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She remembered the first time she cried was when she fell off the swing into the dirty sand of the kindergarten playground. She was pushed by a group of some kids. They were bigger and mean. They hit the smaller ones, made fun of the disabled, and bullied children who were abnormal, children like her because she didn’t have a ‘dad’. She remembered them laughing while she knelt on the ground with bleeding knees, crying. She remembered her best friend, her playmate, someone whose name she couldn’t remember, keeling next to her and wiping her face. She remembered tiny hands, soft smile, and gentle eyes looking at her. Fareeha remembered what she had said to her.
Don’t cry. Because crying won’t stop them from hurting you. Crying won’t stop them from laughing. And Reeha, you don’t look cool when you cry.
And so, she stopped. She stopped crying from then on. Because she wanted to look cool. She wanted that girl to like her. So, Fareeha stopped. She fought back instead, and although she always lost, always got a black eye or bloody nose in the end, she deemed it was worth it. Because even though her mother didn’t say it, Fareeha knew Ana was proud. Because even though her little friend had cried looking at her beaten face, Fareeha knew she was proud.
Growing up with Ana, Fareeha had learned to take care of herself. It wasn’t because Ana was a bad parent. She knew her mother loved her more than anything in the world and wanted all the best things for her. But Ana was a soldier herself, a leader, and without a string of doubt, Fareeha was raised the way her mother deemed appropriate and necessary for a soldier. That was to say, Fareeha was expected to act tough, to be independent, to take responsibility, and to accept failures like a grown person. Fareeha respected and admired Ana. To her, she was more than just a mother. She was her mentor, her hero. To little Fareeha, Ana was her world.
Being Ana’s little soldier did not mean she couldn’t be a child herself. She could still have fun like any twelve-year-old out there. When her mother wasn’t present, Fareeha was the little gremlin herself. She was curious, always curious of the world, and she was also very mischievous, and then there was Jesse, who defied every law and rule that was ever made. So, what would happen if one put a naughty child and a trouble-maker together? The answer was they would get not one but two trouble-makers. Yes, Jesse and Fareeha were a team, brother and sister, and together they were responsible for every prank and misbehavior at the base.
Fareeha didn’t cry when she looked at the deep gash on her thigh. She didn’t shed a tear even though the pain from the wound shook her entire leg. She never let out a whine the whole time the medic rinsed and bandaged her thigh. She even smiled toothily at Jesse, who was brimming with tears, pulling at his hair like a madman for letting such a thing happen to her. Fareeha remembered Ana had been livid. She had grounded Fareeha and had chewed the living light out of Jesse. Poor Jesse was so frightened, not for his life, but for hers. The cowboy had bought her a big bowl of ice-cream as an apology after that. In truth, to this day, Fareeha didn’t remember how she got hurt in the first place.
Fareeha didn’t cry even though the jealousy in her told her to as she watched one Swiss doctor giggling at something Jesse said. She didn’t cry as she watched Angela playfully swat Jesse on the arm even though all she wanted to do at the time was charging in and punching him in the face. In the end, she just left. Fareeha remembered walking to her mother’s quarter, one she shared with Ana, and locking herself inside for hours. She remembered how angry and disappointed she had felt. And then there was that bitter taste of betrayal. Jesse knew she liked Angela, but still he chose to make a move on her.
Fareeha found it funny thinking back on her never-been-there rivalry with Jesse. Even though he had explained that he viewed the blonde no more than a sister of his, Fareeha still refused to talk to him for a week.
Fareeha was a tough child, they praised. She would be strong some day, like her mother, they said. She would become a protector, and her mother would be pleased, they told her. Little did they know Ana had never wanted for her to join the army. In fact, she hated the soldier life. So when Fareeha had expressed her wish to join the force when she reached seventeen, they fought. It was bad. She remembered the yelling from them both. She remembered something crashed in the mist of fury. She remembered her mother sending her away, and Fareeha left early the next morning. Still, she never cried once.
Fareeha wasn’t used to talk to women. Growing up with her mother meant she had to live in the base more than in the city. She didn’t have many friends since they had to move a lot. Surrounding her was soldiers, many of them were men, and also, her only playmate at the time was Jesse, so Fareeha had learned to talk and act like a man. She and Jesse had a favorite game that was to guess the color of people’s underwear, specifically speaking underwear of the women working in the base (she refused to guess Angela’s, however). Fareeha remembered one time she and Jesse having a bet. Who got more girls’ numbers within a day would win, and the loser had to buy the winner whatever they wanted. She had refused at first knowing well she was not good with this game, but Jesse knew how to push her buttons, and in the end she had agreed to it out of pride. She lost to him, of course, and had to buy him a pack of expensive cigars imported from Cuba.
