Removing the Mask

Amaar

In my arms, I cradled a small, sleeping baby boy, his quiet yawns gripped my heart, shattered my cold exterior, and before I knew it a smile graced my lips, genuine and wide, astonished at the miracle I held. A newborn, a new life, a baby meant to change his parents' lives, meant to change the world with his presence.

I couldn't believe that he was related to me. My sister's baby, my nephew. He was perfect in every form of the word, a completely innocent soul, pure of any wrongdoing, free of any traitorous whispers. That was the beauty of a newborn.

Children were innately innocent. Their souls were the bright, sterling stars of the future, untainted memories ready to be filled with joy and happiness, ready for the ripeness of the fruits of growth and ambition. The fire in their hearts were ignited by their parents' desire for the child to succeed.

Gazing down at my nephew, I couldn't help but imagine all the possibilities for his future. If Allah willed it, I prayed for the young boy to be better than I was, to be close to his parents, to be caring and kind towards them before prickling guilt tormented and spoiled his heart. Oh Allah, make him among the believers in the HereAfter. Ameen.

"Bhaiyah (brother), are you still holding him?" asked an amused voice.

I turned around, chuckling when I saw my sister's weary but delighted expression. "I guess I lost track of time."

She walked closer, a wide grin lighting her face with noor (light), brown eyes sparkling with wonder just like when she was child. My memories painted a picture of the times when Amina and I would stay up late. I would play games, and she watched with curiosity, childish and excited.

Amina was always the easily entertained one. She had a personality that outshone many women her age. Anyone felt close to her, and she made everyone feel important. As I watched her grasp his tiny hand, I saw the motherly affection line her eyes. I saw the pride she felt towards her son.

"Isn't he precious?" she whispered, not taking her eyes off the small bundle of joy.

"Yeah," I said softly. "What did you name him?"

Her eyes met mine, "Zain," she said.

At the mention of his name, Zain stirred in my arms. "Shh," I cooed him. "It's okay. I'm here."

His splotchy skin was pink, arms curled into his body just like his legs, a small, blue hat covering his head while his eyes were barely opened. Newborns had a particular appearance to them, one that not every person thought was heart-wrenching.

"You know, Amina, when Mum and Baba brought you home from the hospital, I thought you were a raisin," I teased her.

She glared at me, raven hair tied in a messy bun, and an over-sized shirt and sweats covering her body. "Are you calling my son a raisin indirectly?" she asked.

"No, I called you a raisin," I emphasized, glancing back at Zain fondly. "But this little one is something else."

"Oh? So what is he?"

"He's my nephew," I smiled.

Amina's features softened, a look of awe crossing her visage. "You really adore him, don't you?"

"I do."

"Maybe you should stay here then," she offered, making my blood run cold. "You could see him all the time. Mum would be so happy to have you around again, and Baba would-"

"Amina."

"I mean, think about it. Baba would do anything to have you stay, to have you be a part of our lives again-" she rambled, rushing her every thought.

I rolled my eyes. "Amina, no. We're not having this discussion."

She crossed her arms. "Why not?"

"Because you gave birth three days ago and are supposed to be on bed rest while your body heals," I told her gently.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," I persisted. "Go take a nap or something. I'll take care of him."

"You're avoiding the question."

She wasn't wrong, but bringing the same argument over and over again became a tedious cycle of unwanted pain. I heard the same verse replaying in my mind like a broken record, like a severed tune stuck in the reels of my past. I had no control. I had no reign.

Shaking my head, I said, "Trust me. I'll think about it."

Do I really mean that though?

Reluctantly, Amina sent me one last wavering look, walking out of the nursery without another word. The door shut softly behind her, disappointment ringing the bells, loud against my walls, ringing in my ears like an alarm. I knew she was upset. I knew I hurt her.

But she didn't understand.

Zain stirred again, eyes opened a bit, and mouth gaping at me in that adorable, childish way.

"What do you think, Zain?" I whispered. "You don't even know your well enough, huh?"

Cradling Zain close to my chest, I leant down, placing a kiss on his forehead. My heart strings strummed at the slow breathing of the child as he was lulled back to sleep, dreams taking him far from the harsh realities of adulthood. Innocence become tainted by the grievances of life, and I prayed that Zain would never stray from the path of Allah.

"Inshallah (if Allah wills it), I whispered, staring down at him, "our family will never leave your side."

