Trust Me (Fiction Based On Islamic Faith)

Chapter 4 (part 1)

I drop to my knees and shake Maliha, but she doesn't respond. I hold her hands and realize they are burning. I check her forehead and realize that she is running a fever. "Maliha!" For a split second, I think that he has done this. He has done this to her. I remember I saw Mom coming home when I was praying, so I call out in panic, "Mom! Mom!"

As soon as Mom enters the room, she is about to snap at me for yelling but stops when she sees Maliha. We put her to bed, and Mom puts a wet cloth on Maliha's head to lower her fever. After consulting her doctor friend on the phone, Mom gives her some meds, and I make tea for us.

"What about her exams, Mom?" I ask as I hand her the mug.

"I called her teacher and told her that she probably can't come tomorrow," she sighs. "Let's see what happens."

We sit quietly; the only sound heard is the sipping of tea. "Abeer, I was thinking," Mom hesitates before continuing. "I think you should stay home tomorrow."

"I thought you're home tomorrow," I point out, frowning.

"Yes, I'll be at home too," she affirms, and my frown deepens.

"I have an important assessment tomorrow; I can't skip school. Why do you want me to stay back at home?" I ask rather sternly.

"Abeer, you know why," she confirms my suspicions. She thinks I can't go to school alone.

"I will be fine, Mom," I persist, trying to control my anger. "I told you and Pops that I don't need to depend on others to be normal anymore. I am okay. I'm fine."

I know if I stay longer, this would turn into a big argument, so I get up to leave, but Mom stops me. "Abeer, I know you still have nightmares. Only a day has passed since you got your own room. They can't just stop overnight."

"Exactly," I agree, looking at her in determination. I soften my tone, "Mom, I know you want the best for me, and so does everyone in this family, but I need to be on my own. I need to be normal like others and this is the first step. Give me some space and time. In Sha Allah, I will be fine."

"In Sha Allah," she repeats and takes a sip of her tea. "I'm worried because Muhammad has a meeting very early tomorrow. If you want to go tomorrow, he will drop you by 6:30, and probably no one from your class will be there."

"Oh," is all that I can say. Maybe I shouldn't go. Maybe, I am not ready yet. No. I have to. I can't rely on someone. For how long will I be a burden? I have to prove to my family that I am okay, and if I am not okay, I have to be okay. "I will be fine, Mom," I place my hand on hers and give it a little squeeze to convince her.

I serve Maliha dinner in bed. "Are you feeling better?" I ask, concern dripping in my tone.

"I can hardly sit up," she says, her voice hoarse. "I can hardly speak."

"Then don't speak," I advise, but she does it anyway.

"Abeer, I'm so sorry, you have to go to school alone," she breaks down and I become still in disbelief and guilt. "I wish I can be there for you all the time."

"Maliha, it's not your fault that you are sick," I argue. "Please don't cry," I implore, wiping away her tears. "I am absolutely okay. It is you who needs attention right now."

"Abeer, I really want to help," she sniffs.

"I really appreciate your concern, but I don't need your help." I stand up as I say, "Mom and Pops are waiting for me."

I try to shove away my anger, but it keeps resurfacing. Why don't they get it? I want to be alone. I don't want to depend on them. I want to be normal. Why don't they get it? Calm down, Abeer, they are only worried about you.