Chapter Text
Ma was the first to go.
The sickness that devastated their town had come out of seemingly nowhere. There were no warning signs, no big outbreak that signified the start of it, nothing. It was small at first, a few people here and there, their symptoms resembling that of the common cold. Nothing to worry about, officials had said, things like these go around every year, it’ll pass.
It didn’t pass, but the people who caught it did.
For a while, life went on as normal, apart from every few days when another classmate or teacher would suddenly stop coming to school. Mild concern showed on everyone’s faces as more and more people reported not feeling well, and yet the message from the governor’s interviews in the paper was clear – continue as normal, no one was to stop going to work unless they or their dependants were seriously sick. It isn’t as contagious as lazy people who jump at any excuse not to work would want you to believe.
The wording caused plenty of tight-lipped frowns, especially among those who worked day and night to keep their families afloat, but nobody said anything. What else could be expected from someone who had their entire life handed to them on a silver platter?
This went on for the next few weeks, not changing even when those sharing the governor’s sentiment could no longer deny that something much more serious than seasonal colds was going on. And it likely never would have changed if the governor’s wife hadn’t died, her symptoms matching the mass reports.
Right after the funeral, too grand and frivolous and expensive for a woman whose only job was to sit still, look pretty and smile for the cameras, an order was passed. No work, no school, no going outside unless absolutely necessary. Everything was shutting down until every diseased person either passed or recovered.
It became polite not to talk about how many more could have been saved if the governor had acted sooner.
Ma and Pa followed the new rules to the letter, illnesses not being something their family could afford. They were doing better than many, two adults capable of working ensured the income was steady and allowed for small indulgences here and there, but rising prices and increased taxation spared no one. Now that there was no work at all, it became painfully obvious just how small of a safety net they had. Especially considering how outrageously expensive medicine became since the order.
Their parents tried to spare them of the knowledge, and maybe that worked on Ghazan, but Haya was painfully aware that the rice bags in the pantry wouldn’t last forever and that their small vegetable garden wouldn’t yield crops all year round. But when Ma saw her concern, she simply smiled and told her that they had enough to get them through another two months and if it’s not over by then, they would figure something out. In any case, Haya should never be the one to worry about it.
And so Haya didn’t worry, choosing to trust her mother, just like she always did.
Soon enough, sheer boredom had replaced dwindling supplies as the biggest of her troubles. School could be a pain, especially now that she was only a few years from graduating, but she had never realised before just how dull life could be when she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere or see anyone. At least at school she could spend time with her friends.
She had hoped that she’d get to see them whenever she was sent to fetch the water — the governor had assured everyone that the town water pumps were safe to drink from, and since their little street on the very outskirts of town had been largely passed over by the sickness, no one had any qualms about it – only to be disappointed when told that it would be Pa’s job now.
Fetching water was always something Haya was responsible for, a task she enjoyed as the other girls from their street would often be there too. Even after filling all their buckets, they would stand around the pump together and talk until one of them was called back inside. Now the sickness had stolen even that from her.
“No one is letting their kids outside these days, darling, you know that. Even if we sent you for the water you wouldn’t see your friends anyway. You’ll be safer staying home and minding your brother. You understand, don’t you?”
Haya did understand, even if watching Ghazan was easily her least favourite newfound responsibility, but as she stared out of the kitchen window at the deserted street, she yearned for nothing more but for this whole thing to be over.
And yet, time passed and nothing had changed, and worst of all, somehow, despite all the precautions they followed, the care with which they took to the new rules, misfortune still struck. Ma still caught the sickness.
The better part of a month had passed since Ma first started coughing. It began so simply, a random cough, a written-off sneeze, just as the reports detailed the earliest symptoms to look like. Still, Ma insisted until she physically couldn’t anymore that she was fine. Then, she began getting hot and cold flashes, headaches, nausea, worsening with each passing day, and there wasn’t even anything they could do. Whatever they had in their medicine cabinet proved useless, as did any natural remedies they managed to remember, but couldn’t afford to send for a doctor.
Once it became undeniable that the ailment couldn’t be anything but that cursed sickness, Ma began spending her days bedbound in her and Pa’s room, sometimes too weak to even sit up. Haya and Ghazan weren’t allowed anywhere near her, told to even give the doorway a wide berth lest they catch it too. Ghazan complained, a lot , to the point that Haya wasn’t sure how much more of his whining she could take.
“Ma is sick,” she told him in her most patient voice. “That’s why we can’t see her. We have to wait until she gets better or we’ll get sick as well.”
But that wasn’t good enough reasoning for him, apparently. Haya tried to not let it anger her. Her brother was only five years old and had never spent more than a day without Ma before. She even used to work the fields with him strapped to her back when he was a baby. He wanted his Ma and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It became Haya’s job to keep an eye on him at all times so he wouldn’t attempt to sneak into the room when no one was looking.
Really, Haya couldn’t blame him too much. She missed Ma as well and snuck every glance she could, glued to the smallest of cracks between the sliding doors whenever Pa went in to take care of Ma. Though she only did it when Ghazan was asleep or off playing, as he would surely want to look too, and she couldn’t let him see what she saw. If she didn’t know, she’d never be able to tell it was her mother.
Gone was the tall, strong woman with shining eyes and a hearty laugh, with long curly hair and cheeks full of freckles from days spent in the sun. The woman in that bed had a pale face – a greyish shade her dark skin could never naturally be – worn with exhaustion, making her few wrinkles much more pronounced. Her rich, booming voice always raised in a teasing lilt was reduced to a meek whisper that was interrupted by coughing every few sentences. Even her muscles couldn’t withstand the disease, her arms now thinner than Haya had ever remembered them being, and not even the tattoos covering the entirety of her forearms that previously only emphasised her strength could help.
She had also asked Pa to cut her hair for her as she could no longer upkeep it, the thick curls taking too much effort and energy to brush through, and matting extremely easily if left unattended. Haya would know, she had inherited those curls from her. She had heard that conversation and barely managed to scramble away from the door in time to avoid Pa catching her eavesdropping when he went to get the scissors. She’d ran upstairs and spent the rest of the day playing with Ghazan, as much as it bored her, desperate to keep her mind away from what was going on.
Ma was the one who always brushed Haya’s hair for her, and once Haya was old enough she insisted she return the favour. Ma had laughed but allowed it, teaching her how to braid while they were at it. It became routine, something they did together every single morning for years until Ma got sick. The mere thought of not getting to do that anymore, possibly ever again, was too much to bear.
Don’t think like that. She’ll get better. Just you wait, she’ll recover and her hair will grow back and you’ll get to resume your tradition as if nothing ever happened. It’s only a matter of time.
But the waiting, the hoping, the worrying, never ceasing for even a moment, were slowly weighing on Haya more and more until she could hardly take it. She swore Ma’s coughing constantly echoing through the house, Pa’s increasingly more distressed expressions, Ghazan’s daily barrages of questions about why he couldn’t see their mother, would drive her insane sooner rather than later, but there was absolutely nothing she could do to get away. The rules were strict and ever present, and she doubted ‘my family makes me want to bash my head against the wall’ would be a good enough excuse for anyone who caught her.
She could always go into the backyard, but the dark tree line of the Swamp starting less than fifty feet away from their fence, thick roots sticking out of the ground in the direction of the house as if creeping closer, unnerved her too much to set a single foot out of the back door. People said the sickness came from the Swamp, spread by the tribes that lived there. Haya had no proof of that, but she wasn’t about to risk it.
She used to love playing there when she was younger. She never could’ve guessed her favourite childhood playground would betray her so.
So she stayed put, burrowing her nose into her schoolbooks so she’d have at least something to occupy her mind with. She stuck to the lesson schedule they had before school closed down, woke up early every morning as if she actually had to go to school, and kept careful track of the time so she’d spend an equal amount on each subject. She even assigned homework to herself, just to make sure she was actually retaining something. In the evenings, she resumed her attempts to teach Ghazan how to read and write. He wasn’t always too eager to spend two hours hunched over sheets of paper, and more often than not ended up painting with the ink instead, but Haya refused to give up. He’d have to learn sooner or later anyway, especially considering he was due to start school next year.
The routine was the only thing keeping her sane.
The morning that everything changed forever was a weekend, so she allowed herself to sleep for a little while longer. There was no premonition, no gut feeling, nothing that the worst had occurred. Just an ordinary mid-Autumn morning, no different from any other.
After a while, her stomach became incessant in demanding breakfast, so she threw her covers off, spared a single glance at Ghazan still happily dozing away in his own bed, and stepped out into the hallway, shutting the sliding door behind her.
She headed for the stairs but paused right before she began her descent. Something felt… off. She couldn’t see the living room because of the turn in the staircase, but she swore she heard too many footsteps for it to be just her father.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she tried her best to listen and figure out just what was going on. No words were spoken, the only sounds she could hear were footsteps, an occasional laboured grunt and someone’s heavy breathing.
And, her mind belatedly realised, no coughing coming from her parents’ room.
When she heard several sets of feet step off the wooden flooring onto the gravel pathway outside their front door, she finally dared to investigate.
For some reason, her legs were shaking. She gripped the railing to steady herself. Some part of her already suspected what had happened, but her consciousness refused to process it or even think about the possibility.
She reached the turn in the staircase and paused. Pa was standing by the door, leaning onto the frame for support and looking out at something in the yard, probably the retreating people. Another man, half his face covered with a cloth, suddenly stepped out of her parents’ bedroom and approached him, saying something that Haya couldn’t quite catch. Pa didn’t answer, instead giving the man a terse nod.
The man clapped Pa twice on the shoulder and headed for the door. When he turned to say his goodbyes, he noticed Haya standing on the staircase. His eyes widened, and while she couldn’t see most of his face, she could practically feel the sorrowful expression. Her heart sank, the feeling of dread pushing out every other emotion, including embarrassment at a stranger seeing her in her nightgown.
Soon after, the man left, Pa closing the door behind him. He stepped back, moving like a ghost through the room, as if he wasn’t fully aware of where he was, and lowered himself onto the couch, his head in his hands. That was when Haya noticed that the door to their room was still open. It never remained open longer than it took for Pa to go in or out ever since Ma got sick, their parents trying their best to prevent the disease from spreading.
She bit her lip as hard as she could, holding onto the railing for dear life. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. There had to be some other explanation. Please let there be some other explanation than the horrifying thought that crossed her mind.
She must have made a noise or otherwise made her presence known, because Pa suddenly looked up, staring at her with reddened eyes.
“Haya…” he whispered, voice heavy with unshed tears. She’s never seen Pa cry before. Ma once told her that he cried when holding her and Ghazan for the first time right after they were born, but she couldn’t possibly remember the former and wasn’t present for the latter, her parents had asked the neighbours from three houses up to watch her when Ma went into labour.
(“Well I think you’re lucky!”
“Lucky?” Haya asked, tearing her gaze away from the canopy of magnolia flowers above them.
“Yeah!” Rani said, raising herself up on her forearms. “Imagine how fun it’ll be to have a little sibling. I always wanted one, but my parents say my brother and I are too much of a handful already.”
Haya held back a laugh. “Your brother who can’t go a day without getting in trouble at school?”
“So?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled, folding her hands under her head. “What’s so fun about a sibling? They can’t even play for like, another year. And Ma will be too busy to spend time with me now.”
Rani flopped back down and rolled closer to her, likely getting grass stains all over the sides of her dress. Haya moved an arm so Rani could rest her head on it instead of the ground.
“Hey, but you’ll get to play eventually, right? And I’m sure Auntie Afarin will have time for you. I mean, your Pa can watch the baby too, can’t he?”
“I guess.”
“Okay, don’t think about that, you’ll just be sad, and I don’t like seeing you sad!” Rani bumped a knee against Haya’s. “How about… oh, I know! Who do you want more, a brother or a sister?”
“A brother,” Haya answered immediately. “Since I’m a girl, that way it’ll be even.”
Rani hummed, absentmindedly brushing away flowers that had fallen on top of them. “I’d want a sister. Then I could dress her up and do her hair once she’s big enough. And one brother is annoying enough already!”
Haya frowned. “You can still do a brother’s hair if it’s long enough, like my Pa’s.”
“You get what I mean!” She rolled her eyes – the right a dark, rich brown, the left a stunning green – which was an action she had recently picked up from brother and was keen on showing off as often as possible.
“I’m just saying. A brother wouldn’t be so bad either.”
“Ah-ha!” Rani sprang up, pointing a finger at her face. Haya jumped in alarm. “I got you! I tricked you into agreeing that having a baby sibling is a good thing!”
“Never said it wasn’t,” Haya grumbled, making Rani frown.
“Come on, Hay-Hay, I’m just joking around, you know that.” She moved to cuddle up to Haya again. Haya huffed out a breath, smiling despite herself at the nickname.
Now it was Haya’s turn to roll her eyes, albeit it took a bit too much effort and didn’t convey the full effect, as she had much less practice at it than Rani. “Fine, you got me. Happy now?”
“Very,” Rani smiled and closed her eyes.
Before she knew it, Haya was drifting off too.
Several hours later, when the sun was well past its peak in the sky, Rani’s mother came to wake them, saying that Pa had sent for her.
Haya immediately got up off the grass, brushed the remaining flowers off her dress, waved goodbye to Rani and ran home, not even caring that she’d lost nearly all feeling in her right arm from her friend sleeping on it.
Pa was waiting for her by the front door, smiling wider than she had ever seen. He led her to their room and slid the door open. Ma was sitting up in bed, naked from the waist up, a sheet covering the lower half of her body. Her hair was loose and resting like a lion’s mane on her shoulders, sticking to her face and collarbones in places where her skin glistened with sweat. In her arms, she held something wrapped in a brown blanket, and was smiling down at it.
When she saw Haya, her grin got impossibly wide.
“Wanna come meet your new baby brother?”
“It’s a boy?” Haya couldn’t help but smile too once Ma nodded. She knew it! Just wait until she tells Rani!
She climbed onto the bed and moved to press against Ma. Pa moved closer as well and helped adjust her arms so she could hold the baby the right way. Then, he wrapped an arm around Ma, pulling all three of them closer.
“His name is Ghazan.”
Ghazan. Haya liked that. It sounded nice paired together with all their names.
Perhaps Rani was right. She really was lucky to have a baby brother.)
She felt like those tears were very different from these ones.
Pa took a moment to steel himself.
“Haya,” he repeated, tone more steady but still tight. “Last night…”
She didn’t let him finish, frantically shaking her head.
“No. No, no, no, please tell me it didn’t happen. Tell me it’s not what I’m thinking. Please!”
He can’t. She knew full well he can’t. But she couldn’t let him say it, she couldn’t! If he said it, that would make it real. As long as she didn’t hear him say it out loud, she could pretend like everything is okay still. She was sure that hearing him say it would make her die right there on the spot.
Die, just like…
A strangled sob escaped her throat. Pa wordlessly held his arms out for her.
She rushed into them, climbing into his lap like she used to when she was much younger. It was a tighter fit now, she had grown quite tall and still likely had another few inches left to go, but his muscular arms still provided a comfort like no other. She grabbed onto his shirt, pressing her face into it as if she could just hide away from reality forever. He held her close, one hand reaching up to stroke her hair.
“Last night,” he said again, even as she tensed. It seemed like he needed to hear it said out loud in order to fully believe it too, even though he had seen… what Haya was lucky enough to not have been subjected to. “Your mother… lost her battle with the sickness. She tried to hold on, she really did, for your sake, but… it happened. She’s gone.”
His words played on a loop on her head. Gone. Just like that, here one day and not the next. No warning, no loud tragedy like in those plays they had to read in school, no grand funeral like the one held for the governor’s wife. Just gone, silently taken away by the other people she heard this morning.
She didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Pa’s chest constricted and she felt his hold on her tighten. He was trying not to cry, for her, so she’d have someone to lean on. For some reason, she felt inclined to return the favour.
“Were you… there?” she asked, knowing that if she stayed silent she would surely burst into tears. “When it happened?”
“…Yes.” Pa released a shuddering breath. “I held her hand when she went. She tried not to let me close to her, worried she’d make me sick, but I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her alone.”
His words painted too clear of a picture in her mind. Ma, looking so unlike herself with a thin face and dull eyes, breathing heavily, begging Pa to stay back. Pa, trying his best not to cry, holding onto her anyway, declaring his love for her. Him staying there for Spirits know how long even after she took her last breath.
Hot tears burned at her shut eyelids. She stubbornly swallowed back her sobs.
If she ever had full right to cry over something, it would be now, and yet it’s almost as if some invisible force was holding her back. She had always hated crying in front of people, even her own parents.
Or… her own father, now. He was the only parent she had left.
As if able to read her mind, Pa gently pushed her back.
“Haya, darling, look at me.”
She did, pulling back and meeting his eyes. A dark shadow had settled over his face, making him look much older than he was even yesterday. She never knew how quickly things could change. Did she look older now too?