* * * *

Subhan collapsed on the couch.

"Newborns are a hassle," he sighed.

"Seems like it," I absentmindedly answered as I scrolled through news articles.

"Do you ever think about a life with kids?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully.

Subhan's brows furrowed. "What does that mean?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I live life by the day, not by the future."

Opening his mouth, Subhan closed it, choosing silence as the best answer. Both Subhan and Amina felt inclined to save me from my solitude, but the thing was I didn't want saving. I chose this life for myself, one where I spent most of my time alone and repenting. Why should I be the one to bring others more pain when I could spend my time atoning for my sins?

Behind my lids, I saw flashbacks of my memories, of gang members, of drugs and alcohol, of late night partying. Night after night, I'd come home past my curfew, yelling and screaming at my parents for their inability to understand me, using any type of verbal abuse to hurt them.

Their tears of grief drowned me, isolated me in the depths of an ocean where I kept swimming back to the surface only to be chained down to the broken harbors of time. Apologies melted on my tongue, dissipating into bubbles among a sea of sorrows, yet I never had the courage to keep the bubbles from popping, never had the courage to open my mouth and apologize.

My chest felt a pang of guilt, causing me to wince. Subhan didn't notice, and I didn't expect him to. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't except him to understand.

Knock Knock.

We exchanged glances with one another.

"Were you expecting anyone?" I asked.

"No, were you?"

"This is your apartment, why would I invite anyone here?"

"You make a compelling argument," he admitted, rising to his feet. Subhan stretched. "I never get a break these days."

Shaking my head, I returned back to my daily news reading. Talks about impeachment were running rampant through various news media, debates over treason and scandals, sometimes even ethics when it came to presidency. Overseas, there were cries for help and desperation for resources. War and bloodshed became an everyday occurrence while fear and death became lingering darkness looming over third world countries.

Unfortunately, we Canadians chose to stay ignorant for our own bliss.

Muslim influencers definitely tried, but sometimes change required more than just a singular twitter post.

"Hey, Amaar! Our friends are here!" grinned Subhan as three familiar faces walked in behind.

Israr, Subhan's college friend and a CEO in our state, walked in with interlocked hands with his very pregnant wife, Sania. The two married around the same time as Subhan and Amina, the two women's pregnancies only a few months apart. Although many in the Pakistani and Turkish community had reservations about their marriage, they eventually got over it.

It was true that Israr and Sania came from different cultures, but their backgrounds did not make them any less of a Muslim. Allah did not see cultures, nor did He just saw a man or woman. Allah saw the Muslims for the goodness in their hearts, for their actions, for their intentions.

We were the ones that discriminated against each other.

Regardless of the taunts and whispers of their relationship, Israr and Sania managed to love each other through the rough patches of their lives. Due to Israr's position as a CEO, they faced more difficulties than necessary, being scrutinized not only for being Muslim but for being public figures.

Close behind, Mariam strolled by the loving couple, rolling her eyes at their joined hands. "Where's my best friend?" she asked.

"Now, that's not how we greet each other," taunted Subhan jokingly. He tried his best to hide his smile, but it was impossible.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, quickly masking the expression with a wide, bright smile. "Assalamualaikum, Subhan and Amaar! I would love if you would elegantly show me towards Amina's room because I clearly love her more than both of you," she smiled too sweetly.

I stifled a laugh, clearing my throat. "She's down the hall, door to the right. Be careful though, she maybe a little bit grumpy."

Her eyes brightened at the sight of my laughter, warming up at me and sparkling with delight. There was no looming darkness coating her visage, nor was the usual fire that burned within her. She was calm, tranquil, and at peace with a soft expression, one I didn't see for a long time.

Why is she looking at me like that?

Almost as quickly as the thought passed me, her exterior changed back into the sarcastic, witty girl that Amina and I met all those years ago. "At least someone here tells me proper instructions," she scoffed, turning away from us.

Subhan chuckled.

"Waalaikumassalam by the way!"

"Why are you guys always such children?" sighed Sania. "I'm going to follow her."

"Try to be a little quiet though," said Subhan, placing a finger to his lips. "Zain is still asleep."

Sania smiled. "No worries. I'll help Mariam tamed."

When the two women left, Subhan, Israr, and I decided to settle back on the couch, immediately into our own discussions. It was just like old times, just like it was before everyone started to settle down. As I gazed at their bright, elated eyes, and their wide, shining smiles I wondered where all that time went.

