EPISODE FOURTY FIVE : TAKE MY HAND

AVA'S POV.

This feels kinda empty today, my brother is back, and all those two ever do is play baseball, and truth be told, I hate the game.

The night is chilly, and I walked out to the veranda that was open to everyone, but we barely used it.

I walked down after I had put a fur blanket on my neck to protect me from the cold.

"How are we going to tell the kids about it?" a silent yet audible voice said.

"I know, I know, but it could be hard on them. Losing their mother wasn't easy; the thought of bringing another woman in might shatter them. I don't want to hurt them," he said. It was my dad, and I think he wants to get married again.

My thoughts on this?

I'm so happy. It'll be so nice to have a mom again. The things I didn't get to do with my mom, I'll finally get to do.

"Hey Dad," I called out.

"I'll call you later," he quickly said, and he hung up.

"Hey honey, when did you get here?" he asked.

"Just a few minutes ago," I said.

"Did you hear my whole conversation?" he asked.

"Not everything, but enough for you to know that I trust you in everything that you do. I just hope you don't make a wrong choice," I said.

He put his hands over my neck and pulled me closer.

"You know I've never regretted for one day that I've ever given birth to you and your brother. You guys mean the world to me," he said.

"Me too," I said.

"I honestly thought that you would rebel against me getting remarried. I was scared, and now I'm relieved," he said.

"I love you too much to make you sad, and I can't wait to meet her," I said.

"You'll meet her soon. You'll love her," he said.

"I know that already," I said, and I just rested on his shoulders, looking deep into the starry night. It was one that I would never forget.

---

HADIZAH'S POV.

As we rode the car back to the airport, I knew that I was going to miss my cousins and their mum.

When we got down, I drew Aunty Qudrah to a side and told her what was on my mind.

"I think you should let Sister Jamila choose her own husband. She's going to live with him for the rest of her life. I think she should at least be given that privilege," I said.

"Did she say anything to you?" she asked.

"You won't hear it from me. You need to sit her down and let her know that you want the best for her," I said.

"Thank you so much, Hadizah. I'll make sure to know that she is happy," she said and gave me a big hug, and I returned the gesture.

"Bye," I said as I gently waved back at her. My mum stood beside me, and that was when I realized it-we were still not talking to each other.

Before I forget, I brought you this from Australia. You forgot it on your last trip, and I remembered how your mum said you were obsessed over it, so I didn't want her to see it," Jamal said.

"Oh my God, thank you! I've been meaning to see this again," I said. "Thank you very much!" I said and hugged him, and he returned the gesture.

"Bye," he said.

"Bye. See you again soon," I said.

"In shaa Allah," he said.

I guess this is goodbye," Jamila said with unshed tears in her eyes, and I couldn't help but cry too. "See you again soon," I said.

"Stop crying," she said.

"You started it," I said.

"Bye, Hadizah, and move on, OK? Don't let anything drag you back, OK? I want you to make the best version of yourself," she said.

"I won't let you down, OK," I said. She walked backward, waving at me.

"Bye," they all said and waved at us, disappearing into the hallway.

That was when I realized that my mom was beside me and we were still not talking to each other-or better still, she wasn't talking to me.

I got into the car as I felt my spit caught up in my throat.

This was going to be a very long ride as I hopped into the front seat.

*******

I entered the kitchen to grab a glass of water, letting my hair down—it barely brushed against my neck. I wore a red-and-green sweater Sister Jamila had given me, which stopped just above my navel, paired with black skinny jeans. It was the perfect outfit for lounging around and watching Netflix all day.

As I sipped my water, my mom walked in. Instantly, the liquid in my mouth tasted sour. This wasn’t good. I quietly returned the cup to its place, my instincts telling me to leave before things escalated.

I turned to slip out of the kitchen, but her sharp voice stopped me.

“Sit,” she said.

“Are you talking to me?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“Do you have a younger sibling?” she asked, her tone calm but piercing.

“No,” I replied, reluctantly sitting down, bracing myself for whatever was coming next.

She leaned against the counter, her expression softening. “About what you shared with me the other day… maybe I took it a little too seriously. I should’ve appreciated the fact that you trusted me enough to confide in me. I’m happy you can share things like that with me.”

I stood up and hugged her, feeling a wave of guilt and relief wash over me. “I’m sorry for what I did. I should’ve known better,” I said softly.

She cupped my cheeks, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “You’re still my beautiful daughter. Which reminds me—let me tell you a story about my first love and how I almost made the same mistake you did.”

“Isn’t Dad your first love?” I asked, oblivious to what she was about to reveal.

“No, he wasn’t. His name was Zayd. I fell in love with him in my final year of high school. To make it more interesting, we attended your school,” she said, her eyes glinting with a mix of nostalgia and caution.

“No way! So I’m not the first hijabi in my school?” I exclaimed, utterly shocked.

“You’re not,” she said with a smile. “Should I continue the story or not?”

“Yes, yes, please!”

She adjusted her scarf, her voice steady yet wistful. “I had just left Nigeria, and I met him on my first day. I wasn’t very committed to the religion back then, but he helped me grow in my faith. We hit it off naturally. After high school, we wanted to get married, but my dad didn’t allow it because I’d already been betrothed to your father. Marrying Zayd would’ve brought humiliation to my family. So, we let go of each other.” She paused, her tone turning firm. “The moral of the story is this: don’t date a boy like that idiot who broke your heart.”

“We didn’t date,” I corrected quickly.

“Whether you did or didn’t, you shouldn’t be with someone who takes you away from God. Be with the one who brings you closer to Him, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll make sure to remember that,” I said earnestly.

“For now, boys shouldn’t even be your priority. You’re sixteen. Wait until you’re eighteen or older—then you’ll understand love better, okay, Adunni?”

“Okay. Thank you so much, Mom. It means a lot. I’ll make sure history doesn’t repeat itself,” I promised.

“That’s my girl. No more complaints from now on,” she said, smiling warmly.

“I promise,” I replied with conviction.

---

MICHAEL'S POV.

I'm in some deep trouble right now, and most of all, with my brother, who seems to have lost all hope in me.

"How could you have kept this away from us? She could have gotten hurt," Dad said.

"I promised her that I wouldn't tell anyone. I thought I could figure it out myself," I said, my head low.

"We are so disappointed in you," Mum said.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again," I said.

"You just want history to repeat itself, don't you?" Marion said.

"Marion, stop this," Mum said.

"You want to kill her just like you killed Mitchell," he said, tapping my chest, making me stagger a bit.

"Stop it, Marion, please," I begged as the memories came flooding in.

"Killing two people wasn't enough? You want to kill Maria too. You've always been a murderer," Marion said.

"Stop it! Stop it!" I shouted. I took my bag and rushed out of the house. I got into my car and used my inhaler immediately.

I turned to the right. My sister was there, covered in blood, a bullet in her stomach.

"Why did you kill me? Why?" she asked.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," I said, already crying.

"Are you OK, young master?" Mr. Pietro asked.

"I'm fine. Just take me to school," I said.

---

The voices were back. I'm so scared. I'm so freaking scared, I thought as I stepped into the hallway. Red paint was everywhere.

"Black lives matter," it read, and I spotted Ethan beside his locker. I lunged forward and held him by the collar.

"Tell your sister to leave my sister alone, OK? If not, I'll tear her limb by limb," I said.

"What? You wanna add my sister to your list after killing your own sister?" he said with a mischievous grin. "It's the voices," and he left. I ran away from him.

As I walked away, all I heard was "Murderer. He killed his own sister."

I ran through the hallway, I was so  scared, like everyone is against me. I need to end this now.

I rested at a secluded area's locker waiting to catch my breath.

I followed a light, a weird light.

"Michael, Michael, Michael," I heard a small, haunting voice.

"Mitchell?" I whispered, my throat tightening.

"Yes, it's me," the voice said, faint yet familiar.

"I thought you died," I said, trembling.

"I didn't. But you can come join me. Just come to the rooftop," she urged.

Without hesitation, I headed for the rooftop. The sun hit me as I opened the door, and there she was-Mitchell. She stood on the ledge, her hair flowing in the breeze, her face illuminated like an angel.

"Come join me," she said, her voice as soft as a lullaby.

"I'm coming," I replied, stepping closer, my hands reaching for hers. Just a little closer... just one step more.

"Michael, stop!" a voice shouted behind me.

I turned around to see Ethan standing by the rooftop door, his face pale and full of worry.

That was when I realized it, I was on the ledge, the ledge of a school with over ten storeys, just enough to slip and fall and all this pain would be gone.

"My sister's here," I said, my voice cracking. "I can't stop. I have to see her again."

"She's not there. She's dead, Michael," Ethan said firmly, taking a cautious step toward me.

"No, she isn't! She's right here!" I shouted, my face lighting up with a fragile smile.

"No, Michael. It's the voices. They're not real. She's gone," he said, extending his hand toward me. "Just take my hand. I can help you."

I hesitated, my heart racing. Mitchell's figure wavered in the sunlight, her eyes pleading with me to come closer. Ethan's voice, however, broke through the fog in my mind. His expression held something I hadn't seen in a long time-genuine concern.

With trembling hands, I reached for Ethan's.

The moment our hands touched, a flood of emotions overwhelmed me-relief, guilt, and a strange warmth I hadn't felt in years. It felt like home.

But then, my foot slipped.

The world spun, and the rooftop seemed to tilt. My body fell backward, and I felt the sickening pull of gravity.

"Michael!" Ethan screamed, his hand desperately grabbing mine.

I dangled over the edge, the wind whipping around me. My breath came in gasps, and all I could see below was the endless abyss.

"Don't let go!" Ethan yelled, his face twisted in determination.

"I... I'm sorry," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to kill her!"

"You didn't kill her, Michael! It wasn't your fault!" Ethan shouted, his grip tightening. "But if you let go now, you'll never forgive yourself. You can't leave this world like this!"

His words pierced through the haze in my mind. Slowly, he pulled me up, inch by inch, until I was back on solid ground.

I collapsed on the rooftop, gasping for air. Ethan crouched beside me, his hand still gripping mine tightly.

"You're not alone, Michael," he said, his voice steady. "I'll help you. We'll face this together."

I looked up at him, my vision blurred by tears. For the first time in years, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as broken as I thought.

---

ETHAN'S POV

Michael's face was pale, his eyes wide with fear and guilt. I'd seen this before-the same look my sister had before she took her own life.

I couldn't let it happen again.

As we sat on the rooftop, the wind swirling around us, I saw a crack in Michael's walls. He wasn't the cold, distant guy everyone thought he was. He was just a kid, drowning in his own pain.

"You don't have to carry this alone," I said quietly, watching him.

He nodded, his lips trembling as he tried to form words.

"Thank you," he finally whispered.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through this, Michael. I promise."

For the first time, he didn't push me away.

WRITER'S NOTE :

The next chapter is going to be Michael telling his story, I think I'm also going to write a story about Jamila and maybe Hadizah's mom, I like the fact that everybody is now taking things steady.

QOTD :

Be truthful so that you can be trustful. 🔥🔥🔥🔥