep hurting them?"

From a young age, I knew Hamza was different from kids his age. Even now, my little brother proved everyday that he was growing up to be a honorable young man. Hamza was never selfish, he always thought about his actions much more thoroughly than I did. All of his decisions depended on the reactions of those that he cared about. 

"Hamza," I started, "it's hard in today's society. Everyone's telling us who we should be and who we shouldn't be, painting images of their standards. It is difficult and it does hurt sometimes, especially when people are so against us."

He solemnly nodded his head, refusing to meet my gaze. 

"But, we don't give up. That killer can try to terrorize us as much as he wants, he can rip us apart, but we're a family that sticks together. Look at the hardships we've overcome. We're still alive," I reassured him. "Mom and Dad need us to be strong for them. We have to be strong for Ridwan."