We were brought together in friendship by the will of Allah through the connections that we had, through Subhan and Amina. I wondered where my youth went. I was older. I should have gotten my life together by now. I should have been striving with a family of my own.

But I wasn't.

Time continued to tick, running on its own accord and not waiting for anyone. Even when I fell behind the others, life passed by me, blurred through my long hours of work and opened the gates of opportunity for others.

My little sister married before me.

My little sister was living with her husband and child now.

She grew up.

And I still sat in the past, waiting for all those childhood days where we'd play Pokemon and watched Naruto or One Piece together. Whatever I was into whether it be games or shows, Amina would follow. When we were kids, I found it annoying.

Now, I wished we could reverse the clock. I wished that childhood innocence stayed and that she still needed me. I was just another portrait on the wall of familiar faces, and that was what killed me.

* * * *

Rising from my seat, I walked into the kitchen for a drink of water. My throat was parched from all that talking. Over the years, I realized my masked emotions came to me with ease. Even in discomfort, I could smile as if nothing ailed me. Israr and Subhan were so engrossed in our conversation that they didn't notice.

Israr's eyes lingered as I vanished from his line of sight. Perhaps he suspected something, or if my guess was correct, he had a few words to share about my decision to leave again. Everyone had an opinion, but that didn't mean everyone's opinion was right.

As I poured water into my cup, soft footsteps pattered against the floor, stopping only at the head of kitchen. My eyes snapped up, meeting an abyss of brown, mysterious eyes, one that held its own sorrows, ones that cried far too long even when surrounded by such laughter. I knew the expression well.

"Sorry, Amaar. I didn't mean to bother you," she apologized.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Would you like some water as well?"

"I can get it myself."

I didn't say anything, minding my own business. Gulping from the cup, I leaned against the counter absently staring at the empty space in front of me, lost in my own turmoil. Stress strummed the cords to my mind, occupied my every waking hour, and I had no way of escaping the stress of my decision. I had a couple days left before I had to head back to my perfunctory life.

Realizing Mariam was still at the doorway, I figured I should make some small talk. "How's your YouTube channel going?" I asked.

Her answer was quick, almost defensive. "It's going perfect."

Maybe it was the slight pitch to her voice, or maybe it was the sheer panic in her eyes. I knew something was wrong, something was holding her back, keeping her hostage to something she claimed she loved.

I tilted my head, examining her expression. "You don't need to lie," I said gently. This was an uncomfortable topic for her, I could tell. "It's okay to admit being overwhelmed."

She bit her lip as she contemplated how much she could reveal to me. "I'm really not. I posted a new video just the other day, and it had a pretty positive public review Alhumdolillah (thanks to Allah)."

Narrowing my eyes, I took another sip of my drink as I leaned back against the counter top. Pushing this conversation wouldn't help anyone, and her personal life was not my business. I had no reason to pry even if I was curious.

If Mariam chose to keep the gates to her life closed, then it was no one's right to force them open. She portrayed an archetype of a perfect life, where she spent her time with her family and friends, where she'd smile widely for the camera. Though she was jaded with certain aspects of her status as an internet icon, she kept those curtains closed.

An uncomfortable silence surrounded us, the voices of our friends a distant sound to the tension of the unknown. Mariam's eyes darted everywhere except at me, and I wondered why she continued to stay in a place that made her tremble in nervousness. Her cocky demeanor shattered, and in its wake left the shell of a lost, confused young woman who tried to chase after her dreams.

I hated this type of silence.

Gazing down at my cup, I spoke in a low voice, not wanting the others to overhear. "There are times when we think we have to fit everyone else's perception or that we have to be a part of stereotypes. Sometimes we don't want to admit the truth to ourselves, but in our hearts we know," I said. "There's no shame in admitting that being an influencer is hard. I admire you for standing tall and proud through it all."

"You admire me?" she practically choked. "Are you sure you're talking to the right person?"

I chuckled. "Yes, Mariam, I know who I'm talking to."

"Then why the hell would you ever admire me?"

Laughing, I pushed myself off the counter. "Maybe I'll tell you one day," I teased. "But for now, just remember that there's people cheering for you."

Without waiting for her response, I was off. I may have missed the mark when it came to comforting people, but I knew that people always needed reassurance during their darkest hours. I know I did.

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