Dear Ana: A Novel

“Stay,” he mumbled into my neck, tightening his grip around my waist.

“I can’t,” I repeated regretfully.

“Tell them you’re staying over at your friend’s house,” he pleaded. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I just want to keep you in my arms forever.”

“I was never allowed to sleep over at my friends’ houses.”

“I don’t get it,” he groaned. “Why are they still so strict on you?”

“Because I’m not white? Age isn’t a thing for them, Noah. As long as I’m a girl living under their roof, they don’t want me sleeping anywhere else.”

He pulled back slightly, looking at my face carefully. “It’s not like you’re sleeping under their roof anyway.” He traced the circles under my eyes gently. “They can notice when you’re not home, but be completely oblivious to what your brother’s presence is doing to you?”

“Don’t start this again, please.”

“I don’t know how else you expected me to react, Maya,” he said, looking at me in disbelief. “Did you seriously think I would be comfortable with you living in the same house as that piece of shit?” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Thinking about you being around him after he––” He took a breath. “He’s lucky I only broke his nose. I should’ve broke––”

“You what?” I interrupted.

He didn’t answer. I grabbed his hand, and my eyes widened at the purple bruises peeking through under the bandage.

“That was you?”

He stared at me, anger radiating intensely through his ornate eyes. “Yes.”

I sighed, hating his sudden animosity. I knew how he felt. I knew that he was just trying to protect me, but it didn’t make it okay.

“I don’t accept violence.”

“Maya––” he started.

“I don’t accept violence,” I repeated. “God, you think he’s lucky? You’re lucky. Lucky you caught him by surprise. Lucky he didn’t kill you.”

He scoffed. “I could easily take him––”

“I don’t care,” I cut him off sharply. “This isn’t a toxic masculinity contest, Noah.”

“It wasn’t planned,” he said, looking away. “After reading your letters I was . . . livid. I’m not a violent person. I have never felt rage like that, even during the lowest times in my life, but he hurt you, Maya. He hurt you, for years, in the worst ways possible––” He shook his head. “I went for a run to blow off some steam, and then suddenly . . . there he was.”

“I don’t know how I recognized him, but I did. I went up to him and asked if he was your brother . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut in anger. “The disgusting smirk on his face when he said yes . . . something exploded inside me, and before I could stop myself I was . . .” He trailed off, lifting his bandaged hand. “My swollen and bruised knuckles should prove this isn’t something I do often because obviously, I don’t know how to throw a punch correctly,” he chuckled, embarrassed.

“Good,” I said, taking his hand carefully and running my fingers over the damage. “That means you can’t ever throw a punch at me.”

He winced. “That’s not funny.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” I agreed. “But I’d rather think of it as a joke than as something real.”

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” he whispered desperately.

I nodded. “I know.”

“But . . . ?” he probed.

“But,” I continued. “You can’t do stuff like this.”

He stared at me fiercely until I met his gaze. “You can’t ask me not to protect you. I’m sorry, but I won’t agree to that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I replied. “He deserves it, okay? He deserves to know what it’s like to . . .” I closed my eyes against the images. “To feel small, and defenseless and scared. But it’s not my job to do that. It’s not our job. I’ve spent my whole life being resentful at him, and at my family, and at the world and I just want to move on,” I sighed deeply. “But that means I can’t be around that. No anger, no shouting, no violence, nothing. I just want peace, Noah. I’m tired and I just need some peace.”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I brushed my lips against his injured hand. “When he came home that night claiming someone jumped him for no reason, I didn’t believe him. I knew there was a reason behind it, and I wished that I could thank them.” I looked up at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you know, Maya?” he asked gently. “Don’t you know that there isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for you?”

I stroked his lips lightly, my heart overwhelmed with feelings I didn’t recognize and words I couldn’t seem to speak.

“Kiss me,” he said in a breathless plea.

“Okay.” I threaded my fingers in his hair and kissed him, his new scruff tickling my skin and eliciting a rush of electricity throughout my entire body.

“Is the hair your new look?”

He rubbed his cheek against mine playfully. “I’ll get rid of it. I know how you feel about men who look like men.”

“I actually kind of like it,” I admitted. “You look . . . hot.”

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned. “Okay, how about I keep it, and whenever you start to miss my old face, you can shave it off for me.”

“Deal.”

“I love you, habibti,” he murmured, peppering kisses all over my face.

“I never taught you that word.”

“The app on my phone did,” he whispered into my skin. “A much better teacher than you, I might add.”

“You should watch what you say, Noah,” I warned him. “I can get pretty competitive.”