“Your mother, she… she wanted me to tell you that she loved you and your brother more than anything or anyone else in the entire world, and that her biggest regret was not getting the chance to see you two grow up. She wished for nothing more but to get to spend at least a few more years with you, or to get to see you one last time, to kiss you goodbye.”
Pa’s face got more and more blurry as he talked. Her brain belatedly supplied that the cause was tears blurring her vision. She found no strength left in her to hold them back.
Even in her last moments, the only thing Ma could think of was her children. Her final wish was to see them again, just once, just so she could tell them that she loves them. And even that much wasn’t granted to her. Haya’s heart squeezed so painfully she swore the pressure would never release.
But apparently, Pa wasn’t done. He reached up to cup her face, tenderly brushing the tears off her cheeks. She leaned into his palm.
“The last thing your mother ever said,” he began, speaking slowly and as clearly as he could, so she wouldn’t miss a single word. “Was your name.”
Haya found herself unable to breathe.
“What did she say?” she forced out, barely above a whisper.
Pa took a deep breath, his own voice failing him for a few moments. “I love you, Siamak. Never forget that. And please, don’t let our dear children forget that I love them. My little Ghazan, my sweet Haya,” he recited, then immediately took Haya’s hands in his, squeezing firmly. Almost desperately.
“She loved you. She loved you both more than life itself. And I know going on without her seems impossible, but we’ll figure it out, Haya, I promise. And once all this is over, we’ll honour her the way she deserves.”
She nodded and leaned into his embrace again. His words might as well have gone in one ear and out of the other. How in the world were they going to keep living without Ma? Asking her for that was no different than asking her to keep living without sunlight.
She’d rather never see sunlight again if it meant getting to rest in Ma’s strong, warm, loving arms for the rest of eternity.
“Why?” she whispered, the words coming out small and broken. “Why her? What did she do to deserve it? We were so careful…”
She must have said more, but she can no longer hear herself. There’s an awful ringing in her ears, echoing in the newly formed hollowness of her chest. Whatever reassurance Pa must be telling her fall on deaf ears. All she can do is hold onto him and shake with silent, dry sobs. She still can’t cry. Not now. Not if it meant Pa would cry too.
Eventually, once she calmed down as much as possible, Pa once again pulled away from her, attentively tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
“Go wash up, I’ll make breakfast. Your brother will be up soon.”
She wasn’t sure if she could stand, if she could walk, if she could possibly stomach anything put on a plate in front of her, the hunger that drove her out of bed less than an hour ago completely forgotten. But despite that, her legs moved on their own, carrying her to the bathroom. She kept her gaze glued to the warm water running from the tap over her hands, not daring to glance at herself in the mirror for even a second, afraid of what she’d see.
She was a wreck barely holding back tears, that much she knew, but that wasn’t what scared her so much about her reflection. What did was the knowledge that she would see almost an exact copy of her mother’s eyes. She didn’t trust herself not to keel over on the spot if she did.
But avoiding the mirror didn’t save her from that, because the second she left the bathroom, she was met with Ghazan stepping out into the hallway. The two of them couldn’t look more different, but they did share the same eyes. Ma’s eyes. She subtly dug her nails into the palm of her hand.
“Morning, Haya!” Ghazan called, smiling as always, not fazed at all by her troubled expression.
A cold chin ran all the way up her spine.
Of course. He was asleep until now, he didn’t hear the conversation between her and Pa.
He didn’t know.
Ghazan didn’t wait for her to say anything and instead ran downstairs, most likely to the kitchen. Haya slowly followed, keeping a careful eye on the stairs in front of her. She didn’t trust herself not to miss a step in her current state.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Pa had shut the bedroom door.
She only half listened as Ghazan rambled on and on about something or other, and didn’t even chastise him over talking with his mouth full as she normally did. She really couldn’t bring herself to care anymore.
Her brother soon noticed her detached expression, the way she poked at her food but didn’t eat more than a few small bites, how Pa only nodded and gave him small smiles instead of engaging in an excited discussion of whatever dream Ghazan had that night, and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, gaze jumping between Pa and Haya. “Did Ma get worse?”
A snapping sound echoed through the kitchen. Haya stared at her fist in shock as she realised she had clenched it hard enough to make her wooden chopsticks snap in half.
She had no idea she had enough strength in her to do that.
