family, just by talking to Steve. I had made it personal.
And I thought what they would say to me, what they would do, whoever they were, these people who would know about Steve, who would know how I felt about him better than I did. I wouldn’t hear their car pull up outside, their footsteps heading to my house, or their hands bang open the door. I wouldn’t see their arms raise their guns or the barrel pointing at me. And I wouldn’t hear the bang, I would only see the flash.
And inside me my fear grew brighter.
I sat upright in bed, my chest tight, my throat dry, fear tearing through me, my stomach turning over and over. What had I done?
I pulled the covers around me, longing for comfort that no one could give, feeling sick at my own naivety and my own selfishness. What had I been thinking? Giving him my address? Asking him to pick me up here?
I was dismayed at my own stupidity, imagining the disbelief on Hana and Aziz’s faces if I told them what I had done, what I was planning to do. The risks spiralled in my head, the dangers, the threats. I thought about Mama, taken for doing nothing wrong; I thought about Papa, killed for doing his job; and I thought about the hundreds, thousands of innocent people killed so senselessly in this war.
And what had I done? Put myself in more danger. And Hana. And Aziz. And the boys.
I wouldn’t go, I vowed.
I would meet him, and would tell him I couldn’t go.
Tell him I couldn’t see him any more.
I told Hana I felt ill. It wasn’t a lie; my head pounded, my body ached, waves of nausea washed over me, and tiredness clung and dragged at me. I wanted to curl up and hide away from what I knew I had to say to Steve.
Because I didn’t want to.
I felt stuck. I felt helpless.
I stayed at home, watching the clock that seemed to have slipped into slow motion. I went back to bed for a while, but couldn’t sleep. I stared out of the window, depressed by what my city and my life had become, despairing of what future any of us could possibly have.
I felt angry. I felt frustrated.
I had to say no to Steve. I had to stop seeing him, stop talking to him.
At ten to three I peered out of the window, staring down the street, but saw nobody. I tried not to pace or fidget, tried to keep my nerves hidden and not keep glancing at the clock.
It was three o’clock when I opened the door and wandered outside. I moved slowly, trying to appear casual. I stood near the gate, my eyes searching down the road. How would he get here? I wondered. What would he be wearing? Not his combat uniform, surely?
I waited, playing over in my head what I was going to say to him. Ignoring the doubt in the back of my mind, ignoring the fact that I did want to go with him, listening only to the part of me that was being practical, that knew it was too dangerous. The part of me that was reigned so totally by fear.
And I waited.
I went back in the house and out again, telling Hana I needed the fresh air, ignoring her comments about fumes and smoke, explosions and bullets. I kept my eyes low, wanting to wait, wait, and then to look up and see him there, walking towards me, smiling, welcoming, wanting to see me, to be with me. Somebody who was interested in me.
But again I looked down the road, and again he wasn’t there.
It’s only twenty past three, I told myself, he’s only late . I felt so confused. What did I want? To see him? Yes, of course. Even if it was only to tell him I could never see him again, I wanted that one last time, a chance to explain, to say goodbye. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to.
And I waited.
And waited.
And with every minute that passed, I felt hope drain from me. A thousand thoughts and worries spiralled in my head. What if he’d forgotten? Lost the paper? Changed his mind? What if it was all a joke? What if he’d been killed? Blown up? Shot?
My anger grew. So much had been taken from me. So much denied. First university and now Steve. Anything that offered even
And I thought what they would say to me, what they would do, whoever they were, these people who would know about Steve, who would know how I felt about him better than I did. I wouldn’t hear their car pull up outside, their footsteps heading to my house, or their hands bang open the door. I wouldn’t see their arms raise their guns or the barrel pointing at me. And I wouldn’t hear the bang, I would only see the flash.
And inside me my fear grew brighter.
I sat upright in bed, my chest tight, my throat dry, fear tearing through me, my stomach turning over and over. What had I done?
I pulled the covers around me, longing for comfort that no one could give, feeling sick at my own naivety and my own selfishness. What had I been thinking? Giving him my address? Asking him to pick me up here?
I was dismayed at my own stupidity, imagining the disbelief on Hana and Aziz’s faces if I told them what I had done, what I was planning to do. The risks spiralled in my head, the dangers, the threats. I thought about Mama, taken for doing nothing wrong; I thought about Papa, killed for doing his job; and I thought about the hundreds, thousands of innocent people killed so senselessly in this war.
And what had I done? Put myself in more danger. And Hana. And Aziz. And the boys.
I wouldn’t go, I vowed.
I would meet him, and would tell him I couldn’t go.
Tell him I couldn’t see him any more.
I told Hana I felt ill. It wasn’t a lie; my head pounded, my body ached, waves of nausea washed over me, and tiredness clung and dragged at me. I wanted to curl up and hide away from what I knew I had to say to Steve.
Because I didn’t want to.
I felt stuck. I felt helpless.
I stayed at home, watching the clock that seemed to have slipped into slow motion. I went back to bed for a while, but couldn’t sleep. I stared out of the window, depressed by what my city and my life had become, despairing of what future any of us could possibly have.
I felt angry. I felt frustrated.
I had to say no to Steve. I had to stop seeing him, stop talking to him.
At ten to three I peered out of the window, staring down the street, but saw nobody. I tried not to pace or fidget, tried to keep my nerves hidden and not keep glancing at the clock.
It was three o’clock when I opened the door and wandered outside. I moved slowly, trying to appear casual. I stood near the gate, my eyes searching down the road. How would he get here? I wondered. What would he be wearing? Not his combat uniform, surely?
I waited, playing over in my head what I was going to say to him. Ignoring the doubt in the back of my mind, ignoring the fact that I did want to go with him, listening only to the part of me that was being practical, that knew it was too dangerous. The part of me that was reigned so totally by fear.
And I waited.
I went back in the house and out again, telling Hana I needed the fresh air, ignoring her comments about fumes and smoke, explosions and bullets. I kept my eyes low, wanting to wait, wait, and then to look up and see him there, walking towards me, smiling, welcoming, wanting to see me, to be with me. Somebody who was interested in me.
But again I looked down the road, and again he wasn’t there.
It’s only twenty past three, I told myself, he’s only late . I felt so confused. What did I want? To see him? Yes, of course. Even if it was only to tell him I could never see him again, I wanted that one last time, a chance to explain, to say goodbye. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to.
And I waited.
And waited.
And with every minute that passed, I felt hope drain from me. A thousand thoughts and worries spiralled in my head. What if he’d forgotten? Lost the paper? Changed his mind? What if it was all a joke? What if he’d been killed? Blown up? Shot?
My anger grew. So much had been taken from me. So much denied. First university and now Steve. Anything that offered even
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