Humdaan Asif

Samir drove into the mosque driveway. Before going in, he checked his phone. Seven messages. Three from his father: 
          “Last night what you did with Seema Aunty was terrible.”
          “You should have served her chai first.”
          “You didn’t wear the black kurta like I told you to.”

The next two messages were from Francis, his childhood friend who he had recently been having issues with: 
          “Why did you tell Claire about us?!”
          “If you wanted to get something off your chest, then you should have come to me, you fraud!”
        
The last two messages were from Samir’s college professor, Professor O'Connor:
          “Smear, I saw your virtual networking labs, and I must say I am very disappointed.”
          “You give up too easily, Smear.”
Not Samir, Smear. Yes, he couldn’t even pronounce his name right. Samir held back his tears and took a deep breath as he exited his car, thinking maybe he would find the answers to all of his problems inside.

As Samir entered the mosque for Maghreb, the evening prayer, he realized he was early. Thirty minutes to be exact. He found a nice and cozy place to sit as he took in the atmosphere. The carpet felt like he was on clouds. A cushioning comfort. The discrete smell of freshly applied lavender scent calmed Samir’s nerves. Silence. Peace. No Francis framing Samir for being a bad friend. No professor who couldn’t even pronounce his name right. Not even his father controlling him like he’s five. Just silence.

Samir made himself comfortable. He got a Quran and sat next to a pillar to read it. The book's words healed his heart like an ointment does to a wound. Samir’s body relaxed. His eyes grew heavy. He fell asleep reading.

Samir opened his eyes to a boy sitting in front of him, his face buried in his hands. The boy was weeping, overwhelmed by it all. He sobbed as his entire body shook in despair. Samir tried to comfort the boy. He couldn’t see his face.

“A—Are you okay?” Samir asked, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The boy didn’t look up. He just looked down. “They’re all fakes! I hate them all! Where were they when I needed them?” The boy's words cut through Samir’s conscience. “They only come to belittle me! When I was rising, no one saw me! Now, when I fall, they all arrive just to laugh! To remind me that I failed!”

Samir got the boy some water. The boy’s hand was hesitant to accept it. “It’s okay. You can trust me,” Samir assured.

“How? If I can’t trust my own, how can I trust you? Are you someone special?” His words felt so…familiar to Samir. “All I ever wanted was a hug from them. All I ever wanted was love from them. Was that too much to ask? It’s literally their job!” the boy cried.

Samir felt a pang in his heart. This wasn’t any ordinary boy. Who was he? Samir noticed the boy's eyes. He knew that look—fear hidden behind anger, insecurity hidden behind resentment. This boy didn’t know who to talk to.

“Tell me! Will it get better? Will they come back? Do they ever realize how they all hurt me?! Tell me! TELL ME!” the boy yelled.

Samir knew what he needed to do. Do what no one did for him until this day. Samir hugged the boy and whispered in his ear. “It doesn’t end…but it does get better.”

The boy took off his hood. As he did, Samir’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. A lump went down his throat. The boy looked at least two years younger than him. The boy’s build was like Samir's. He was wearing the same color hooded thobe Samir used to have, before its pockets ripped. Samir was consoling…Samir! A younger, more lost, more closure-deprived version of himself. Samir was shocked. Is this a djinn? An evil spirit? Or could this be his long-lost twin? No! Definitely a djinn.

Samir’s hands shook as he tried to touch the younger version of him, but it suddenly turned to dust. Samir was even more distressed. Then everything else around him turned to dust, even the ground. He fell deep into an abyss. So deep that it became dark. Samir wasn’t thinking about his past problems or how the past thirty seconds even happened, let alone the past minute of Samir seeing himself. There was only one thought in his mind. This was it. This was how it was going to end. Just then, Samir heard an echo.

”Samir…Samir….Samir….”

Samir’s eyes opened. He was back in the corner, Quran in his lap. Samir heard the voice again. It was Imam Shafiq.

”Samir! Come on! It’s Maghreb Jammat!” Imam Shafiq said.

Samir got up and got in the congregation of the prayer. He realized something. The memories of the ones who had hurt him would always haunt him, and the only way to find peace with them was to find peace within himself. Whatever had happened, happened in the past. It hurt, but would Samir rather let it take control or would he take control of himself?

He had what he was looking for in himself. It just took time for him to figure that out. Maybe he didn’t need closure from others, maybe he needed it from himself. Maybe he would be okay. Maybe not. One thing was for sure, though—he was okay at the moment, and that came from himself.