Orphic (#1 in the Hajar series)

twenty-two

chapter twenty two - salvation

song of the chapter ; rush - william singe

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"YOU LOOK LIKE shit," Samara, Israfil's younger sister commented when she opened the door. He had red rimmed eyes, dark bags underneath, and messy hair. Israfil glared at her little dig, pushing his way inside. He was tired of being cooped up alone in his home, so he decided to visit his family at their house.

Samara watched as Israfil kicked off his shoes and made his way past her, seeming unbothered about her presence. "What's wrong with you?" She asked, now genuinely concerned about him.

Israfil pursed his mouth shut, knowing he would've snapped at her if he said anything. When he was angry, he often said and did things that he would later regret, things that he wasn't sure he was able to take back. "Where's mama?" He asked, voice gruff and raspy, purposely dodging her question.

Samara followed him before closing the door. "In the kitchen."

Israfil felt his younger sister on his trail to the kitchen, feet padding behind him as his own slid across the smooth beige carpet. When he entered, he saw his mother was sat on a chair behind the table, one of her hands clutching a tiny ceramic cup, with intricate Syrian designs markings on the side. Across from her sat her son, Israfil's brother, Azrael.

Upon sensing his presence, his mother looked up, a warm smile instantly growing on her face. When she saw the exhausted expression on her eldest son, her grin faltered momentarily. "Habibi, keif halek?" (My love, how are you?) She asked, standing up to greet him properly. Israfil bent down to accommodate her short height, allowing her to loop her arms around his neck in a hug, before kissing him on the cheek three times; first left, then right, then left again. In Syrian culture, this was a common greeting among friends and relatives.

Israfil pulled away, ignoring the subtle glare of his younger brother. "Ana bekhair, mama." (I'm fine.) He knew he was lying, his sister knew it, so did his brother, and there wasn't a doubt that his mother hadn't picked up on his change in attitude.

His mother, Esma, sat back down, slipping her hand back around the coffee mug, sipping on the strong dark liquid. "Azrael, don't just sit there. Go make your brother some coffee, haramalaiky, shame on you, he's been doing work all day."

Azrael's glare burned into the sides of Israfil's head as he got up to follow his orders. Although he was a fully grown adult, he knew that he would always have to listen to his mother until he was old and gray. But Israfil was too tired to sit there and argue with his younger brother over a dirty look, as he usually did when he was around his pestering siblings.