IN ANOTHER LIFE

Chapter 14: Four Days

Four days is 96 hours. I counted every one.

January 6th after school, Mr. Ibrahim was still in the parking lot, engine running. Aisha got in his car without looking at me. I walked home the long way, past the gas station, not the oak tree.

At home my mom said, "Talk to someone he respects. Not a boy. A man."

I thought of Grandma Carter. She is 78 and knows everyone. She once told me proud men listen to mothers, not boys.

I went to Grandma's in snow.

"Daniel? You want to die out here?" she said, but let me in and gave me tea.

I told her everything — oak tree, letters, Christmas card, midnight snow, bathroom hug.

She listened and said, "Mr. Ibrahim is proud. We will go woman to woman. You stay home."

---

January 7th. Day 2 of 4. Torture.

I stayed home, stared at phone, stared at window. No footprints by oak tree.

At 4 PM Grandma called: "Come now. Bring picture of D + A."

Mrs. Fatima was at Grandma's table, crying quietly. Grandma held her hand.

I showed Mrs. Fatima the D + A carving photo.

She whispered, "My daughter was so happy that day. She said 'Mama, I carved forever.'"

"Mrs. Fatima, please don't let him send her to Ohio."

"I tore first ticket. He printed new one. I cannot tear again," she said. "But I tell you secret. Aunt Layla in Ohio doesn't want Aisha either. Small house, three kids, expensive Islamic school. She said yes because Ibrahim pays, but she hopes he cancels. Ticket is not about Ohio. It's about fear."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of you. Scared you are Christian and you will take his daughter like his sister Layla. Layla ran away with Christian boy at 18. He didn't see her for 10 years. That's why he is strict. History repeats, he thinks."

Now I understood.

"I will talk to him tonight," Mrs. Fatima said. "I tell him Aisha said 'I love you in another life' — means she respects him enough in this life to not run. Will you be boring one more day, Daniel?"

"Yes."

---

January 8th. Day 3 of 4. So boring it hurt.

At school I saw Aisha once. Her father drove her, waited in lot. She mouthed: _Mama told me about Grandma. Thank you._

I mouthed: _Be boring._

After school I walked long way, past church, past clinic. No oak tree.

At 6 PM text from unknown:

_Mr. Ibrahim: Daniel, come to oak tree tomorrow Jan 9th 6 AM. Bring your mother. Mother to mother, man to man. If you don't come, Aisha goes Jan 10th 6 AM. If you come, we talk. - Ibrahim_

My mom read it three times. "He wants oak tree, not mosque. Means he respects tree. Good."

At 3 AM text from Aisha, from Mrs. Fatima's phone:

_Daniel, Baba says if you come and say you will wait 2 years, he will tear ticket. Say it in front of us, at tree, at 6 AM. Will you? - A_

Will you wait 2 years? Aunt Layla said love that is real can wait two years.

I broke boring rule one last time: _Yes. I will wait in this life and another life. See you at 6 AM._

She replied: _In another life, we would not need to wait._

---

January 9th. 5:30 AM. Dark, snow falling light.

Mom and I walked to oak tree. She held my hand even though I'm 16. D + A carving still there under snow.

At 5:55 AM Mr. Ibrahim, Mrs. Fatima, and Aisha came from other side. Aisha in big coat, red hijab like Christmas.

We met under tree.

Mr. Ibrahim said, "Daniel Carter, my daughter says you love her. True?"

Snow on my face. Everyone staring.

I thought about "hey" in hallway, torn letters in trash, footprints in mud and snow, bad snowman card, hug in bathroom.

"Yes, sir. I love her. In this life and in another life."

Aisha started crying quietly.

He looked at my mom. "Mrs. Carter, our kids love each other. They are 16. What do we do?"

My mom, who works double shifts and raised us alone, stepped forward and took Mrs. Fatima's hand.

"Mr. Ibrahim, we let them be boring together for two more years. Classmates who say 'hey.' Finish school. If after two years they still love each other, Daniel comes to your house with me, noon with tea, man to man properly, and asks for her hand. With your permission. Not 6 AM sneaking."

Mr. Ibrahim looked at oak tree, at D + A.

"Daniel, if I tear ticket today, promise three things. One: no letters, no tree alone, no secret cards until 18. Two: classmate only, 'hey' only. Three: wait two years and if still love her, come properly. Promise on grandma's cross?"

Aisha nodded: _Say yes._

"I promise on grandma's cross, sir. Three promises."

He reached into big coat pocket. We thought ticket.

He unfolded printout: Flight Jan 10th 6 AM Columbus Ohio Aisha Ibrahim.

He looked long time. Then tore it slow into four pieces, like our letters before, but bigger. Let snow take them.

"I tore it. On Quran, I tore it. She stays."

Aisha gasped, ran to her mother, hugging, crying loud. Mrs. Fatima crying. My mom wiping eyes.

I stood under oak tree, watching pieces blow away like future coming back.

Mr. Ibrahim put heavy hand on my shoulder. "Be boring, Daniel. Most boring boy in America for two years."

"I will, sir."

Then Aisha broke from her mother and ran to me, in front of all parents, in snow, at 6 AM, at our oak tree, and hugged me tight, ten seconds, red hijab against my coat.

"I love you in this life," she whispered so her father heard, and he didn't get angry.

He just said, "In another life, maybe easier, but in this life, we try."

Snow falling, covering old footprints, making everything new.

But in mosque parking lot far away, a car sat with lights on, watching us.

Not Yusuf. He was home.

Not Aunt Layla. Ohio.

It was police car. Someone at mosque called because they saw teenagers at oak tree at 6 AM and thought drugs.

Officer getting out, hand on radio, walking to us. Mr. Ibrahim still had torn ticket pieces in hand. Aisha still hugging me. Mothers holding hands. We looked guilty though innocent.

Officer said, "Is everything okay here?"