“I love the way you talk,” he chuckled against my mouth, tracing my bottom lip with his tongue. “I’m obsessed with your lips. My mouth has been begging to touch them since that first day. I want to make up for all the moments I didn’t spend kissing you. I want to kiss you forever, Maya. I want to learn what your body likes and how it will respond to me. I want to memorize the way your skin feels under my hands. Fuck, the things I want to do to pleasure you, Maya . . .”

“Noah,” I breathed erratically. “You need to stop talking before I combust and die a virgin.”

He laughed. “Call me as soon as you get there?”

I nodded. He grabbed my hand and led me to my car, but then pulled me into another tight hug before I could get in, holding me like he was afraid I might disappear. All I’d ever wanted was for someone to know. To believe me. To make me feel less alone. Now that I had that, there was also an unmistakable feeling of guilt because he was now just as tortured about my past as I was.

“You’ll tell me right?” Noah whispered.

“Tell you what?”

“If he ever tries to . . . hurt you again. You will leave right away. You will leave and come to me, Maya.”

“It’s not like that anymore.” I paused, thinking of my breakdown in the kitchen. “I barely even see him.”

My words didn’t reassure him because he still didn’t release his hold on me. I pulled back and placed my hands on both sides of his face. “I’m still here, Noah. My brother has hurt me more times than I can count. He has tried to kill me more times than I can count, but I’m still here. Please don’t worry about me. There is nothing to worry about.”

He covered my hands with his. “I won’t stop worrying until I have you back in my arms.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him again. “I’ll call you soon okay?”

He sighed and reluctantly released me. He looked at me silently for a moment, fear and love fighting each other behind his colored eyes. His fingers grazed my cheek one last time, before finally stepping away from the car.

I watched him stand outside his door through my rearview mirror until I was far enough away that he was just a dot on the horizon. My foot instinctively pressed harder on the gas pedal so I could get home faster. Not because my house was home, but because Noah was. I was already anxious to hear his voice again. His existence brought a powerful surge of calmness into my chaotic life, and whenever I left its vicinity the disruption hit me so much harder.

He called while I was brushing my teeth. I quickly rinsed and spit, before closing the door and tucking my storage containers under the handle.

“Eager much?” I teased, flipping my light switch off and getting into bed.

The sound of his laughter flowed through the phone and immediately warmed my heart. “Are you in your room?”

“Yup. Teeth brushed and pajamas on.”

“Tell me, Maya . . . what does your sleep attire consist of on this lovely night?”

A burst of laughter slipped through my lips and immediately got muffled by my pillow. “Are you joking?”

“No, I’m genuinely curious. I need all the details so I can complete your image in my mind while we talk.”

“Okay, but it’s nothing pretty,” I warned him. “There are two types of girls––the ones who wear a matching set to bed and the ones who don’t. I am, unfortunately, part of the latter.”

“Matching sets are boring,” he said softly.

This conversation was slowly moving away from being silly and into something else entirely. I tucked my knees under my chin, pushing back whatever emotion was slowly starting to bubble up in the pit of my abdomen.

“I’m wearing an oversized, bleach-stained t-shirt and gray cotton sweats.”

“How is it that you can make the most ordinary and basic clothing items sound so . . . sexy?” he whispered, his smooth voice clouding my mind into a haze.

“I hope you know that you’re the only one who thinks that.”

“Highly unlikely,” he replied. “But as long as I’m the only person you want to be thinking that, no one else matters.”

I was quiet for a minute, the air around me heavy. “What is this feeling?”

“You tell me.”

“You’ve been in relationships before, Noah.”

“Not like this. Never like this.”

I smiled and continued to listen to his breathing, matching my pace with his until our breaths were synchronized.

“Thank you for calling,” I whispered, snuggling deeper into my covers. I slipped my earbuds in so I could be more comfortable. “Whenever anything happened, I would always grab the phone on my way to hide in the bathroom or my closet. Just in case, you know?”

He didn’t reply, but I could hear him breathing louder as he pressed the phone closer to his face, listening.

“It wasn’t just to call the police though, if anything happened. I mean, it’s not like they would even do anything,” I said truthfully. “I always had this urge . . . this desperate need to call someone––anyone––but there was no one for me to call.” My voice cracked in the dark room. “Now I do. Thank you for being my someone.”

“I’ll be your everything,” he vowed fiercely. “I’ll stay on the phone with you all night until you fall asleep, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he insisted. “I need to.”

Another ripple of guilt flooded through me. I hated that my pain was now his pain too. I also hated how, deep down, I was comforted by that. If he needed to be sure that I was okay for him to be okay, then I could do that.

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“Actually, I have a confession to make.”

“What is it?”

He chuckled at my anxious voice. “I started reading another book.”

“Really?” I said excitedly. “Which one?”

“Oh, you know, just a silly little book about vampires . . .”

My eyes widened. “Stop––what chapter are you on?”

“Three.”

