Aisha (III)

After the funeral, I returned home, but my heart remained heavy with grief. It felt like a part of me had died with Aisha.
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Chapter Three

After the funeral, I returned home, but my heart remained heavy with grief. It felt like a part of me had died with Aisha. I tried to throw myself into work, but I found myself making mistakes and struggling to focus.

One night, I received a call from an unknown number. I hesitated to answer, but something compelled me to pick up.

“Hello?” I said.

“John, it’s me,” a familiar voice said. It was Aisha’s brother.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice filled with anger and sadness.

“I’m sorry, John. I know this is hard for you, but I need your help.”

“What kind of help?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “But I need you to come back to our country. There’s something I need to show you.”

I was hesitant to go back. I didn’t know if I could handle the pain of seeing Aisha’s family again, but something told me that I needed to go. I booked a flight and packed my bags.

When I arrived, Aisha’s brother picked me up from the airport. He drove me to a small village on the outskirts of the city. It was a place that I had never been before, but it felt familiar somehow.

He led me to a small house, and we went inside. There, I saw the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. Aisha’s daughter was sleeping in a crib, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Her name is Amira,” Aisha’s brother said. “She’s your daughter, John.”

My heart stopped. I couldn’t believe it. Aisha had never told me that she was pregnant when she left. It was like a piece of her was still alive, still here with me.

“What happened?” I asked, still in shock.

“Aisha never wanted to leave you,” he said. “She was forced to marry the man that our family chose for her, but she never loved him. When she found out that she was pregnant, she knew that she had to leave. She didn’t want her child to grow up in that kind of environment. She wanted Amira to have a better life.”

Tears streamed down my face. I had a daughter. Aisha’s daughter. It was like all the pain and grief that I had been carrying with me for years lifted, replaced by a feeling of overwhelming joy.

“Can I take her with me?” I asked.

Aisha’s brother nodded. “It’s what Aisha would have wanted.”

We left the house, and I held Amira close to my chest. She was so small, so fragile. I promised her that I would protect her, that I would give her the life that Aisha had dreamed of for her.

As we drove back to the city, I couldn’t help but think that maybe love wasn’t just bitter-sweet. Maybe it was also a miracle. Aisha and I had created something beautiful, something that would live on long after we were gone.

But that thought was short-lived. As we reached the outskirts of the city, we heard gunshots. A group of armed men appeared from the side of the road, stopping our car.

Aisha’s brother tried to drive away, but it was too late. The men had surrounded us, and they were pointing their guns at us.

“Get out of the car,” one of them said.

I knew what was happening. This wasn’t a random attack. They were after Aisha’s family. And they weren’t going to let us go.

As we stepped out of the car, I held Amira close to me, shielding her from harm. But it was

too late. The men grabbed Aisha’s brother and dragged him away from us. I tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them.

“Please, let him go,” I begged. “He has nothing to do with this.”

But they didn’t listen. They shot him in front of me, his blood staining the ground beneath us.

I screamed, holding Amira tighter. The men turned to me, their guns trained on us.

“Give us the child,” one of them said.

I knew what they wanted. They wanted to use Amira as leverage, to trade her for something else. But I wasn’t going to let that happen.

I turned and ran, holding Amira close to my chest. The men chased after us, their footsteps pounding on the ground behind us.

We ran through the streets of the city, dodging through crowds of people and cars. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew that I had to keep Amira safe.

Finally, we reached the outskirts of the city. I saw a small, abandoned building on the side of the road. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

I ran inside, shutting the door behind us. I could hear the men outside, trying to break in. I knew that we didn’t have much time.

I looked around the room, trying to find a way out. There was a small window on the far wall, but it was too high for me to reach.

I knew what I had to do. I put Amira down on the ground, and I stood on top of the crib. I jumped up, grabbing the window sill with my hands.

I pulled myself up, ignoring the pain in my arms. I climbed through the window, grabbing Amira and pulling her up with me.

We landed on the ground outside, and I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t know where we were going, but I knew that we had to get as far away from those men as possible.

We ran for what felt like hours, until we finally reached a small village on the outskirts of the city. I saw a group of people gathered in the center of the village, and I ran towards them.

“Please, help us,” I begged, holding Amira close to me.

The people looked at me with suspicion, but then they saw Amira. They saw her innocence, her vulnerability. And they took us in.

We stayed with that village for months, until I was finally able to get us out of the country. We traveled to a new city, one where we could start a new life.

But the memory of that night never left me. It haunted me, reminding me of the bitter-sweetness of love. How it could bring us so much joy, but also so much pain.

And yet, when I looked at Amira, I knew that it was all worth it. She was a reminder of the love that Aisha and I had shared, of the hope that we had for the future. And even though our story ended in tragedy, I knew that love would always be a part of my life, no matter how bitter-sweet it may be.

Missed Chapter Two? Click here to read the first chapter.


Aisha, a beautiful african muslim lady
Aisha (III) 2

I remember the night Aisha and I went on a romantic date in the heart of the city. It was a warm summer evening, and the stars shone bright in the sky. We went to a fancy restaurant, and I remember feeling so nervous as we sat across from each other at the table.

But as soon as we started talking, my nerves melted away. We laughed and joked, sharing stories about our childhood and dreams for the future. We talked about everything and nothing, lost in the moment.

After dinner, we walked through the city, holding hands. We stopped at a park, and Aisha led me to a tree-lined path. We walked in silence, the only sound the rustle of leaves beneath our feet.

Finally, we came to a clearing, and Aisha turned to me, a smile on her face. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small box.

“I have something for you,” she said, handing me the box.

I opened it, and inside was a small silver key. I looked at her, confused.

“It’s the key to my heart,” she said, laughing.

I smiled, feeling my heart swell with love for her. We hugged, and I knew in that moment that I never wanted to let her go.

But life had other plans. A few months after that date, Aisha was diagnosed with cancer. The doctors gave her only a few months to live.

I remember feeling like the world had come crashing down around me. Aisha was my everything, my reason for living. I couldn’t imagine a world without her.

We fought the cancer together, but it was a losing battle. Aisha grew weaker and weaker, until she was confined to a hospital bed.

The day she died, I was holding her hand, tears streaming down my face. She looked at me and smiled, her eyes filled with love.

“I love you,” she whispered.

And then she was gone.

I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I couldn’t imagine a life without Aisha, without her love. But I knew that I had to keep going, for her.

And so, I kept her key close to me, a reminder of the love that we had shared. Even though she was gone, her love was still with me, a bitter-sweet reminder of what once was.


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