Damian's POV

Nights became restless, filled with dreams of the dreaded future. I wasn't doing well in uni, not as well as I had hoped. But it wasn't because I wasn't smart enough; I was distracted.

"Dude, are you okay? You don't seem like yourself lately," my friend Ahmed stopped me with a hand on my shoulder, looking concerned.

I forced a smile and shook my head. "I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all."

Ahmed didn't seem convinced. He knew me too well. "Damian, you're not fine. Don't lie, it's haram."

I sighed. "I know, but I don't want to burden you with all my problems, Ahmed."

Ahmed waved my words off dismissively and put an arm around my shoulder, even though he was a little shorter than me. He was probably my best friend here at uni, the only guy who really understood me. "That's what I'm here for, man. I can handle a little burden," he shot a smile at me, a smile so genuine and caring I almost choked up with tears.

"Okay, but first let's go pray Zuhr."

I was praying more these days, if that made sense. Or maybe I was just more dedicated, because I was at a time when I wanted to be closer to Allah, because only then would He grant my prayers.

The reality of it all was sinking in. My mum didn't have long left. It pained me to see her so weak, barely able to feed herself anymore. But the worst part was when she held my hands and whispered, "I want to stop the chemo."

"What?" I honestly had thought Mum would want to fight all the way and never give up, even when it got hard. But that's the thing - we always overestimated our own strength until it caught up with us, and Mum's strength could only last for so long.

"Damian, this chemo...it's making me weak. If I am going to die, I don't want to die from the chemo. Not when it's only prolonging my reunion with Allah."

Since Mum had become Muslim, she was even more religious than ever, continuously praying to Allah during the night. But she didn't pray for herself. She prayed for me and Dad. She prayed for our health, when hers was already at stake.

"Mum, are you sure that's what you want? Why are you giving up? You can still fight this, you know, it's not too late," I was angry at her choice, and my anger only made me even more emotional. My voice had cracked, and Mum watched me with her grey-blue eyes, which were more grey than blue, as the colours drained from her face as did the life, slowly ebbing away day by day.

"No, Damian, listen to me. I cannot fight this anymore. Allah has chosen my destiny, and if I go against my own destiny, I go against the will of Allah," with every word her face blurred, until I realised that my eyes had filled with those stupid tears again. They were unwanted visitors that trespassed across my vision, no matter how many times I wiped them away.

"Mum, I don't want to lose you," I could barely say those words without sounding like a warbling idiot, but if there was anyone who I could afford sounding like a warbling idiot in front of, it was my mother.

"I know, honey, I know," as she stroked the back of my hair and cradled my head in her bony arms, I felt so small and weak. I was the weak one here, not my Mum.

She always had a way of soothing me, even in my darkest times. Even when I used to snap at her and argue with her, even when I told her I hated her (I still regret saying those words to this day) she never turned against me. Since my dad was always out late at his job, it was always just me and mum, hanging out. She knew me better than anyone else in this world, and the fact that there'd come a day when she was no longer here scared the crap out of me.

Islam helped ease the pain a little, made it less foreboding to face, but in the end, I was just a human, praying to his Creator for something that was out of my reach - Mum's full recovery. I knew the statistics, I knew the chances of survival, and now that her cancer had become metastatic - meaning, it had spread from her lungs to other parts of her body - it only minimalised her chances that were already very small.

"In a time like this, all you can do is stay close to God," Mum told me as I listened to her heartbeat. It gave me comfort to hear that sound, and I wished I could record it, so whenever I missed her in the future, I could just listen to it, and remember. "He is the one who brings life and takes it away just as easily. And for whatever He takes away, He replaces it with something even better. Never forget that."

"Mum, you can't be replaced," I scoffed, raising my head and looking at her. "What's better than you?"

Mum smiled knowingly at me, as if she knew God's secrets. "There's so much more, Damian. So much."

"Like what?"

"Like...love."

At this, my eyebrows raised. "Love?"

Mum nodded. "Yes, dear. Love. Didn't you tell me that marriage is completing half your faith?"

"I never told you that."

