Just because you hate me

If I figured out one thing in life till now, it was that the things I despised the most were funerals.

Dark.

Gloomy.

Agonizing.

They give you a blow so hard and unexpectedly that your entire system seems to shatter.

Damage irreversible.

Or so I thought when I lost my sister.

We never appreciate the presence of our loved ones till we. . .lose them. Taking them for granted, delaying to say that most dreadful word in the English dictionary which bruises our ego worse than what a hammer could do to a steel tin.

I had regrets. Who didn’t?

My eyes were glued to the casket laying in my vision, holding in a piece of my heart with a death grip. I could feel the stinging pain behind my eye lids, but I couldn’t blink—I didn’t want to blink, to close my eyes even for a split second, afraid her lifeless face would disappear like a shadow at night. I was somewhat angry at her lifeless form; why did you leave me? I seemed to beg her in my thoughts, my raging anger following just close behind those accusing words.

You went, still holding onto my heart, baby Beyza. I can still feel your scent wafting around me. Still hear your warm laughter from this morning echoing in my ears. You were so happy to go out with him.

“Sir, I’m sorry but males cannot—”

“Get the hell out of my way if you want to stay in one piece!”

Every eye in the room snapped towards the door, including mine. But where others were staring at him with curiosity and confusion, I just gazed at him absentmindedly, blank on the inside. No feelings. None. When it came to my dead sister’s fiancé, I always felt safe. Comforted. Home. He felt like home. There were days when we all went out together and he’d get me those mini cones from McDonalds. But now? I was as hollow as the depth of an ocean. Ironically, his eyes matched what I felt.

Despair.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” Aydin’s voice was a low, threatening growl. His fists were curled into tight balls, turning whiter than a ghost, and his body was shaking so vigorously it felt like I could feel the vibrations from where I sat, in the deepest parts of my bones. “I swear—”

“Uncle.” My voice rang in the otherwise silent (save for a few women crying silently) room like it was announced in a masjid through those big speakers. “Let him in, it’s fine.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. His huge body filled almost quarter of the room as he cautiously stepped in, shaking and shaking and shaking so bad I felt the tears building up in quick motions. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Apparently, I was still in shock. Denial. Or at least that’s what they all were whispering. Because why else wouldn’t I cry on a death? But now, watching the strongest boy I knew, (both emotionally and physically) as he marched towards the body with slumped shoulders and watery eyes, I heard the silent crack in his heart as if it was right next to mine.

He was broken.

We both were.

He stood short before the casket; eyes snapped shut in devastation. This close to me, I could smell the longing on him. The grief. It was so pungent I could only imagine how he was holding himself together.

“Te quiero,” his lips moved slowly, producing a sound. His eyes, however, were still closed as if he couldn’t muster the courage to see Beyza—unalive. “I love you.”

Oh God

No. . .

I couldn’t watch this. I couldn’t be strong enough to watch a lover say goodbye to his beloved. I had already said my goodbyes to my baby girl, but somehow witnessing Aydin do it made reality more painful.

And I knew why. Aydin was a part of our family as long as I could remember. He was a part of my sister. . .a part of me and watching him suffer made my very own life no easier.

Aydin slowly lowered to his knees. . .at last those tears falling like raindrops on a cloudy, sunless day, wetting the white cloth which was draped on Beyza’s body, covering her face as well. With hesitance and calm both, his eyes fluttered open and even more precious gems of liquid rolled down his pale cheeks.

The agony was flaring in them like a sky set ablaze. And when he. . .when he lifted the veil from her face, the whole room erupted into loud sobs, drowning the throbbing of my heart that echoed in my ears.

The last goodbye before she was taken away.

The last glance at her face.

Aydin studied her face as if he was memorizing every detail there; the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the thick black lashes fanning her pale cheeks, the oval structure of her face. Everything. He wanted to remember everything about that beautiful face. Because soon enough, she was going to be snatched from our hands. Soon, she would be nothing but a memory we would hungrily clutch onto. She would just be a picture in our mind and a flower in our hearts from now on.

Mommy wasn’t here. And I wasn’t surprised, to be honest. She couldn’t stomach the fact that Beyza, our baby girl was gone. We had to admit her in the hospital because she was going crazy. Screaming, yelling, sobbing. In her defense, that reaction was normal. Not mine.

Daddy was with her as well, but a few minutes before the men were to take the body away, he returned with a straight face, displaying no hint of emotion in his otherwise warm and welcoming eyes. He put a hand on Aydin’s shoulder, a silent way of warning him, drink her in, it’s your last chance.

And then the men came. They made Aydin step away, nearer to me. We all scurried to our feet, desperate for a last glance at Beyza, wails, loud cries, screams of agony filling the whole room as they lifted the casket onto their shoulders and chanted in loud, clear voices ‘Qalma-e-shahadat!’

That’s when it hit me. Straight to the chest. Pain, the searing pang of agony hauled right at me with a force so intent it made the ground beneath me shift. I started swaying on my feet and wondered if the tiny pieces of shards really pierced through my skin and sliced open my heart, or if it was just the feeling of losing someone.

And then I felt Aydin standing beside me, sobbing like it really ached.

I was 12, and he was 17. He thought of me as a sister, but. . .

It changed completely over the years that were to follow.

And honestly? It was the hardest time of my life.

Because falling in love with a broken, dark, aloof soul, and the ex-fiance of your sister comes with a price I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay.