The Shards of Silence

Chapter 9

"Jabbar, open up!" Emma shouted, repeatedly pressing the doorbell, but there was no response. She pounded on the door, growing more anxious, and attempted to call Jabbar, but his phone was unreachable. Fear gripped her as she hurried towards the neighboring apartment of the elderly woman. To her immense relief, she spotted Jabbar emerging from the elevator, carrying a bag of groceries.

"Hi," Jabbar greeted Emma with a smile as he approached the apartment. "Are you all right?"

"I've been waiting for you for a long time," Emma said, her tone filled with concern. "Where were you?"

"I'm sorry," Jabbar replied as he searched for his house keys. "I went to buy some groceries."

“Oh, I thought, never mind,” Emma responded, trying to hide her embarrassment. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and slipped into the apartment as Jabbar held the door open for her.

As Jabbar was about to step in, his neighbor opened her door. She stared at Jabbar and shouted, "Keep it down, you crazy terrorist! I'm trying to take a nap in here!"

Jabbar smiled at her, apologized, and closed the door behind him. He heard her door slam and knew that it had become a bit awkward. By now, he assumed that Emma would be well aware of the old cranky lady as it had been a while since she had started visiting him. Jabbar saw Emma standing there, waiting for him to gesture for the coat. Jabbar swiftly moved forward, asking Emma's permission before taking it off her hands like a true gentleman.

“What happened, Jabbar?” Emma asked, noticing the fresh bandage on his left wrist. “Did you hurt yourself by any chance?” There was a hint of genuine worry in Emma’s voice, and Jabbar could sense that his actions had hurt her.

“Don’t worry, it was nothing,” Jabbar responded, attempting to deflect Emma’s concern. “I was just, it’s nothing. I took care of it, and I’m alright now.”

Their last conversation had a heavy impact on Jabbar. Rushing memories of the past plunged him into despair, and he struggled to bear the pain. He longed to escape it but knew it was impossible. Attempting to calm himself, he found the pain only intensifying. In a moment of desperation, Jabbar's gaze landed on a knife resting on the coffee table, and the thought of ending it all consumed him. Feeling there was no other way out, he picked up the knife and swiftly slit his wrist.

As the blood rushed out his artery, Jabbar’s life flashed in front of him. He didn’t know how Emma would truly react, but deep down, he feared that his action would cause her pain. As he hastily wrapped his wrist in a towel and made his way to the nearby emergency center, he couldn't shake the thought of how his actions might affect her. By now, Jabbar had come to understand the profound impact Emma had on his life and the stirring of new feelings within him. Yet, he found himself grappling with uncertainty about the nature of these feelings.

Delving into Emma's eyes, Jabbar felt a twinge of concern, a signal of something new stirring within him. “I'm sorry,” he spoke softly. “This won't happen again.”

"Jabbar," Emma replied, her eyes showing a hint of fear, "I'm here for you. We'll get through this together." With a reassuring smile, she settled onto the couch where they usually held their sessions.

Jabbar brought a glass of water for Emma and settled into the seat across from her. "I know," he said softly, his gratitude evident in his eyes. "And thank you for being here."

Emma took out her notepad and glanced up at Jabbar. "Shall we continue?" she asked, her tone gentle yet determined.

Jabbar drew in a deep breath and met Emma's gaze, finding comfort in her unwavering presence. Here was someone who genuinely cared, someone who gave him a reason to confront his past and embrace the present.

After Jabbar's release from prison, the world outside seemed unfamiliar and daunting. The bustling streets, the rapid advancements in technology—all of it felt like a blur to him. Cut off from the outside world during his time in the cramped cell, Jabbar was unaware of the seven years that had passed. His heart ached with longing for his parents, his wife, and the child he had yet to meet, their faces and voices distant memories he yearned to reconnect with.

As Jabbar boarded the bus heading home, his mind was consumed by thoughts of Amara. It had been so long since he disappeared from her life. Perhaps she had moved on, but Jabbar couldn't shake the feeling that she still held onto hope, still clung to the love they once shared. Regardless of whether she had found happiness elsewhere, all Jabbar wished for was her smile, her joy. That thought sustained him through the endless journey ahead.

As Jabbar reached his apartment’s door, he tried to pry inside, but everything was still. All he heard was the silence that he was afraid to greet. He reached for the handle and twisted it, but the door was locked. He understood that someone was taking care of his place in his absence, and reached for the spare key under the welcome mat. As he stepped inside, everything was clean and tidy. It was as if nothing had really happened; as if that night of misfortune never took place.

Jabbar was tired and didn’t know where to start. He reached for his phone and ran the voice messages that he had received. Unfortunately, Amara’s parents broke off all ties with them and Jabbar didn’t have any information about their whereabouts. As he browsed through the apartment, he saw letters spread on the coffee table but none of them contained messages from Amara. All he read were the letters from his parents and how worried they were. They had hired someone to take care of his apartment and due to his father’s condition, they couldn’t travel. Jabbar felt a wave of relief knowing his parents were safe and healthy.

