REMARKABLE

34

"Sinan, why are you still here? Go home." Yahya Firas uttered as soon as he entered his office, way past the usual office hours and removed his laptop bag from his shoulder, discarding it on his desk. He had just returned from the mosque after offering Maghrib prayers, he had attended an official Hi tea before that and he had another dinner meeting to go to.

He is not in the home. 

"Come on." Yahya Firas urged his secretary while Sinan looked up at him with annoyance, hurriedly gathering is things.

"What are you doing?" Yahya Firas muttered, exasperatedly. His fingers had itched to open the folded piece of paper in the pocket of his pants during the whole day, dying to have some privacy. He didn't want to give anyone any reason to suspect anything was wrong with him because he had been feeling that way since he had found it in his pocket, accidentally. It was a week later that he found a note like that, he was bound to be a little out of sorts.

"Sinan, drop it. You'll be back, tomorrow, anyway." Yahya Firas gestured with his hand at the door as he sat in his swiveling chair and Sinan walked out, scowling.

Yahya Firas's stomach felt funny again as he rose a little, thrusting a hand in his back pocket.

What am I doing?

He wondered as he pulled the note and held it in his hands. He stared at it for several moments, tilting his head against the seat, having a great feeling of anticipation before opening it.

What is it? Why did he feel that way?

I just want to make this man the happiest he's ever been.

A line appeared between his quirked eyebrows in disbelief and he cracked a humorless laugh, his laughter a cacophony of hollow sounds that echoed in the spacious room.

Make me the happiest? I'd like to see you try, Armineh.

Yahya Firas scoffed, crumpling the paper in his hands as he pulled a drawer open and threw it inside, cradling his head in the palm of his hands.

Yahya Firas ignored the annoying vibration of his phone, twice before finally pulling it out of his pocket and his face split into a real smile, seeing the caller ID.

"Assalamualaikum, Ammi." Yahya Firas said as unzipping his laptop bag.

"Walaikum Assalam. How are you, betay? Your father told me you were not well, yesterday. Are you better, now?" Hajra asked, her worry pricked at his heart as his lips stretched into one of his melancholic smiles, he had specially reserved for when he'd be lying to his mother.

I am not sick. I am dying, Ammi. What's the point of existence with this incurable sickness inside me?

"Much better, Ammi. I took some medicines." The lie rolled smoothly down his tongue. "How are you?" His hand working on thrusting the laptop in his bag followed by its charger and a few document files.

"I am fine. Come home, tonight. Have dinner with us, today and sleep in your room." Hajra uttered, holding the phone tightly in her hands.

"Not today, Ammi. I have a dinner meeting."

"Don't have dinner, then but come sleep at home." Hajra reiterated, desperately, reading the silent anguish in Yahya Firas's tone.

"Stay with your mother for a few days. Let your mother take care of you, betay." Hajra said and Yahya Firas felt his resolve weaken, missing the days when he would lighten the burdens of his heavy heart with his head in his mother's lap.

"Do I get to lay my head in your lap?" Yahya Firas asked lowly, tears gathering in his eyes.

"For as long as you want, betay." Yahya Firas heard her sniffles as he blinked back his tears and nodded his head even though she couldn't see him, "I'll come, Ammi. I'll be there around 11."