Salma
A few minutes after breakfast, Omar walked in, looking utterly exhausted. He had been out late the previous night, chasing a contract that could bring in much-needed income.
Papa had cautioned him against it, but Omar felt he had no choice. The toll of his exertions was clear: his eyes were sunken, his skin marred by red spots from insect bites, a testament to his lack of rest. My brother, who should have been focused on his studies and building a career, was instead shouldering the weight of our family's financial struggles.
I rushed to hug him, and he wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in a warm embrace.
"Big bro, how are you feeling?" I asked, examining the insect bites and bruises on his hand. His palm was red and raw, a testament to the hard work he had put in.
"I'm fine.sis," he replied, forcing a weak smile and playfully ruffling my hair.
My mom rushed over, concern etched on her face. "Omar, my poor boy, come here! You look exhausted. I'm so sorry, my boy. Eat something, you must be starving. " She began spoon-feeding him, ignoring his protests and trying to cram as much food into his mouth as possible.
"Mamai,(mom) please, hold on I can barely chew My mouth is full," Omar said, his words muffled by the food. But my mom wouldn't listen, continuing to feed him and scolding him gently for pushing himself too hard.
My mom continued to fuss over Omar, feeding him despite his objections. "Don't worry me sick about your health, Omar. You're my top priority, and I won't let you get ill," she said, her concern for him evident.
I wondered if Omar was aware of Papa's health issues. Just then, Papa appeared at the bottom of the stairs, adjusting his glasses as he reached the final step. I rushed over to give him a tight hug.
"Assalamaleikum, Babai." I said my voice trembled with concern "How are you feeling, Babai? Really, how are you?" I pressed, my voice laced with worry. He exchanged a glance with my mom, shook his head, and forced a small smile. "I'm fine, vajza ime, (my daughter)" he said, trying to reassure me.
As I served his food, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. A tear escaped my eye, and I blurted out, "Babai, you're not okay!" My dad looked down, avoiding my gaze.
I turned to Omar, who had been watching the scene unfold. "Omar, are you aware of Papa's illness and the amount we need for his treatment?" I asked. Omar nodded, his expression somber, and let out a deep sigh. I could see the weight of responsibility bearing down on him, and I realized that his late-night work was likely an attempt to raise money for Papa's treatment.
My heart clenched painfully for my brother.
Omar took a deep breath before speaking. "I saw the report yesterday, Salma. That's why I had to work late. I was able to work for five hours and a bit more, so I earned some money." He pulled out the cash from his pocket and handed it to Mom.
Omar's eyes were filled with determination as he looked at Papa. "It's not enough, but I'll work twice as hard to raise the rest. I'll make sure you get the treatment you need, Babai, and your health will get back on track." He gave Papa's hand a firm squeeze, offering a reassuring smile.
After breakfast, Omar gave Mom a warm hug and a peck on the cheek. "Faleminderit, Mamai,"( thank you Mom) he said, expressing his gratitude. He then headed to his room to get ready for the day, while I sought out Papa, who was sitting in the corridor, deep in thought. I rested my head on his lap, and he gently stroked my hair, a soothing gesture that always brought me comfort.
"Babai, please don't worry," I urged, trying to reassure him. "We'll figure out a way to raise money for your treatment. Your health is what matters most right now, don't worry about my school for now. We need you to get better, and we'll do everything we can to make that happen. You have to stay strong for us," I said, my voice cracking with emotion as tears welled up in my eyes.
Papa took a deep breath before speaking, as if gathering his strength. "Vajza ime, (my daughter) you worry too much. You're still young, and your well-being is my top priority. I need to be able to take care of you, not leave everything to your brother. He's already shouldering too much, and it makes me feel useless as a father..."
I looked him straight in the eye. "You're not useless, Babai. That's exactly why we need you. Nothing can happen to you. If you're worried about Omar handling everything alone, I'll find a way to help. Omar won't have to do it all by himself." I offered him a reassuring smile. "You're not alone in this, Babai. We'll get through it together."
Papa sighed, his eyes misty, and continued to gently play with my hair, saying nothing more.
I could tell Papa's worries were resurfacing, and I knew it was time for me to step up and help my family.
My pride was no longer a concern; my family's well-being was all that mattered. I didn't care if girls like Aziza and Fatima mocked me, calling me a poor church rat. I was willing to do whatever it took to earn money and raise funds for Papa's treatment.
That was my sole focus now. It was time for me to grow up, Salma.