It had been long since Jabbar had heard his parents’ voice so without considering the hour, he called them right away. The call was filled with tears rather than words of love. The long-lost family had reunited after a brutal break. Jabbar told them about his experience, sparing them the details of the horrendous torture he endured. He also shared the news of Amara’s pregnancy and how excited he was to meet their child who by now would be around six years old. As the call neared its end, Anne expressed her regret for not being there for Jabbar during his ordeal and prayed for the health of Amara. She promised to visit him soon and join him in the search for the rest of their family, hoping for a fresh start and a stronger bond.

After ending the call, Jabbar played the rest of the messages. As the teller continued playing the recording, he lay down on the couch. His eyes were closed, yet his mind was wide awake, thinking about his Amara.

"Hello, is this Amara’s residency?” a voice came from the machine. “Jabbar? I am Father Joseph from St. Joseph Church in Greenwich Village, located at 371 6th Ave, New York. We have found a young lady who claims to be searching for you urgently. Please contact us as soon as possible. May God bless you.”

Jabbar’s eyes popped open. He heard Amara’s name. Someone knew about her. Jabbar jumped up from the couch, stumbling on the way to the answering machine. He pressed repeat and listened to the message twice. Jabbar couldn’t believe that someone had found his Amara. He searched for the directory and quickly dialed the number, but it was out of reach. Jabbar tried once again, but no luck. Finally, he thought, he would be reunited with his family. All he could think about was visiting the church right away.

As he rushed to the door, he caught sight of his reflection in the nearby mirror. There stood a man he hardly recognized. Long hair and an overgrown beard gave him a disheveled appearance. This wasn't how he wanted to meet his child for the first time. It was around 7 in the morning, and Jabbar couldn't wait a second longer. He swiftly shaved, showered, and rummaged through his dresser for a decent outfit before heading to a salon.

All neat and tidy, Jabbar bought a teddy bear and a bouquet of red roses along the way. He was all set to meet his family. Though a nagging thought lingered in the back of his mind—why hadn't Amara returned home?—he brushed it aside. Jabbar had endured his fair share of negative experiences, and now all he wanted were positive thoughts. Perhaps Amara couldn't reach him and decided to return to her parents. Maybe she moved to a more stable location for the child. There were many "maybes" in Jabbar’s mind, and each one brought a glimmer of hope to his life.

As he arrived at the church, he waited for the Father to finish his morning prayers. Jabbar patiently sat on one of the benches, though every minute felt like an eternity. He was just moments away from learning the whereabouts of his family. All he wished for was their safety, happiness, and to be somewhere nearby, so he wouldn’t waste another moment before reuniting with them.

“Son?” Father Joseph tapped Jabbar’s shoulder. “I was told you were here to see me?”

“Salam, Father,” Jabbar quickly rose from the bench. “I am Jabbar, Amara’s husband.”

“Amara?” Father replied, his face showing a hint of confusion. “Could you jog my memory?”

“I apologize for the confusion,” Jabbar said, realizing it had been a while since Father Joseph had reached out to him. “During the 9/11 attacks, you found a girl named Amara and tried contacting her husband. I am that husband. To cut a long story short, I was detained by the authorities on suspicion of illegal activities. But I assure you, Father, I am innocent.

“I understand, my child. The Lord knew of your innocence, which is why you are free today,” Father Joseph responded empathetically to Jabbar’s confession. “Come, let me take you somewhere.”

Jabbar’s confusion was evident in his words, “But where is Amara?”

Father Joseph remained silent, his hand offering quiet reassurance as they walked toward the church's backyard. Jabbar, lost in a swirl of thoughts, fought to quiet them, focusing only on the hope of reuniting with his family.

“Here, son, lies your Amara,” Father Joseph solemnly pointed to a white grave bearing the name Amara. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

“But... but you told me that you found her?” Jabbar's voice cracked with shock and grief as he beheld the grave.

“I did, but that was 7 years ago,” Father replied gently, trying to support the collapsing man in front of him. “We did find Amara, but she was in bad shape.” After a moment’s silence, he continued. “Amara was involved in an accident when she was run over by people fleeing in the chaos after the 9/11 attacks. Someone brought her here, and we tried treating her. Since she didn’t have any identification on her, we didn’t know whom to contact. During the protests, a nun saw your missing person poster on the news, and I tried to contact you, but you didn’t answer,” Father knelt down beside Jabbar. “Sadly, she couldn’t make it, and since you didn’t respond, we buried her in our cemetery.”

Jabbar sobbed uncontrollably, unable to comprehend that his beloved Amara lay beneath the soil he sat upon. Time seemed to have stopped for him, and everything felt like it had come to an abrupt end. He didn’t know what to do other than to cry and hug the dirt for that is where she rested, where her essence remained.

“I will leave you alone child,” Father Joseph said to Jabbar while standing back up. “Rest assured, she died peacefully and you were the last person that she could think of.”

After hours of shedding tears, Jabbar rose to his feet, dusted off his clothes, and tenderly kissed the grave. Placing roses and a teddy bear by the gravestone, he gazed up at the sky with a peaceful smile. In his heart, he felt her presence among the angels, knowing that one day, he too would join her in heaven.