November 2021.
By then, Abdullah's mother and sisters had already left.
The days that followed blended together. Wake up. Get dressed. Go to school.
Without his mother there, no one woke him up gently or laid out his clothes. Abdullah kept everything in his room now, piling uniforms on a chair so he wouldn't forget. Still, they were often late. His dad struggled to wake up early, and the mornings felt heavier than before.
School stayed the same. He'd go in, meet Tomek and John in the yard, sit through lessons, eat the lunch his dad packed. Nothing had changed except Abdullah.
He was impatient.
"Baba, how much longer is left? When are we going?" he asked one evening.
"Five more days," his dad replied.
Five days felt unbearable. Even though it had only been a year, Abdullah felt like it had been ages since he'd properly talked to his grandmother. He replayed the thought over and over I'll see her soon.
The next day passed. Then the next.
When there were only three days left until their flight, something felt wrong.
On the drive home from school, Abdullah chatted like normal. His dad answered, but his voice was quieter than usual. Abdullah didn't think much of it.
Ali did.
"Something's wrong with Dad," Ali whispered.
"What do you mean? He seems fine to me," Abdullah replied.
"Hopefully," Ali said.
When they got home, Abdullah went straight upstairs to his room. He started changing, but an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. He couldn't explain it.
Then a thought slipped into his mind sudden, uninvited.
What if Nano died?
He shook it off immediately. Abdullah was an optimist. Bad thoughts didn't mean anything.
Then he heard crying.
"What the hell…?"
He rushed downstairs.
Ali was on his knees, sobbing. And then Abdullah saw his father.
Crying.
Dad doesn't cry.
His heart dropped. A cold shiver ran down his spine.
"Baba," Abdullah said, his voice breaking. "What's going on?"
His father looked at him through tears.
"Nano died."
The words hit like a knife.
A million thoughts exploded in Abdullah's head. His throat tightened as his mind scrambled to understand.
No.
This must be a joke.
Three days.
We were coming in three days.
How did this happen?
NO.
IT'S NOT TRUE.
Then he noticed his dad was on the phone. He heard his mother's crying. His aunts. His uncles. Voices breaking apart.
And then he saw it.
His grandmother's body, lying still inside a casket.
"No," he whispered. "It's real."
Something inside him shattered.
Abdullah collapsed, crying and wailing. Tears poured down his face until he couldn't see. His body shook violently as he screamed raw, broken sounds ripping out of his chest.
One thought screamed louder than all the others.
IT'S NOT FAIR.
IT'S NOT FAIR.
IT'S NOT FAIR.
Why three days?
Just three more days.
I could've seen her.
I could've said goodbye.
His father wrapped both boys in his arms, holding them tight as they cried. Abdullah's throat burned until it hurt to breathe. His eyes stung, red and swollen. He wiped his face, but the tears wouldn't stop.
Eventually, they led him to his room.
Abdullah lay there silently, staring at nothing. No sound came out of him anymore only tears. The same thoughts replayed, over and over.
It's not fair.
How is this fair?
I didn't get to see her.
I didn't get to say goodbye.
He cried until exhaustion pulled him under.
He dreamed.
Everyone was there his aunts, cousins, grandparents, his parents, his siblings. The room felt warm, full. Everything felt right.
But something was missing.
"Come on, Abdullah, get into the photo," his mother said.
They were all lining up for a picture.
As he stepped forward, it hit him.
"Wait we forgot Nano," he said. "I'll go get her."
He searched the house. Room to room. Hallways. Corners. She was nowhere.
Panicked, he ran back and asked his grandfather.
"Where did she go?"
His grandfather's face twisted unnaturally, stretching and flattening. He stared at Abdullah with a blank expression.
"Did you forget?"
Abdullah woke up.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then reality slammed back into him.
Tears slid down his face.
"Even in my dreams," he whispered, "she's gone."
The pain came rushing back, heavier than before.
"HOW IS THAT FUCKING FAIR?"
He cried again, the same words echoing in his head.
it's not.
FAIR…