EPISODE FOURTY TWO:POV'S.

HADIZAH'S POV

As we drove back from the airport, I should've been filled with joy, reuniting with my cousins. But instead, a deep emptiness gnawed at me, and all I felt was pain. The bickering between Jamal and Jibril filled the air, yet it didn't reach me. I was supposed to be happy, but I couldn't shake off the hurt-the hurt of feeling abandoned by my mother, who hadn't said a word to me in almost a week.

---

"That meal was delish!" Jamilah said, praising my mum's cooking.

"Yep, it was good," I responded, my voice dry and flat.

"No, no, no. I know that face. Come on, I can't come all the way from Australia and meet you all sad," Jamilah teased, her accent thick on her words.

"I'm not sad, I'm just disappointed in myself. I screwed up big time," I confessed, my voice heavy with regret.

"What happened? Did you kiss a boy?" Jamilah joked, but when I didn't answer, she realized I wasn't joking.

"Oh my God, how could you do that? I was only trying to pull your leg! I didn't think you'd actually kiss a boy, a non-mahram!" she exclaimed, now serious.

Jamilah was a good girl-nice, but she had a no-nonsense side, especially when it came to justice. I knew the talk of my life was about to come.

"Now tell me, how did it happen? I know you've always been upright, Hadizah, but this... it's uncalled for," she said, her voice stern yet caring.

I told her everything, from the beginning to the end. I didn't leave out a single detail. When I finished, Jamilah gave me a long, hard look, and I felt nervous.

"For calling him a bastard, you get a fist bump," she said, stretching her hand out.

"And for kissing him, you get a head smack," she added, and before I could react, my head was sent tilting sideways.

"Oww! That really hurt!" I yelped, holding my head.

"That was the bone of contention," Jamilah remarked, her voice filled with mock seriousness as I slumped back onto the bed.

"Now, let's be serious," she continued, taking off her scarf. Jamilah was a goddess-her beauty was undeniable, and her modest dressing made her even more stunning.

"So, how do you feel about Julian, or Juliet, or whatever you called him?" Jamilah asked, half-joking.

"It's Julian, and I feel like I've been hit by a truck multiple times. I loved him blindly, and he hurt me so much. And when he apologized, it was already too late. The funniest part is, I still love him, Sister Jamilah. And I don't think my mum will ever forgive me for what I did," I confessed, tears streaming down my face.

"Wipe those tears, baby girl. He doesn't deserve them," she said softly, wiping my tears. "The fact that you still love that loser ain't your fault. I blame nature. It doesn't ask for our permission; it just makes us fall in love. But what you need to understand is that you have to keep writing your story, even if you know someone won't be on the next page."

"It's not that easy, and you know it, Jamilah. I tried my best to stay on track, but I got distracted. I disconnected from Allah, and He punished me for it. And I'm glad," I said, a sense of relief in my words.

"Stop being like this, okay?" Jamilah urged. "You got this from your mum. And that's what made your dad hurt her like that."

I raised my head, the words hitting me hard. "What did my dad do?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I'm not in any position to tell you anything," she replied.

"Jamilah, what did my dad do?" I pressed, my patience wearing thin.

"I need water. I'm parched," she said, avoiding my question.

"If you knew you weren't going to tell me, then why did you bring it up in the first place?" I snapped.

"Hadizah, what the heck?" Jamilah looked at me, her eyes wide in surprise.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I'll get you the water you wanted."

I rushed to the kitchen, splashing water on my face, trying to cool my racing thoughts. I took some pills, hoping to find relief, but I felt like I was going crazy. My whole life was a mess, and there wasn't even enough water to clean it up.

"What did my dad do?" I thought to myself. Was he lying? Did he cheat? I pushed the horrifying thought away from my mind.

As I filled a jug with water and made my way upstairs, I collided with a strong chest.

"Arggh, sorry!" Jibril said, catching the jug mid-air.

"It's just you," I said, rolling my eyes. "How've you been? Looks like you've been hitting the gym," I teased.

"Yeah, from time to time," he said shyly.

Jibril was the shy one of the three, and he was my age. Jamilah was three years older than us, and Jamal-well, Jamal was just ten.

"You should rest now. We can talk tomorrow. You need your sleep," I said, cutting the conversation short.

"Yeah, Jamal will start screaming he can't sleep alone, even at ten," Jibril added with a grin.

"Same old Jamal," I said, smiling, before rushing up the stairs.

As I walked past my mum's room, I heard her voice.

"Is this about Khalil?" she asked, her tone sharp.

"God, I know this is bad, but please, just let it slide this once," Aunt Qudrah's voice responded.

"Khalil cheated on me with my best friend, and you expect me to let my kids associate with that man? A monster?" Mum's voice broke through, and I didn't wait to hear any more. My heart broke as I rushed to my room, overwhelmed by the weight of the truth.

I locked myself in my room, feeling completely lost.

As I stepped into the room, I saw Jamilah speaking softly into her phone, her face lighting up with whatever was being said on the other end. Her fiancé, or supposed fiancé, had a way of making her smile like that-a smile I didn't quite understand yet.