So, when she tried and asked Angela out one night, the night before she left to join the army, she did not know rejection could hurt so badly. The young doctor had spoken so softly, as if to use her voice to soothe Fareeha’s aching heart. Fareeha remembered she told her the reason why she could not returned her feelings. Angela was not ready. Both of them were still too young at the time. Angela was just 22, and she barely reached 18. And then there would be the long distance between them.
Fareeha had lain in her room that night, thinking of how it could have been if she had been braver. If she had tried to talk to Angela more, if she had spent time actually hanging out with the blonde rather than admiring her from afar, things would have been different between them. Fareeha regretted it. She regretted all that time they could have spent together being friends during her frequent visits to the base. Fareeha remembered her eyes had stung badly. Still, she didn’t cry.
Fareeha was a player during her time in the army. She had dated many women, sometimes it was simply a one-nightstand. She loved women and had always been, and she wasn’t afraid of to talk to them anymore. Being a soldier taught her not only fighting and killing but also how to flirt. And indeed, being a soldier had its perks, and one of them was attracting women. Fareeha sometimes wondered what had drawn them to her. It could be her build; she was very tall, even taller than an average man, and she had a lean body, packed with muscles. Or, it could be her Amari good looks: flawless tan skin, dark sleek hair, and deep brown eyes, eyes that could drown people if they looked long enough, a woman had told her. Or maybe it was just her natural charm that people couldn’t help but be drawn to.
Fareeha dated many people to forget about her first love. She had thought being with various lovers could some how quench the thirst for Angela. She didn’t even care too much about their personalities. As long as they were the feminine type and had a pretty face, she was good to go. Brunette, redhead, even blonde, Fareeha had dated them all. Those flings never lasted, however. Because she had fooled herself. The truth was she couldn’t replace Angela no matter what she did. She always felt empty and lost after spending the nights with them. Even when she kissed them, she imagined it was Angela she was kissing. Yes, Angela was her curse, she had thought.
So, when her girlfriend accused her of not loving her enough, not putting effort into their relationship, not being a good person, Fareeha didn’t cry. She had thought they could make it. She had thought this girl could be the one. But how could it work, when all she had ever contributed to their romance was to compare the woman with Angela. It was her, she knew. And she had felt guilty for using the girl as a replacement. She was a failure, no doubt. She wanted to be a protector, and yet she had hurt this innocent woman more than one occasion. Fareeha had sat quietly in her darken apartment for hours after her girlfriend left, feeling ashamed and sick. Still, she didn’t cry.
Fareeha was cold, they said. She had little emotion, they said, as she stared blankly at her mother’s casket being lowered to the ground. Her mother’s body couldn’t be found, they told her, so Jack and the others buried Ana’s weapons and badges instead. Jesse had squeezed her shoulder before living with Jack. Torbjorn had hugged her as he wiped his eyes, and Reinhart had rubbed her back gently for once before leaving her alone with the grave.
Fareeha had thought she was alone until a hand lay gently on her shoulder. She turned sideway and saw the woman who had plagued her dreams for many years. Angela hadn’t changed one bit; same blonde hair, same beautiful face, and same blue eyes. The only thing that seemed out of place was the sad tears rolling down her cheeks. And yet, she still looked as stunning as ever. Fareeha remembered Angela had wrapped her arms around her, crying in her shoulder. But Fareeha had been cruel to her. She wanted to blame Angela, for what she couldn’t tell, but she was hurt and sad, and what she needed at the time wasn’t Angela’s pity. Strangely, looking at Angela’s teary face made her angrier, because she couldn’t cry, because even though the pain was lancing at her heart, Fareeha’s eyes remained painfully dry. So, she pushed Angela away, roughly, mumbling an apology and expressing her wish to be left alone with her mother. She didn’t turn around as Angela silently left. She might have hurt the only woman she loved, but Fareeha forced herself to not care. Yes, she had hurt Angela. Still, Fareeha didn’t cry.
Many years had passed since the funeral, and Fareeha had come to believe that she was indeed an emotionless person. She hadn’t shed tears for how long she lost counts. Even at the death of her comrades, Fareeha never cried. She had thought crying was for the weak, crying didn’t solve anything, but at that moment, she wished she could cry, just once.
They met again when she had retired as captain of Helix security firm. She was now an Overwatch agent, just as she had always dreamed of. Angela looked older, more mature, still gorgeous though, and although Fareeha had expected the doctor to be cold towards her, considering their history, Angela greeted her with open arms and a gentle smile. The moment she held Angela’s smaller frame in her arms, Fareeha felt the warmth for the first time in forever.
