The Perfect Girl

24

"And then if we go down, At least we go down together,"

Khalid's POV

I remember about 2 weeks after the funeral, when we were both back home, while I was driving back from work, Hiba texted me to let me know that she had gone to the park near our apartment.

I figured I'd go meet her there, and that way she could ride back with me since she had probably walked.

I was really concerned for her, because she was not reacting to this entire situation in the way that seemed logical to me. She hadn't cried-- at least not when I was around-- or even talked about her father since that morning a while back. She'd been mostly closed off, and even when she did speak she was distant and cut off. She got angry uncharacteristically easily, and she hadn't been eating enough.

Whenever we went to her mum and the rest of her family, she seemed more stressed out instead of more at ease, and I was at my wit's end. I didn't know what to say or do, because I'd tried whatever I could think of and between that and work and trying to process my own grief, I was lost.

When I arrived at the park, I walked around to try and find her. I finally spotted her sitting by the basketball hoops. I was about to call out when I saw her get up, taking a basketball into her hands. Looking back on it, I'm surprised she didn't see or hear me, because I was close enough to see the details of her face. I watched, wanting to see her play and not calling out because if I did I was sure she would freeze.

She tossed the ball between her hands a couple of times before beginning to dribble. Her eyes darkened, anger flooding into them. She shot the ball.

I thought it would fall short, because although the shot was powerful she was pretty far away from the net, but instead it slammed against the backboard and then tumbled in. She ran to catch it as it fell through the hoop, stopping in the place she caught it to shoot again. Another slam against the backboard, this time it rolled out of the basket. She jogged to catch the rebound.

Even the way she moved was angry.

She picked up the ball, breathed in deep, and proceeded to shoot thrice, each time sending the ball into the net with a swish.

She was hitting 3-pointers like it was easy.

She held the ball in her hands, and I watched her nails dig into the sides, a small part of me scared that she would pop it. I watched as she slammed it hard against the ground, a gesture that reminded me of a tantrum a small child might throw, and then collapsed onto the pavement.

I figured this was a good time to alert her of my existence, "As salaamu alaikum."

I saw her flinch, and she stood up, turned quickly to face me, "Khalid!" she breathed, "Wa alaikum us salaam."

"I didn't know you played basketball," I said, gesturing to the ball in her hands.

"I don't," she said, "I was just messing around."

"You're pretty good for someone who just messes around."

She shrugged, looking away.

I was quiet a minute, and then I couldn't help but blurt out the thoughts circling my mind, "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" she questioned, voice still too soft.

"I'm worried about you, Hiba."

"I'm fine," she said in a dismissive voice that almost convinced me that she really was.

I reached out to touch her shoulder, and she flinched away.

"P-Please don't touch me right now." she stuttered.

"Why?" I asked, swallowing down the hurt.

She just shook her head, sat back down. Her head was buried in her arms and I could see her shoulders shake.

I sat down next to her, stifling the instinct to put an arm around her.

It was a while before either of us spoke.

"I saw him last night," Hiba mumbled.

"Your father?"

"Yeah," she raised her head out her arms, laughed a little, "He said..." she shook her head.

"What did he say?" I asked.

"You know," she said, still laughing a little, but a bitter laugh now, "When I was young, my father would always tell me to work hard. He said the time for rest was when you were in the grave. Funny, I guess I never thought--"

She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to.

"I made myself wake up," she continued, "You know that? I saw him in my sleep and I knew it wasn't real and I made myself wake up."

"Why?"

"Because I couldn't see him," she choked, "I'm scared to sleep now. I don't want to see him."

I wanted so badly to hold her.

"If I see him and then I wake up and he's still gone..." she shook her head, "That'll hurt too much."

She looked straight at me, "You know what he said last night?"

I shook my head.

"He said he was proud of me. Me." she said, voice amazed and a little scornful, "This." she gestured to herself, "He said that a lot, when he was, you know, alive. He was always proud of me, even when I messed up."

"Why wouldn't he be proud of you?" I asked gently.

She stared at me in disbelief, and then started laughing, laughing really hard, "Khalid, have you seen me?" another laugh, "I'm so ugly." she bit down on her lip, "Why did you even propose to me? I'm a mess."

"W-What?" I asked in shock.

"I'm acting crazy, I'm not supposed to say these things," she exclaimed, desperate, "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Hiba, you're grieving," I said, "You're going to feel a lot of things, and crazy might be one of them."

Silence.

"Khalid?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could hold me for a little while?"

I scooted towards her, opened my arms. She came close to me, leaned her body against my chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, swallowing, "That whole thing was embarrassing. I don't know what hap--"

"Don't be." I murmured.

I turned my face, kissed her head. Her body was warm and I could feel her relaxing against me. I tugged her closer, and I heard her mumble something, and then a few minutes later I looked down to find her asleep.