"Hm, maybe I just read it somewhere," Mum murmured. "But still, don't be afraid to love, Damian. Just because I'll be gone, doesn't mean you aren't allowed to be happy. I live for you, Damian. I would give my life for you in a heartbeat. That's the kind of sacrifice only a mother would make, and the kind of sacrifice that is priceless."

Her words still echoed in my head as I drove down Smith Street to the Gelato shop, feeling like a cold sweet treat even though it was fifteen degrees outside. I had been going there a lot lately since Mariam started working, and though it was great to see her, I was mostly looking forward to trying new flavours.

"I'll have the Salted Caramel and White Chocolate, thanks," I ordered to the server who was definitely not Mariam. I wondered where she was today, since she definitely worked on a Tuesday, but then I felt a gust of wind and turned, hoping it was her, but it was someone entirely different. More than one someone, actually.

"Here's your order," the Asian girl working today beamed at me as she slid the tub of swirling white and brown across to me, and I handed her the money, wondering how I was going to get out of here without getting detected by them. But they were right behind me, and the only way to leave was to turn around. Unless I shuffle sideways like a crab, I mused. Nah, that'd just be weird.

"Damian? Is that you?"

Damnit.

I spun around, holding my gelato that I really wanted to eat, but the group of girls before me were in my way. "Yes, it is I. Now can I leave?"

"Don't be silly, we've just seen each other after - how long has it been?" Sam turned to Carrie and Annabelle, who shrugged.

"Not long enough," I muttered, making a move to step around them, but Sam stepped forward, flashing me a bright smile.

"So how's uni going? I heard you're going to Swinburne. I was going to go there, but then I got into Monash, so yeah," Sam babbled, and honestly I couldn't care less. I just wanted to eat my damn ice cream!

"That's great and all, but I've gotta go," I said hastily.

"What's the hurry? Let's sit and catch up, it's been so long," Sam pleaded. I flitted my eyes over to her two friends, who couldn't seem to care less whether I was here or not, making Sam seem even more desperate.

"I'd love to, but I can't stay. Sorry." The only thing I was sorry for was the delay of eating my gelato, and this girl was blocking me from my cold, sweet happiness.

"Okay, then. By the way, how's your mum?" Sam questioned with a pinch in her eyebrows, showing genuine concern.

"She's dead."

The three girls gasped, and I let it sink in for a moment before adding, "Just kidding. She's alive." Barely.

"You shouldn't joke about those things, you know," Annabelle scolded as Carrie scoffed, unimpressed. She never did like me that much.

"Whatever," I muttered, licking the top of the gelato mountain and not caring whether they were watching or not. I no longer cared what anyone thought anymore. Sam gave me one last look filled with what looked like pity and something else I couldn't decipher before striding up to the server with Carrie and Annabelle in tow.

Finally! I could leave. I wasn't staying here to endure their petty talk and pitiful looks. Unfortunately, I was so intent on leaving that I forgot that the door was a two-way system, meaning, people could come in and come out, and as I was coming out, someone came in. And as they came in, they slammed into me, causing my gelato to fall to the floor sweet-side down, spilling its delicious contents onto the tiles. I was ready to wreak my wrath upon this person who dared to do this to me until I saw who it was.

Mariam.

***

Mariam's POV

"Oh my Gosh, I am so sorry! I -"

I stopped mid-apology, for I was transfixed by those eyes I had seen many times before, filled with so many conflicting emotions, and that's when I recognized him. Damian.

"Hey, it's alright. Don't worry about it. I'll just get a new one," Damian dismissed the issue so quickly, but I couldn't let him pay for my mistake.

"No, let me buy it for you. Please," I insisted, and Damian shook his head.

"No, it's fine. Really."

I still wasn't used to Damian being so nice to me, but nevertheless, I had to clean the mess up, so I stepped over it and went inside to meet with Amy.

"Oh, Mariam. I saw the whole thing. Weren't you looking where you were going?" Of course Amy would scold me for being so clumsy, and I accepted it.

"He came out of nowhere, okay? Now where're the paper towels?" I scanned the work area frantically until Amy handed me a cloth and a bucket and said, "It's going to take much more than paper towels to mop that mess up."

I sighed, taking them and hurrying out to where Damian stood, directing customers away from the spill, telling them to, "Tread carefully."

I dropped to the ground and began scraping up the mess, wringing the cloth into the bucket of warm water. "We could give you a free replacement gelato, you know," I told Damian as I cleaned.

"Really?" Damian's eyes lit up. He sure loved his gelato.

"Yes, really. Go to the counter and wait for me there until I finish cleaning this up," I instructed him, but I was surprised when I felt his presence beside me all of a sudden, picking up the tub of half-filled gelato. "You don't have to -"

"I'm only helping you, Mariam, you should be more grateful," Damian smirked playfully at me before heading over to the bin and dumping the tub. I stared at his back, feeling a wave of nostalgia rise within as I remembered high school with him. I hadn't seen that smirk in a while.

"That'll be $12.99."

Damian blinked back at me. "I thought you said it was free?"

I chuckled. "I'm only joking. Here you go," I made sure to add a spoon before handing his dessert to him. He gazed at it gleefully, and I caught a snapshot of a younger version of him. Simple pleasures like ice cream made him happy, as it would for anyone, but then that got me wondering about how he was dealing with everything.

"Hey, Damian, are you okay?" I asked, and Damian looked up from his gelato, the smile fading from his features, revealing how vulnerable he really was.

"Y-yeah," he stuttered, picking up his spoon and looking down again.

"I don't believe you," I placed my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at him.

Damian glanced over to the corner of the shop where three girls were seated, and for the first time I noticed who they were. Sam, Annabelle and Carrie. The three most sought after popular girls of Redwood High. What were they doing in a cosy little gelato shop like this one? I could feel Sam's eyes on me, even after I averted my eyes.

"Look, I don't want to talk here. I'll...I'll call you, okay?" Damian looked pained, and I regarded him suspiciously, before softening my gaze and nodding.

"Okay."

***

"My mum doesn't have long left, and I don't know what to do."

I dreaded the day I'd hear those words from Damian, and so I took a deep shuddering breath, feeling his pain, feeling his sorrow.

"Honestly, Damian, me neither," I replied. "How...how long did the doctors say she had?"

"Two..."

Months? Weeks? Or, God forbid, days?

"Months," Damian finished, and I felt relief in my heart. But it was quickly replaced with sadness.

"That's not very long," I said in a small voice.

"No, it isn't," Damian agreed. "But I want to make it the best two months of my mum's life, even if...I just wish..."

He didn't have to say no more. We all wished she could live longer and be cured, but there was no cure for cancer. Which was what made it all the more tragic. His mum wouldn't be alive to see him graduate university, or get a job, or see his kids...how sad.

"She's stopped the chemo. Says it's only causing her more weakness than strength," Damian informed me. "She wants to accept her inevitable return to Allah instead of fight against it. That's what she told me."

"I could...understand that," I said tentatively. Saying you understood someone else's pain was a dangerous thing, but I could understand what Karen meant. Chemo might help control the cancer, but it wasn't like it would completely get rid of it, especially if it was in more than one place.

"Me too," Damian whispered.

We were silent for a few beats, until he spoke again.

"Hey, did I ever thank you for, you know, helping me through all this? I mean, you were the first person I told about my mum, and you...care. Like, a lot."

"Of course I care, she's your mum, she's important," I said. Important to you.

"Yeah, but you barely knew me, and you still cared," Damian continued. "Anyone else would have just brushed me off, yet you tolerated me."

I swallowed, wondering where this was all going. Yeah, I did all those things, but any nice person with a good heart would do that, wouldn't they? "I'm very good at tolerating. Have you met my siblings?" I laughed, and so did Damian, but it was quickly extinguished.

"I'm serious, though. Why were you so nice to me? I mean, there were times when you were a little...snappy," Damian teased, but before I could bite back a remark, he continued. "But that was understandable. What I don't get is why you didn't give up on me. Like, I would definitely do that if I was in your situation. I can't even deal with myself."

Something about that last line he said sounded like it alluded to a deeper meaning, but I ignored it and addressed his main question. "One thing you must know about me, Brewer. I simply don't give up. Even on stubborn idiots like yourself."