"Why took you so long?" she asked, collecting the jug from me. She poured herself a cup, her fingers delicate around the glass, like everything about her was graceful. I could only stare at her as she drank.

I stood there, frozen, realizing I was covered in sweat. It was as though my body had betrayed me, dripping with the weight of the thoughts I couldn't shake. My mind spun in a chaotic frenzy, and I felt paralyzed by the terror and confusion.

"Are you okay, Hadizah? You're not well, are you?" she asked, concern creeping into her voice as she placed the cup down.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing, but the tremors in my chest wouldn't stop. "I'm fine. Do you need anything else?" I asked, my voice sounding hoarse.

"I'm good, but I'd like to share something with you," she said, her eyes softening as she glanced at me.

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to hold on to any ounce of composure. "Can it wait until tomorrow? I need to rest. I've still got school," I said, hoping my voice didn't betray the turmoil inside.

"Okay, no worries. There's never a bad time," she said with a reassuring smile, before she returned to her phone, her fingers scrolling through messages.

I climbed into bed, pulling the covers tightly around me. The soft glow of the lamp cast shadows across the room, but I didn't want to see anything anymore. I didn't want to think.

"Permission to switch off the lamp?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Jamilah nodded, and with a gentle press of the switch, darkness filled the room.

But even in the darkness, my thoughts screamed at me. I could hear the echo of my mother's voice, the painful words she had said earlier.

Could this really be true?

The realization hit me like a blow to the chest. My father cheated on my mother with her best friend, Aunty Yusroh? They were inseparable! How could this be real?

No, there must be some mistake. My father-he was the man who taught me about love, about the sanctity of marriage, the punishment for fornication and adultery. How could someone who preached these values betray them? How could he do this to my mother? To us?

No...

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts out of my mind. My father had to be innocent. He couldn't have done this. He loved my mother, didn't he? Was she sure about this? Did she have the full truth? She has to look again. I couldn't believe it. It was all too much to accept.

My mind kept racing, spiraling with endless questions that I couldn't answer. My thoughts blurred with the flood of tears that I couldn't control. How could he do that?

After hours of overthinking, I finally drifted into a slumber, but it wasn't peaceful. No, it was full of nightmares-nightmares of betrayal, lies, and broken families. I tossed and turned, but I couldn't escape the haunting images in my mind.

MICHAEL'S POV

"Welcome, Uncle Douglas," I said, giving him a big hug.

"If it ain't Deandre's Michael! Where are your parents?" he asked, his usual booming voice filling the room.

Uncle Douglas always came to visit at least once a year. His kids, Kiran and Kira, usually tagged along. Kira could be annoying-entitled, really-but I loved her anyway. Kiran, on the other hand, was a different story. My mom didn't like having him around. She thought he was rogue, a bad influence.

"What's up, man?" Kiran greeted, clapping me on the back. "Scotland ain't as bubbly as Atlanta. Y'all should come visit someday-unless you're scared of the horizon."

That word-horizon-sent an uncomfortable shiver down my spine.

"Kiran, shut your mouth unless you want me shutting it for ya," Uncle Douglas snapped.

I half-expected their mom to walk in next, but I quickly remembered-Uncle Douglas and their mom weren't married. That was a whole drama I didn't even want to think about.

As my entire family came out to greet him, the atmosphere shifted. My dad smiled warmly at Uncle Douglas, but Douglas only smiled at my younger siblings, pulling them into a big hug.

After handing my parents a wrapped parcel, he turned to leave.

"I'll come pick my kids back in two weeks. Don't try to put any nonsense in their heads," he said, giving Kiran and Kira one last hug before driving off.

This was going to be exhausting.

---

Later, I spotted Chloe walking down the hall and tried to talk to her.

"Chlo, can we talk?" I called out, but she brushed past me without a word. She was still mad about what happened last time.

"Who's that fine specimen?" Kiran asked, startling me out of my thoughts.

"That 'fine specimen' is going to claw your eyes out if you keep looking at her like that," I said, warning him off.

"I'm just saying, look at that a-"

"Please, Kiran," I interrupted. "There are kids in this house."

"I'm not a kid!" Marcus piped up indignantly.

"You're four years old. Definitely a kid," I said, trying to dismiss him.

"I said I'm not!" Marcus yelled. "Mama! Michael called me a baby!" He stomped off toward Mom's room.

"Michael, help me take this to your sister's room and don't call your brother a baby he's my little man" Mom said, handing me a pink highlighter.

"Okay, I got it. Kiran, settle in my room. I'll join you later, okay?"

"No problem, man. You got it," Kiran said, heading up the spiral staircase.

---

I walked into my sister's room, assuming she was expecting me. Instead, I froze at the sight before me. She was tending to a large, jagged scar on her left arm, her movements shaky and uncertain.

"What the hell, Michael? Couldn't you have knocked?" she snapped, scrambling to cover the wound.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my concern overriding her anger.

"Mind your own business! Just give me the highlighter and get out!" she shouted.

"I was only trying to help. Does Mom know about that?"

"Such a screw-up," she muttered. "After five years, Michael, you decide to start caring? What a waste."

"Fine. I'm sorry, okay? Let me see that," I offered, stepping closer.

"I said get the hell out of my room! If you want to help, get out of my face!" she screamed.

"You don't have to get so worked up. I'll leave," I said softly, retreating. "But if you ever need to talk, I'm just a few rooms away."

---

Kiran found me later, slumped on the edge of my bed.

"Hey, what's with the long face, little man?" he asked, nudging me.

"I don't want to bother anyone with my problems. Everyone already has enough on their plate," I admitted.

"Nah, don't worry about that. I'm here for you, man. A problem shared is a problem half-solved," he said with a grin.

Taking a deep breath, I let it all out. "I've been shutting myself away from my family for so long. Marion and Maria have stopped trying to talk to me. It's like they've given up. Marco and Marcus are scared of me, especially after Marco became mysophobic. Even the girl I like is mad at me, and I don't know what to do."

"Michael," Kiran began, his tone serious for once, "you've been in the wrong. You pushed everyone away. You made it seem like they didn't exist. You need to retrace your steps. Family is everything. No matter what's happened, they'll always be the ones who help you grow. Take a deep breath, and don't give up on them."

I inhaled deeply, feeling a bit of the weight lift off my chest.

"Good boy. Now, about the girl-tell me everything. How hot is she?" Kiran teased.

"She's not that kind of girl. And she doesn't even like me like that," I said, shaking my head.

"Same line in every story. Make her fall for you," he said confidently.

"Are you suggesting seduction?" I asked, half-joking.

"You're the dirty-minded one here," he retorted, smacking me on the head.

"What did you mean, then?" I asked, rubbing the sore spot.

"Do the little things that matter-get her flowers, listen to her, go on walks. Show her you care," he advised.

"Do you even have a girlfriend?" I asked skeptically.

"No, but Chloe seems like a perfect match," he said, smirking.

"She's tough, though," I warned.

"I like a challenge," he replied with a grin.

"Thanks for the advice, man. It means a lot," I said.

"Anytime. Now, let's head down for dinner. Don't want to get on Aunt Rachel's bad side," Kiran said.

"Last one to the table is a chicken!" he yelled, dashing out of the room.

As I followed, my thoughts returned to Hadizah, my sister, I feel like there is more to that scar that I saw, and everything weighing on my heart. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had a long road ahead. But maybe, just maybe, I could start making things right.

MAYA POV

Tears, sadness, and regret-those were all I felt now. Could anyone ever forgive me?

"Amaya, are you okay?" Dad asked at the dinner table, his concerned gaze piercing through me.

"Did I say anything was wrong with me?" I snapped back, instantly regretting my tone. This was exactly how I pushed people away. How I lost her.

"You're too rude for your own good, Amaya," Mom interjected, frustration evident in her voice. "You never put our name in a good light-tardy points, bullying, cussing, doing whatever you like. God, Maya, what is going on with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me! Just leave me alone, okay?" I shouted, pushing my chair back and storming away from the table.

Before I could slam my bedroom door, Kayden slipped in after me.

"Amaya, we need to talk," he said, blocking my path.

"What? Talk about what, Kayden? I'm miserable! What could you possibly want to hear from someone like me?" I yelled, tears streaming down my face.

"I'm your brother," he said calmly. "Whether you're miserable or not, insane or not, it's my job to take care of you, to listen to you, and to make you feel better."

His words broke me. Slowly, I sank to the floor, and he wrapped his arms around me.

"I killed her, Kayden," I whispered between sobs. "If I hadn't lost control of my anger, if I wasn't such a... such a horrible person, Makayla would still be here. Alive. Breathing. She'd still be my sister."

"Maya, it wasn't your fault," he said softly. "Kayla's time was up. The angry mob killed her. It wasn't intentional, and it wasn't on you."

"If I hadn't asked her to find that stupid necklace that night, she wouldn't have been there," I cried, my voice breaking.

"Maya, face it. She's not here anymore. But you are. So stop making Mom and Dad cry, and change. For her. For yourself. I want you to promise me something," he said, holding out his pinky.

"What?" I asked hesitantly.

"Promise me you'll stop bullying. That you'll focus on your studies. And that you'll remember Kayla for the amazing person she was. Not as someone you feel guilty about. Promise me, Maya," he said earnestly.

"I don't know... It's been so long since I did anything right. What if I fail?"

"You've already started therapy. That's progress. Snapping at Dad today-that wasn't you, Maya. That was your pain talking. Now promise," he urged, his pinky still outstretched.

I took a deep breath. "I promise to be the best version of myself and to make my family proud," I said, feeling an unexpected surge of determination.

"That's my girl," he said, pulling me into a tight hug.

And for the first time in a long while, the hug felt like hope.

WRITER'S NOTE.

Weird and a very long chapter but I think it'll do, the story will soon be wrapped up and I can't wait to leave this beautiful story completed.

See people are giving Michael relationship advice, I hope it works oo.

QOTD :

Don't regret your past, learn from it and move on.