“Damn, dude, you’re slow.”

He laughed. “Hey, don’t be mean. I’m trying to internalize every word so I can love it as much as you do.”

“Impossible. No one can love it as much as I do.”

A deep yawn suddenly erupted from my chest, interrupting his next words. “Sorry,” I apologized quickly. “What did you say?”

He ignored my question. “Maya, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday.”

“For more than a few hours,” he clarified.

“I don’t remember,” I whispered honestly. “I try to force myself to stay awake most nights, but sometimes I slip without noticing. Terrible things always happened when I slipped, Noah.”

He was suffering quietly. “Why did I let you go?”

“You didn’t let me go. I didn’t have a choice.”

He didn’t reply, breathing rapidly, and then the line suddenly went dead. I was just about to call him back before my phone started ringing with a video chat request.

“Hi again,” I greeted his face.

“Sorry, I needed to see you. Try to sleep, Maya. I’ll stay on the phone with you.”

“Noah––” I started to protest.

“Please.”

I opened my mouth to argue but another yawn slipped out in place of my words. The mention of sleep was already lulling me into dreamland. Sleep deprivation was like existing with tunnel vision. My brain only absorbed what was directly in front of me. Eventually, the two openings got clogged up and enveloped my entire tunnel into complete darkness, until I was mentally and physically drained of light. I was tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of constantly straddling the line between reality and unconsciousness.

“Okay,” I finally consented.

“Thank you,” he said, relieved. “Just close your eyes, Maya. I love you.”

“Love you,” I murmured, already falling under. I pulled my covers higher and adjusted my limbs until I was comfortable. His soothing voice started to flow through the phone again, but he wasn’t talking.

He was reading to me.

I recognized the lines instantly, having read that sacred book series so many times it was permanently inscribed in my mind. I imagined that Noah was beside me, whispering the sentences into my ear, his warm breath fanning over my face. I was pressing myself closer into his chest, admiring how the moonlight emphasized his peaceful and beautiful expression until I slowly subsided into a deep and dreamless slumber.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I groaned.

“I’m not making you do anything,” Noah replied. “Just say the word and we’ll get off at the next bus stop.”

“Your mom was so . . . angry. And she has every right to be. I broke her family. I can’t even imagine being in her shoes and having to meet me.”

He wrapped his arm around me tightly and pulled me closer. “You didn’t break our family, Maya. The situation the other day was . . . confusing. Everyone’s emotions were heightened,” he reminded me calmly. “But I explained everything––”

“Explained?”

“Not that, I would never . . . betray your trust.” He kissed the top of my head lightly before resting his forehead against mine.

I stared at his face closely, hating how tired he looked and how rested I looked. He was trying to steal all my burdens and carry the weight on his own. Did it have to be either or? He suffered or I suffered? Was there no middle ground?

The bus stopped and he grabbed my hand, leading me to the door. As soon as we stepped outside my jaw dropped to the ground.

“This is your neighborhood?” I asked incredulously, taking in all the immaculate and flamboyant houses lined neatly down the street.

“No, it’s my parent’s neighborhood. I live in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment.”

“Says the former software engineer, and current owner of a very popular café––soon-to-be café bookstore.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s okay to be rich, Noah.”

“I’m not,” he insisted. “My parents are.”

“Something only rich people say.”

He laughed, swinging our hands between us.

“You don’t have to be modest,” I assured him. “I actually grew up around a lot of wealthy people.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, most of the women in my community, and my mom’s friends, are married to doctors,” I told him. “Their kids were all nice, but it was still vividly glaring how different our worlds were.”

“I’m not . . . this isn’t me.” He looked at the houses on either side of us. “Even when I moved here, I never really accepted this lifestyle. I always knew that I would leave one day.”

“I don’t think I could ever live like this.”

He glanced at me in surprise, raising his eyebrows, and I rolled my eyes again. “I swear people always assume that if you grew up poor, all you ever dream about is becoming rich.” I shook my head at the thought. “I always dreamed about providing this life for my parents, but for myself . . . not having to stress about money would be absolutely alleviating, don’t get me wrong, but all I’ve ever really wanted was to just be comfortable, you know? To have a . . . gentle day, every once in a while. To not have to force myself to go to work when I’m sick. To not feel guilty after buying myself a cup of coffee, or a new pair of shoes, or going out to dinner with my friends because that’s money I should be saving, even though all the money in my savings account ends up going toward bills anyway.”

He kissed the back of my hand. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for spending money. You work so much and so hard––you deserve to treat yourself.”

“All I’m saying is that some people don’t need to have a lot to be content.”

He nodded in understanding. “Money doesn’t buy happiness.”

“True . . . but it does buy freedom,” I said wistfully. “If you’re financially stable and suddenly find yourself unhappy, you have options. You can pay for a therapist. You can pay for a vacation. You can pay to go out and have fun or meet new people or literally do anything that will bring you happiness again. Not everyone has that option.”

“Is that how you feel right now? Trapped?”

I felt the box I was in suddenly getting smaller around me. “You have no idea.”

He let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I do have an idea,” he whispered. “It’s not the same though, and I know that. Things are going to change, Maya. I promise.”

“I miss when I was so naïve to all of it,” I told him. “When I didn’t notice how small our house was, or that all my clothes were from the thrift store. I remember the first time I went over to a friend’s house, it was like the veil got ripped off and suddenly I was aware of everything. How our fridge was white instead of silver, and how we didn’t have a dishwasher or a garage. We had to hang up our clothes to dry, instead of having a dryer. Bills were always the topic of discussion at the dinner table, and I was on a first-name basis with the manager at the gas company because they always had me call to set up the payment arrangements––every immigrant daughter’s duty. It was all so obvious to me all of a sudden, and my house physically started to feel so cramped and claustrophobic,” I sighed. “But I think the worst part was later, as I got older and started to notice when no one ever asked to come over to my house. My friends always assumed the movie nights would be at their house, and if we were baking cookies it would be in their kitchen. I mean, I know why I’m embarrassed to invite you over, but why are you embarrassed to come over? It wasn’t ever discussed; it was just . . . decided.”

“Nice friends,” he commented sarcastically.

“It’s not their fault. All my overthinking and insecurities’ is an outcome of my own doing, not theirs.”

I could tell he was going to disagree. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “Thrifting is popular now, so technically I’m ahead of the game. Besides, I never really minded any of that stuff. I just hated seeing my parents stress about it. Still, though, I would take money problems any day over . . .”

My brother.

He stopped suddenly and I looked up. We were standing in front of a big brown house, with a basketball net over the garage and three sleek cars in the driveway.

“This is it.”

“It’s really beautiful.”

“I’ll be sure to let my parents know you think so,” he teased.

He was trying to make me laugh, but the air around us was suddenly . . . awkward. Did he think I was going to be jealous of his lifestyle?

“Maya,” he said, cupping my face in his hands. “If you want to leave or feel uncomfortable just tell me, okay? My brothers . . .”

Oh, that’s what he was nervous about.

“You don’t have to go near them, but they’re nicer than they look, I promise. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I wasn’t positive about that.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’m more worried they’re not going to like me, than . . . that.”

“They’ll love you,” he said softly. “How can they not?”

He leaned down slowly, barely brushing his lips against mine, letting me make the next move. Always letting me lead. Always going at my pace. I clasped my hands behind his neck and kissed him fervently. And then I kept kissing him. And he kept kissing me back––

“Noah, Mom said to stop kissing your girlfriend and come inside!”

I broke away from him abruptly, my face immediately heating up, but Noah just laughed.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand and leading me up the front steps where one of his brothers was standing.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he smirked. “I’m Oliver.”

He was tall, the same height as Noah, and lankier. He had a friendly smile on his face and was extending his hand toward me. Noah squeezed my hand slightly.

You don’t have to shake his hand, he said silently.

But I did have to. I was trying to move on. I needed to move on.

I reached out slowly and grasped his hand in mine. My heart was beating anxiously in my chest at the contact but I couldn’t detect any negative vibes from him.

“Hi Oliver,” I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Maya.”

“Likewise, come on in,” he replied, releasing me. He opened the door wider, letting us in, before locking it behind us. The interior of his home was just as big and beautiful as the outside––marble floors, spiral staircase, high ceilings, a fancy sitting area that looked like it had never been used––but that wasn’t what caught my immediate attention. It was . . . light. Warm. Sometimes when I walked into my house it almost felt like I was stepping off Earth and onto a separate planet. An unknown asteroid that had yet to be discovered because it was so far from the sun. It felt cold and dark, and it was hard to breathe because the planet wasn’t fit for human life but for some reason, we were refusing to evacuate.

Noah guided me through the house and toward the living room, where three people were deep in conversation. I glanced at the first person, a man I didn’t recognize––Noah’s other brother. My eyes only paused on him for a second before gliding to the other occupants.

His parents.

“Maya, welcome,” his dad said, standing. He walked up to me and shook my hand kindly. I gave him a timid smile, before looking at his mom anxiously. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look angry either.

“It’s nice to see you again, Maya,” she greeted, her voice cautious. I shook her hand stiffly, my nerves on edge. It was so obvious she was still pissed, why the hell did I let Noah bring me here?

“Same to you,” I replied quietly. I looked away from her scrutinizing expression, already searching for a way out. Noah rubbed small circles on my back, sensing my anxiety, but for the first time, his touch did little to soothe me.

“So you’re the notorious Maya everyone’s been talking about lately,” Noah’s other brother interrupted. “I’m Lucas.”

Lucas was huge. His biceps alone were the size of my leg.

“Hey,” I said, ignoring how his muscular build resembled Mikhail’s a little too much. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He walked up to me, completely oblivious to my uncomfortable aura, and leaned his head in close.

“Ana? You in there?” he whispered, tapping my chest lightly. Before I could even react, Noah quickly pushed him away from me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded harshly.

“Noah, language,” his mother scolded.

Lucas immediately backed up and raised his hands in defense. “Sorry dude, I was just trying to break all the tension with a joke.”

Noah narrowed his eyes at him, but to everyone’s surprise, a small burst of laughter slipped through my lips. “Don’t worry about it, Lucas. If she responds, I’ll let you know.”

His responding laughter echoed through the quiet house, with Noah and his father following along after. His mother gave a small smile and headed for the kitchen. “Noah, Lucas, Oliver––come help me with dinner.”

“I’ll be back in a sec, Maya, make yourself comfortable,” Noah told me, kissing me on the forehead before meeting up with his family. I took a seat on the couch and looked around. This room made the house feel a lot homier, with all the colorful throw pillows, and the walls that were littered with family photos. Some with just Mark and Luisa, some with just Noah, Lucas, and Oliver, and some with––

Ana.

My breath caught at her smiling face and my fingers twitched, itching to grab the photo. I couldn’t help it. I needed a closer look. I glanced toward the kitchen to make sure no one was watching me so I could examine her picture more closely but immediately froze at what I saw.

No one was paying any attention to me. They were all huddled in the kitchen; Mr. Bennet was taste testing from the spoon in his wife’s extended hand. Noah was chopping vegetables, laughing at something Lucas was telling him, while Oliver kept snatching bits and pieces from the bowl. I continued to openly gawk at them while they goofed around, suddenly feeling like I was intruding on a deeply intimate moment. I still couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away from the beautiful scene playing out in front of me.

And there it was. That sharp twinge of jealousy I was so worried Noah would think I was going to feel, but it wasn’t because of his money or the lavish lifestyle he got to be a part of . . . it was because of his family.

Everything I told him earlier was the truth. Struggling financially was incredibly stressful, but I never idealized living in a huge, fancy house, or driving an expensive car and wearing designer clothes. This was what I dreamed about. The way his family interacted with each other was what I always wished for. The way Noah and his brothers connected with each other was what I always craved and they weren’t even fucking related. They had no blood obligation to love him, but they did. They loved each other so much.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been persecuted with this inconceivable concept. I spent years watching my friends interact with their siblings in such a bizarre way. Once, Malak called her brother to ask him what sauce flavor she should get on her wings when we went out to dinner. They chatted on the phone for only a few minutes, a small smile on her face the entire time. It reminded me of when I phoned Mikhail in an emergency––my dad was getting taken away in the ambulance––and he called me a whiny bitch and told me to forget his number.

Bayan and her brother watched the same shows together every week; my brother had no clue what my preferred choice of entertainment was.

Dima travelled with her brothers; my brother couldn’t sit beside me in a car for two seconds without trying to end my life.

Zara’s brothers always picked up food for her on their way home from work; my brother would happily watch me starve to death.

Small things. Little moments and gestures they spoke about in passing and probably never noticed any significance in them.

I did, though. I always noticed. And it hurt. It hurt a lot.

That wasn’t the sad part, though. The sad part was that even after all the years of torture Mikhail had put me through, there was still a part of me waiting. Waiting for him to change. Waiting for him to . . . be my brother. There was a hollow emptiness in my chest that was desperately waiting and longing to be filled with his love.

I was suddenly aware of something churning violently, deep inside my core, as I silently mourned the family I never got to have. I instinctively wrapped an arm around my abdomen to try and hold myself together, but I could feel the searing heartache spilling over the edge. I needed to leave. I didn’t belong around these people. I was a needle standing on the sidelines, begging to stab through their bubble of pure joy and happiness.

“Maya, are you okay?” Noah whispered. I blinked back the tears that had appeared without my notice and saw him crouched down in front of me.

“Um, yeah,” I muttered. “I can feel a migraine coming, that’s all. Can you point me to the bathroom so I can splash some water on my face?”

He didn’t look convinced but took my hand anyway. We started into the hallway but his mom stopped us.

“Sorry, the bathroom on this floor isn’t working right now. You can use the one upstairs––it’s the first door on your left.”

“I’ll show her.”

“Noah, I’m fine,” I assured him. “Go be with your . . . family.”

I couldn’t even say the word like a normal person. It tumbled from my lips in a language that I would never be fluent in. He heard it too, in my voice, and his eyes saddened. “Maya . . .”

“I just need a minute. Please.”

“Take two.” He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my exposed fingertips softly before letting me go. I climbed the stairs one at a time, ignoring the pictures that continued to mock me everywhere I looked, and hastily grabbed the first door knob I saw.

It only took half a second for me to realize this wasn’t the bathroom. I didn’t know what clued me in first––the lavender-painted walls, the big plush bed with a generous amount of throw pillows and stuffed animals, or the three large ceramic letters hanging from the wall that spelled out her name.

I was in Ana’s room.

I should have left the moment I realized, but instead, I stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind me. I stood completely still for a moment, too scared to move. Even though we had never actually met, I could feel her presence all around me. Her spirit still lingered in the fabric of her bedspread from the last time she lay there. Her aura was still deeply mingled into the fibers of her carpet from the last time her bare feet touched the floor. My nerves were buzzing with apprehension but my heart remained steady and silent in my chest. It was finally home.

I looked around the room greedily, drinking everything in. Ana was dead but her room was full of life. There were posters on the walls, and one of her drawers was still open from the last time she was rummaging for a shirt. There was an unzipped makeup bag on her vanity, and one of the bottles of nail polish that were neatly lined up was slightly crooked.

She died with periwinkle-colored nails.

My eyes flickered to the pictures covering every inch of the frame on her large mirror. I leaned in closer to examine them and traced her smiling face with my fingertip carefully. She was beautiful, which I already knew. There were pictures at three different proms, and in one of them, she was wearing a crown. There were pictures of her in a cheerleading outfit and some in a speedo and swimming cap with a gold medal around her neck. That same medal was hanging on a pin in her room, along with a dozen more. But the most recurring thing in all of her photos was Noah. Noah and Ana smiling. Noah and Ana laughing. Noah and Ana at the beach. Noah and Ana canoeing in a beautiful Canal. Noah and Ana huddled together under the same blanket around a campfire. Noah and Ana, Noah and Ana, Noah and Ana.

He always told me that I was oblivious to the way people looked at me, but the only oblivious person here was him. The way she stared at him in those pictures . . . the sparkle in her eyes when she smiled up at him . . . it was painfully clear how in love she was.

I snatched my hand away quickly, their pictures suddenly burning my skin. What a waste, I thought bitterly. What a fucking waste. Ana did everything right. She took her broken childhood and used it as fuel to create an extraordinary and meaningful life for herself. She could’ve succumbed to the force of all her trauma and let it consume her. She could’ve let it take control of the reins of her future, but she didn’t. I, however, did. How did she deserve to die and not me?

“Maya, what are you doing in here?” Luisa asked from behind me.

I spun around at the sound of her voice, terrified that I was caught, but she didn’t look mad. Only peculiar.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted.

“It’s fine, but dinner’s ready so we should––”

“No,” I interrupted. “I’m sorry.”

Understanding dawned on her and she looked away, but my gaze remained fixed on her face. On Ana’s mother’s face. I owed her more than some trivial, two-word apology. I owed her everything and before I could stop myself I was speaking the words I had never spoken out loud before.

“One hundred and thirty-three.”

Her eyebrows shot up in confusion.

“One hundred and thirty-three people were on the transplant list the day Ana died. I looked it up after I found out what happened. Did you know they make that information public, for anyone to see?” She didn’t answer. “One hundred and thirty-three mothers, and fathers, and children, people who meant something, people who were doing something––they were all waiting for years, dying for years––and when a heart finally became available they gave it to me?” A chuckle burst through my lips and suddenly I was laughing uncontrollably. “I mean; how does a person live with that? How do I live with that? I am nothing! I am nothing, and I mean nothing, and I’m doing nothing, yet I got the heart. I won the prize. I lived and those one hundred and thirty-three people are probably dead right now.”

“Maya . . .” she started.

“Don’t,” I demanded. “Don’t try and comfort me. I know you hate me. I know you’re mad, Mrs. Bennet, which is a good thing because I deserve it.” My shoulders slumped as the truth finally tumbled out. “It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me who died in that accident, not Ana. I’m sorry the universe made an error and took her instead. I’m so sorry.” I gestured around her room. “I mean look at this. She was perfect! She was perfect, and her life was perfect, and she was beautiful and happy and she should have lived!”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Luisa said softly.

“That’s just it!” I explained. “She wasn’t perfect, but she still tried. She woke up every day with a sense of purpose and drive, despite everything she went through. Ana was strong, Mrs. Bennet. Your daughter was so, so strong. They say God only gives the toughest battles to His strongest soldiers . . . Ana was a soldier. I am . . . a mistake. I took the Lord’s second chance and laughed right in His face!” I stared at her intensely as my guilt turned into anger. “So don’t you dare forgive me. Don’t you dare stop being mad. If you stay mad at me, then that means I can stay mad at me.”

“It’s not your fault, Maya,” she said slowly. “It’s not your fault that Ana died. It’s not your fault that those one hundred and thirty-three people didn’t get her heart. None of this is your fault.”

“I’ve been mad my whole life, Mrs. Bennet. It’s all I know,” I whispered. “If you stay mad then it will continue to justify my anger. Please don’t take that away from me, Mrs. Bennet, please. It’s all I have left.”

“There is nothing for me to forgive,” she repeated. “But you need to forgive yourself. Just because Ana’s life stopped doesn’t mean yours has to stop as well.”

Grief was a strange emotion. Especially this grief. The grief you felt for someone you’d never met. The grief you felt for someone that gave you everything when you gave them nothing. The grief you felt when you loved someone that could never love you back. The grief you felt when you lost someone that was never yours to lose. And if that wasn’t bad enough, that grief always branched off into a million other emotions. Guilt, because I survived and she didn’t. Anger, because I survived and she didn’t. Sadness, because I survived and she didn’t. How was it humanly possible to feel so much for a stranger? I didn’t know what to do with it all, where to put it, how to express it.

It was easier before when all I had was her name. Three letters carelessly strung together to create this idea of a person with whom I formed an irrevocable bond. But now I had more. Now I had everything. I had her story. I had her brother’s love. I had her house, and her room, and her Sunday family dinners.

“Death hits survivors the hardest, but I can already tell you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. I look forward to knowing you, Maya. If you’ll let me.”

I didn’t respond, but let her words live in my mind anyway, hoping one day I could resonate with them.

“I’ll give you a few minutes,” she said with a small smile, closing the door behind her. I walked over to Ana’s bed and, after a second of hesitation, sat down. The springs quickly sprung to life beneath me. I ran my fingers over her blanket. I touched each stuffed animal. I laid my head back against her pillow. I stared at a spot on her ceiling directly above me. Directly above her.

And then I let myself cry.

“Oh my God, Noah, you were such a dork!” I snickered.

He groaned loudly from his childhood bed. “Can we leave please?”

“No way dude, I still haven’t examined all your things,” I said, flipping through his junior yearbook.

I heard him jump off the bed and felt his arms wrap around me from behind. “I can think of a million other things that we could be doing in my room,” he whispered suggestively in my ear. “Things that I’ve dreamed about doing in here when I was a lonely and single teenage boy.”

“You’ve been dreaming about me since you were a teenager?”

He kissed my neck. “Yes.”

“But I’m three years younger than you, isn’t that kind of creepy?”

“Creepy, but still perfectly legal,” he chuckled. “I think we would’ve been friends if we went to the same high school.”

“Yeah . . . definitely not,” I disagreed. “I was a book nerd, Noah; you were a computer nerd. A geek. There’s no way I would’ve associated with you.”

“I thought you were into the whole . . . hot and geeky thing?”

“I am, but you blossomed after high school. Not during.”

He tensed for a minute before laughing. “Now that’s just mean, Maya,” he said, taking the yearbook from my hands and throwing it across the room. I was about to protest but his arms were back around my waist, lifting me up and tossing me gently on the bed. He hovered over me slightly, pushing my hair out of my face.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings?” I asked innocently.

“Yes, my ego is severely bruised.”

“Men shouldn’t have egos. One little seed of self-esteem mixed in with all that testosterone is just a recipe for disaster.”

He smiled cheekily. “I completely agree. Men suck.”

His tone was mocking, but I knew he meant every word, which made me fall in love with him even more. His lips were suddenly on mine and my fingers were in his hair, and he was stroking my face, and every inch of his body was pressed against my body and I was on fire––

“Noah,” I warned shakily, but not making a move to stop him, whimpering slightly as his lips continued on my collarbone. “We’re in your parents’ house. This isn’t appropriate.”

“Then let’s be inappropriate,” he taunted with a smirk before moving his mouth feverishly with mine again.

“Noah,” I whispered against his lips. He released me immediately and rested his head against my chest. I looked at him lying on me, his hair tickling my nose, and burst out laughing.

He raised his head in confusion. “What could you possibly be laughing at right now?”

“I’m sorry,” I said breathlessly. “I can’t help it.”

“Can’t help what, weirdo?”

“You won’t understand because you’ve been in relationships before,” I sighed. “But this is all so unbelievable to me. I never imagined that I would be making out with someone in their spaceship bed. I don’t know, whenever I think of my current relationship status I have to laugh.”

He leaned into me again, his lips at my ear. “If it’s the spaceship bed that’s stopping us, I can take you back to my grown-up bed and we can––”

“You’re crazy,” I interrupted before his words could send me into a frenzy again. “Since we’re on that topic though, I should probably tell you . . . I’m saving myself for marriage.”