Pa cleared his throat. “Haya, darling, why don’t you… go to your room for now. Ghazan and I need to have a talk, man to man.”
Normally she would have laughed at the way Ghazan puffed his little chest out at being called a man, but she couldn’t force even a small upturn of lips out of herself. She doubted she would ever laugh again.
She set the broken chopsticks down and left the kitchen.
Her legs felt leaden as she climbed the stairs, every step requiring immense conscious effort she didn’t have it herself to put in. If she didn’t know that hearing even a smidge of the conversation the last remaining members of her family were about to have would likely make her throw up, or worse, she would have collapsed right there on the staircase.
The last dozen or so steps were downright torturous, her entire body tensing, every last organ convulsing as the weight of what happened fully hit her. Somehow, she made it to her bed, falling onto it right before her legs gave out under her.
Why was it so hard to walk? Why was the pain in her heart pulsating through every cell in her body? Was this… how dying felt like? Was it possible to die of a broken heart?
The books Rani couldn’t be torn away from often featured heartbreak, but as something that only occurred between lovers. Haya knew now that she made the right choice in never getting invested in those stories. No amount of grief over losing a man could ever amount to what she felt after losing her mother.
The pressure inside her rose insurmountably, pressing up to her very throat, and finally exploded in long, loud, gasping sobs. She pulled the covers over her head as if she could forever shut out the cruel world that stole her mother from her, curled in on herself as tightly as she could, and finally, finally allowed herself to burst into proper tears.
The stream was endless, one wave ending only to be immediately replaced by the next. Her chest felt like it would cave in on itself any second, seizing painfully as her body was wracked with sobs. She gripped her upper arms to the point of leaving half-moon indents in her skin to at least somewhat alleviate it. Her mind barely registered the sensation.
Ma was dead. Gone, never to return to the land of the living again. Haya would never see her again, never be held by her again, never hear her beautiful voice or bright laughter or the way her tone always softened when she called her name. As she cried, she desperately pictured every last feature of her mother’s in her head – her golden eyes framed by crow’s feet, her prominent nose, her scattering of freckles, her wide smile, her curly hair, her muscular arms, her calloused but gentle hands, her tattoos, every little thing that came to mind – over and over again until she was sure she wouldn’t forget it.
If fate was so cruel that it wouldn’t allow her to keep her mother, let it at least be merciful in allowing her to keep the memories.
Never again would Ma brush Haya’s hair and let her braid hers in return. Never again would she hoist Ghazan onto her back and table Haya by the hand when they went to the market. Never again would attentively listen to what Haya’s day at school was like as they made lunch together. Never again would she sit by their bedsides at night, telling them stories from the Desert until they fell asleep. Now all of that and so much more would remain solely in the confines of her mind.
Ma would never see her graduate. She wouldn’t be at her wedding. She wouldn’t get to hold any grandchildren she or Ghazan might give her. Forget that, Haya never even got to ask her for love advice for the first time. She was only fourteen, she had at least four times as many years ahead of her, and she would have to go through them alone, without her dear mother at her side to guide and support her.
The realisation only spurred her crying further.
It kept going, on and on for what felt like hours until she had no fire left in her stomach, no air in her lungs and no tears to cry. Exhaustion, physical and emotional, overtook her and she gratefully succumbed to the darkness.
In her dreams, Ma appeared to her, looking as she did before the sickness, healthy and gorgeous and alive . She held her in her arms, her embrace just as warm and caring and safe as Haya remembered it. Ma smiled down at her, kissed her cheeks and called her the most beautiful girl in the world, her beloved daughter, her sweet Haya. She said many things, speech peppered with pet names and loving promises, and Haya hung onto every word, desperate to drink it all with her entire being, let it wash over her and lull her into a sense of tenderness and security that she was sure she would never feel again.
Something inside her, some tiny but incessant voice at the back of her mind, kept reminding her that none of this was real, that Ma was gone, that this dream would not last forever and she would soon wake up and be greeted with cold, unforgiving reality, where her mother was dead and soon to be unceremoniously buried in some unmarked mass grave.
But she didn’t care, because there her mother was, right in front of her, seeming as real as ever, holding her close and telling her just how much she loved her. Let it be fake, it doesn’t matter, just let her stay in that sweet fantasy for a little while longer.
She nuzzled closer to Ma’s chest and deeply wished to never wake up again.