Page 255 of Whisper

“Like my husband, yes.”

“I never said…” Ryan breathed, red washing his cheeks. “Congratulations on your marriage, Kris. On finding the love of your life. I mean, that was such shit timing in the middle of a war. But, thinking back, that had to be fate, right?” He chuckled, once.

“Thank you.” It was eleven years late, but it was something. Kris let go of Ryan’s hand, sat back. Sipped at his cold coffee. “And you? Any wife at home?”

“I haven’t been able to connect with anyone. This job…” He waved his coffee cup, trying to encompass the enormity of their lives. “I stopped even trying to meet people. The last few dates I went on were… years ago. I don’t know, maybe something is broken in me.”

“It’s not. Not anymore.” Kris smiled, his lips thin. “You are going to be okay, Ryan. Don’t eat a bullet.”

Ryan took his time answering, fiddling with his coffee cup, staring at the plastic table. But when he looked up, Kris saw certainty in his gaze. “I won’t. Because of you. I won’t.”

Kris returned to Dawood’s bedside, needing to ground himself in Dawood, take over George’s vigil. George stood up, and they exchanged a long, silent glance before George pulled him into an awkward hug. Kris felt his trembles, heard the words George couldn’t say.

As the sun set, and the last of the daylight bled from Dawood’s room, Kris pulled up his phone. Opened an app he’d installed days before, sitting by Dawood’s bedside.

Daily verses of the Quran appeared. He’d been reading to Dawood as often as he could in the stillness, in the silence. He laced their hands together and recited, whispering from the Al-Furqaan surah. “In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. The servants of the Most Merciful are those who walk the earth in humility, and when the ignorant address them, they say, ‘Peace’.”

Oh, how deeply that described Dawood, in almost every way. Kris felt a hot blade slide through his heart as he tried to breathe.

Next to read was the Al-Imraan surah. “In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. O Allah, Owner of Sovereignty. You grant sovereignty to whom You will, and You strip sovereignty from whom you will. You honor whom you will, and You humiliate whom you will. In Your hand is all goodness. You are Capable of all things. You merge the night into the day, and You merge the day into the night, and you bring the living out of the dead, and You bring the dead out of the living, and You provide for whom you will without measure.”

He studied Dawood’s face, the stillness. The stubble, dark brown mixed with silver.Wake up, my love. Wake up.

Kris flicked to the next verse, from the Al-Araf surah. “It is He who sends the wind ahead of His mercy. Then, when they have gathered up heavy clouds, We drive them to a dead land, where We make water come down, and with it We bring forth every kind of fruit. Thus We bring out the dead—”

Kris dropped his phone on Dawood’s bed and pitched forward, resting his forehead on Dawood’s thigh. “Oh Allah,” he whispered. “I’m not ready to let go. Please…pleasedon’t take him. Not yet. Please.”

Fingers brushed his hair. Ghosted over the back of his neck.

Kris sat back, staring up at Dawood—

At Dawood’s open eyes, at his soft smile. “At the end of the path…” Dawood whispered, his voice hoarse, dry, unused for a week.

“Youwere there,” Kris recited in unison with him. “You were there,” he repeated, rising, rushing Dawood, cradling his face in both hands as he kissed him, kissed every inch of his skin, his eyelids, his lips, his forehead. Dawood held him, his left hand squeezing his arm. His right arm was immobile in a full cast and sling, propped on a pillow.

Dawood reached for Kris’s left hand, brought it forward. Stared at his wedding ring, and then up at Kris, his jaw slack.

Kris lifted Dawood’s left hand and kissed his ring finger, his wedding band. Dawood hissed, and then smiled, the same smile he’d worn the day of their wedding.

“I married the love of my life for all time,” Kris said. “Nothing will ever break that.”

Dawood pulled him close, until they were kissing again. “Ya rouhi,” he whispered. “You are the moon in my darkness,habibi. Always.”

“You are my love, my light, my guiding star.”

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, until the nurses bustled in and gently separated them, moving Kris to the side of the room as they got to work checking Dawood over.

Their gazes stayed locked together, fixed on one another, the entire time.

Nothing would ever break them apart.

Not ever again.

When the nurses finally left, Kris crawled into bed beside Dawood, careful to keep away from his stitches, the still-healing bullet wound in his side, and not jostle his broken arm. Dawood folded into him, their heads resting together, lips trading kisses as they held hands.

“Weird question,” Dawood asked, after an hour. “Do you have a phone I can borrow?”

“Of course.” Kris dug his phone out of his pants and held it out.