Hey... I'm Lina, a 16-year-old girl with no special talent, no outstanding skills, just an ordinary face, an ordinary life, an ordinary family, and ordinary friends.
Just a normal, basic girl.
...Or at least, that's what I would like to say.
I was born as the middle child in my family. I had two older brothers, a younger sister, and a little brother. My parents were together, and we lived in a house that was neither too big nor too small, with two cars in the driveway. Pretty normal so far, right?
But the first thing that set me apart was my heart condition. To put it simply, two of my blood vessels were reversed, which was, according to the doctors, pretty bad. They operated on me, but something went wrong, and they couldn't completely fix it.
As a result, I was weaker than other kids. I couldn't run or do sports for too long. When I was younger, I hated it—I couldn't go outside and play like my brothers. But now, I don't really care. It's actually kind of nice since I'm excused from gym class. Not that I was ever into sports anyway.
The second thing that made me less normal was my parents' divorce when I was 14. You might say that's common, but for me, it wasn't.
My father never wanted the divorce. He had already cheated on my mom with multiple women, making her miserable her entire life. And when he left, he told her he would kill her and that he would never accept her new husband. And after that, some men broke into our house without us knowing and stole from us in the middle of the night. My uncle lost his mind and wanted to kill my mom. And one of my older brothers, who had always been with us, ended up siding with my father, turning against our mom and her new husband because my dad manipulated him.
And after all that, after everything he did, my father still had the audacity to text me, claiming he loved us and our mom—while being with other women, sleeping with them.
My mom told me he even slept with a woman who had the same name as me... That disgusted me.
Thankfully, the divorce went through, and things almost went back to normal. I thought it would be okay now. That I didn't have to worry anymore.
I was wrong.
One summer, my mom, her new husband, my little siblings, and I went on vacation to Morocco, her home country. Since our car was too small, my two older brothers traveled in another car with my cousin, who had just gotten his driver's license. It was supposed to be a good day. A normal vacation. Nothing strange or dangerous.
But then—
We had an accident.
Our car crashed into a truck.
I still remember the smell of smoke and gasoline.
The sound of glass shattering.
My little siblings crying.
My mom screaming.
And the last thing I saw was her reaching out to us, the warmth of her hand slipping away—before everything went black.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital. I recognized it immediately; I had been there countless times because of my condition.
As soon as my memories of the accident came back, I panicked. I could only think about my family. Were they okay? Where were they?
Then a nurse entered my room, looking relieved. She asked if I was alright, checked my pulse, and did a few routine examinations. When I asked about my family, her expression changed. She looked nervous. Sad.
At that moment, I hoped—no, prayed—that she would tell me they were fine.
But when she looked at me with pity and shook her head—I knew.
I didn't want to believe it.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe they were just badly injured. Maybe they hadn't woken up yet.
Maybe—anything. Anything but this.
Then the doctor came in and called my name. That's when I realized I was hyperventilating.
Later, after I calmed down, he explained what had happened in detail. But I wasn't really listening anymore.
Because the only thing that mattered was this—
Everyone was dead.
Except for me.
And my little brother, who was in a coma.
****
The day of the funeral arrived faster than I had expected.
It was hot. The sun was beating down, but I didn't feel it. I didn't feel anything.
The cemetery was filled with people. Family members, neighbors, friends, even people I didn't know. All in silence, dressed in white or dark colors, some with red, swollen eyes from crying, others whispering prayers under their breath.
The men had taken care of everything. My uncle, my cousins, my older brothers… They had washed the bodies, wrapped them in white shrouds, and now they were carrying the stretchers toward the graves dug into the dry earth.
I was watching, but I wasn't really seeing.
The prayers continued. "Allahouma aghfir lahum wa arhamhum…" (Oh Allah, forgive them and grant them Your mercy…).
The bodies were lowered into the graves, laid on their right side, facing Mecca. The men began covering the graves with their hands, letting the earth fall over them. No coffin. No fancy tombstone. Just earth. As if everything could disappear this simply, this quickly.
My grandmother collapsed to her knees, sobbing, her prayer beads clutched between her trembling fingers. She whispered duas nonstop, as if she was begging Allah to take her with them.
My aunt cried in silence. My other uncle, usually a stern and unshakable man, had glassy eyes, his face completely blank.
And me… I didn't move.
I hadn't cried since the accident. Not a single tear. Not even now, as I watched the last handful of dirt fall onto my mother's grave.
A hand rested on my shoulder. It was my older brother. His gaze was filled with pain, but also confusion as he looked at me—empty, unresponsive.
I didn't react.
My mind wasn't there. It was floating somewhere, far from this scene, far from the prayers, far from the suffocating heat.
When everything was over, the men handed out a few dates and bottles of water. There was no large meal after the burial, but close family and friends stayed for a while, reciting verses from the Quran around the graves.
The women in the family gathered around my grandmother, comforting her, reminding her to have sabr, to stay strong.
I stood there, staring at the freshly turned earth.
Words echoed in my mind, over and over again.
Mom is gone.
My little sister is gone.
They're all gone…
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream.
But nothing came out.
My soul had been buried with them, left under that earth.
And I… I was just an empty shell.