They fought side by side. They were a good team. Together, they reigned aerial superiority in battles. Angela laughed at her terrible puns. She laughed at Angela’s terrible sense of humor. They practiced flying at night, using it as an excuse to be with one another. They had workout dates, where Fareeha took advantage of fixing Angela’s form to touch her. They arranged movie nights, where Angela would always pick romantic comedies when it was her turn, and Fareeha never complained. Fareeha laughed when Jesse teased her about their subtle romance. She never denied nor confirmed when Lena bluntly asked if they were secretly dating. She didn’t feel the need to label their relationship. Slowly, they became more than friends, and slowly, Fareeha’s heart healed itself.
Fareeha had thought one only cried when they were sad or miserable, so she was surprised to feel hot tears running freely over her cheeks, leaving dark spots on the letter she was holding. She shivered as she touched her face and felt wetness. After the longest time, Fareeha finally cried. Because her mother was still alive, because Ana was coming back. She cried because she was happy, and it baffled her. Not once had Fareeha ever dreamed of the day she would cry with happiness.
Fareeha cried again when she told Angela of the news, and Angela had held her close throughout her outburst. She remembered the way Angela had stroked her head, the way she had cupped her face in her palms before leaning in for a kiss. They kissed for the very first time, and Fareeha felt like she was in heaven. They made love that night, and while Angela fell asleep in her arms shortly after, Fareeha remained awake. She was not emotionless as she had thought. She could cry and laugh like everybody else. She could love and was loved back. After many years, Fareeha was happy again, as happy as her twelve-year-old self was before.
Fareeha knew by now that crying wasn’t always for the weak, crying wasn’t always because of sadness. She had learned that people cried when they were happy, when they were proud; some even cried when they received pleasure. So, when she held her crying daughter for the first time in the hospital room full of people, she didn’t hesitate to cry. Fareeha didn’t hold the tears as she kissed Angela - her wife - who looked exhausted but otherwise pleased, and handed her their newborn. Fareeha let out a sob as she watched the baby latch onto her mother’s breast immediately, seeking nutrition. They cried that day, holding onto each other as they watched their baby fall asleep in her parents’ loving arms.
“Remember that day at my mother’s fake funeral?” Fareeha asks, twirling a leaf between her fingers.
“Yes?” Angela says, looking up from her book.
“Why did you not hate me? I pushed you away. Hard.”
Angela is quiet for a while. And when she speaks again, she puts her book down and turns in Fareeha’s arms so that she can look her in the eyes. “I wanted to, you know. But when I was finally in my room, I realized I couldn’t…” she pauses, adjusting her body so that she can fit snuggly against Fareeha’s. “Even though you didn’t cry, I knew you were hurting. I had been there before, had to witness my parents’ death, and I knew how it must have felt to you. So, I just couldn’t hate you,” she finishes, smiling tenderly at her.
“I don’t deserve you,” Fareeha smiles, kissing blonde head.
“Fareeha Amari, you deserve everything good in this world. Don’t make me have to remind you again!” Angela taps her nose, pouting a little, and Fareeha laughs.
“I love you,” Fareeha whispers, pulling her wife closer to her, rubbing her nose against sweet-scented skin.
“I love you more,” Angela giggles.
“That’s impossible,” Fareeha chuckles, nibbling on Angela’s cheek, causing the doctor to squirm and laugh.
“Habibti, it’s almost time for you to go get Maya,” Angela says, gently pushing Fareeha’s face away as she had started kissing down pale neck.
“What.”
“It’s your turn.”
“No, it’s not,” Fareeha counters, continuing her kissing. Her face is pushed away again.
“It is. Now go. I want to finish my book.”
Fareeha laughs. She finally stops and gets off the hammock, stretching her arms as she makes her way inside. She pauses at the doorway to their house, looking back at her wife, who had resumed her reading, dangling a leg over the hammock. “I’ll have you know, habibti, I won’t hear any excuses tonight,” she says before walking inside to find her keys. She is sure she had made Angela blush. She always has.
Fareeha whistles a familiar tune her mother had sung her to sleep every night when she was a child as she grabs her keys and jacket. She should hurry if she wants to pick up their daughter on time. Egypt’s traffic in the late afternoon has always been crazy, and Fareeha doesn’t want Maya and Angela to scold her again for being late. Fareeha smiles to herself as she got in the car. It’s not her fault that Angela looks so good all the time.
Fareeha resumes humming the tune. She is finally at peace after so many years fighting the thought-to-be endless war. She has now retired and had a family business while Angela still works as a part-time doctor. Their daughter has just started middle school and is still a sweet girl, though Fareeha doubts that would stay once she reaches her rebel age.
Fareeha isn’t ashamed of crying anymore because she knows crying makes one human. She is happy now, the happiest she can ever be, and despite saying otherwise sometimes, she knows she deserves it. Everything is as it should be. All is well.
-The End-