Damian let out peals of laughter that sounded genuine, making me smile at my achievement. "I'm glad you didn't, Virgin Mary. Because I had already given up on myself."

"Virgin Mary. Haven't heard that one in a while," I chuckled, until I recalled the last bit of his sentence. He had given up on himself. Was there more to the bad boy than we had all thought?

Damian acted like he didn't just say something so revealing to his previous state of self-esteem and chuckled along with me. "Yeah, it just slipped out. Old habit."

We talked some more, and then we said goodbye. But before we did, I said one last thing.

"Don't give up on yourself. You're better than you think."

"Uh, thanks?"

Losing a loved one slowly was hard, but losing yourself was harder. And I wouldn't wish that upon anyone, which was why I had to remind Damian. "I'll be here, okay? If you need someone to talk to. Even if you give up on yourself, I won't give up on you."

That sounded more clichéd than it did in my head, but oh well. At least I got the message across.

"You really are something, Mariam," Damian mused. "But thank you. Seriously."

"Any time," I replied. "Except the hours between 12am and 6am. I like my sleep, you know."

Damian laughed. "I'll keep that in mind. Ma'a salama."

"Ma'a salama."

***

Damian's POV

"Can you think of anything at all?" Tracey pressed.

"I mean, she's always talking about wanting me to find love and get married, but I doubt that's even -"

Tracey's eyes widened. "That's it!"

"What's it?" I really hoped my cousin wasn't going to say what I thought she was going to say.

"That's what you should do for your mum for the last two months," Tracey said, leaning back in her seat and sipping her chocolate milkshake. "Get married."

"Get married?" I repeated. "At nineteen? Are you out of your mind?"

"Perhaps. But if that's the one thing your mum wants...then I think you should do it. For her," Tracey grinned cheekily, reminding me of when she was a kid and I stuffed worms down her shirt. Ah, good times.

"I can't get married in less than two months. Even if it is 'for mum,'" I formed quote marks with my fingers. "Who would even want to marry me?"

"I can think of a few," Tracey replied, and I shot her a look. Ever since I told her about Islam's laws of marriage and how it is very important in our religion, she now teased me about it. But I was too young, too immature, too stressed out, to get married. Marriage would come later. Much later, In Sha Allah. I was in no hurry for it.

"Look, even if it would please Mum to meet my wife and be there for my wedding, I don't think forcing some poor girl to marry me would be the best idea," I said.

"Who said anything about force? I'm sure they'd love to marry you, I mean look at you, you handsome young man," Tracey teased. "You're available, and any girl would love to have you."

"Have you forgotten that I don't do that stuff anymore? No dating, remember?"

"We're not talking about dating, Dam-Dam, we're talking about marrying," Tracey enunciated. I could tell she loved to torment me, and I wondered why I ever felt like an only child when here was a very irritating older sister who enjoyed watching me squirm.

I ran my hands through my hair with an exasperated sigh, fighting the urge to fight back. "Can I just think about this? It's a little too much to swallow at the moment."

"Take your time," Tracey said, holding up her hands. "But just remember, the longer you take -"

"Can you not, Trace? Please?" I snapped, and Tracey's eyes widened.

"Sorry," she mumbled, stirring her smoothie with the straw and sipping it meekly.

We were at the shopping centre, and I was glad for the noise that surrounded us because otherwise it would've been too hard to bear with just the sound of silence.

I discarded my own drink in the recycling bin and wordlessly walked with Tracey through the crowd. We stopped at the toilets, and as I waited for Trace in the hallway, I thought of what she said and what it all meant for me. The one thing that was the most saddening was the fact that mum wouldn't be alive to see my kids, because I knew how much she'd always wanted grand-kids. Of course, if I hadn't converted to Islam and changed my ways, I might have actually granted her wish with the way I was going, but thankfully, I restrained myself from all of that stuff. If only Mum had more time on this earth, even if it was just one more year.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cold wall, wondering why Tracey was taking so damn long.

"Come on, Damian, let's go."

It was Tracey. "Finally! I was starting to think you were taking a -"

"Damian!" Tracey swatted her purse at me, and I laughed, glad we were back on joking terms.