“Okay,” he said, not skipping a beat.

“Okay?”

“Okay . . . marry me?”

I wanted to laugh again, but the look on his face stopped me. He looked serious.

“You’re crazy,” I repeated.

“Crazy in love with you.”

“Okay, settle down,” I insisted, but I was melting.

His eyes darkened. “You know, every time you tell me to settle down, all I want to do is the opposite.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the opposite?”

“Act up.” He brushed his lips against mine. “Misbehave.”

“So you want to get married as an act of rebellion?”

“You don’t have a soul that can be found twice, Maya. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so yes, I would marry you right now.”

“I love you too.”

“But?”

“But nothing,” I promised. “I just . . . I don’t know, I honestly never really thought about getting married before. I never thought I would ever find someone that I would want to marry.”

He scrutinized me thoughtfully. “What do you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you want out of life? Where do you see yourself in five, ten, fifteen years?”

I looked away before he could see the first thing that popped into my head through my eyes. How could I explain that I never thought about my future because I never wanted to have one?

“Hey,” he said softly. “I know things haven’t been easy for you. You haven’t had the luxury of thinking about your future, but I want you to try right now. Forget about money and forget about your family for a second, okay? If you could do anything, anything at all, what would you do?”

I was stumped. No one had ever asked me what I wanted.

“You talked about writing the MCAT before, is that something you still want to do? To be a doctor?” he probed after a moment of silence.

“I . . .” I trailed off, hating my answer.

“It’s just us,” he reminded me. “You keep trying to please everybody else’s expectations for you, but I don’t care. All I’ll ever want for you is to be happy.”

“Honestly, Noah,” I sighed. “I don’t think I ever wanted to be a doctor. I mean, I’m passionate about helping people and I always loved science and learning about the human body, but I was so consumed with this idea that I had to be a doctor in order to achieve success. That’s why I kept putting off my MCAT. If I never wrote it, then I could never fail.”

“Success isn’t determined by the job you have, Maya. Success is determined by whether or not you find a job that you love. You know how rare it is for someone to find a career that brings them an income and brings them joy?”

“It wasn’t just that. The main thing that fueled that career choice for me was to make a lot of money for my parents. To be able to give them everything they ever wanted, and could never provide for me.”

“But what about everything you ever wanted?”

“That’s just it, Noah. I never really wanted anything. Just peace and quiet. All I really dreamed about was being alone,” I admitted. “Whenever my brother was acting out, or my dad was in a heated argument with him, I would always hide in my closet and . . . pretend. I would close my eyes and pretend that I was in a house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and acres of empty land. It wasn’t a big house––just a simple, one-story home with an open concept. High ceilings so there could be large windows everywhere, filling the interior with natural light. I have a big farm out back––chickens, goats, horses––and a vegetable garden where I grow all my own produce. I have two indoor cats, and there are three rooms––a bedroom, a bathroom, and a library. I categorized the shelves by my moods, and I have a reading nook by the window. The kitchen cupboards are painted green, but the rest of the house is a clean, white color and I spend my days doing . . . nothing. Nothing but reading, and making my own jam.”

I paused, thinking longingly. “I took a creative writing class for one of my electives in university. I loved it, and I was good at it. I don’t know what I would even write about, but I think if I could do anything, I would be a writer. Create stories for people to fall in love with. Build a universe where people could completely lose themselves in. A place that felt like home and made you hope, and wish, and dream that something like that could happen to you too. A book for people who needed somewhere to escape to. A book for people like me.”

I refocused my eyes on the present and looked at Noah, who was smiling warmly. “You know chickens are mini dinosaurs, right?”

“Yeah, but they can’t fly which makes them not scary.”

“Actually, some of them can fly––”

“Just let me have my chickens dude,” I insisted, and he laughed.

“Well, I love chickens and jam,” he told me seriously, stroking my cheek. “Do you think . . .” He hesitated, his voice suddenly shy.  “Do you think you might have room for one more person in that perfect little dreamland of yours?”

“بشرط انو الشخص هذا هوا انت,” I whispered.

He smiled but raised his eyebrows in confusion at my foreign speech.

“Only if that person is you, Noah.”

He kissed me thoroughly. “Say something else to me in Arabic,” he breathed into my mouth.

“أنت حمار.”

He moaned and immediately fused his lips back with mine. “Fuck, that’s so hot.” He continued to trail his lips, tongue, and teeth along my jaw. “What did you say?”

“You’re an ass.”

“Oh, mean,” he chuckled.

“And you love it.”

His lips paused for a second before resuming their exploration of every inch of exposed skin. “I fucking love it.”