Page 44 of Eternal
He nods again, the flicker of a smile fading as he exhales smoke. “Exactly.”
“Good. She’s gonna be so happy about it,” I say, my voice tinged with a slight smile.
We stood there in silence after that.
“I’m going back in. Don’t stay out there alone for too long, okay?”
I nod and he gets back inside, as I stay there, alone with the night, staring up at the constellations.
The stars are distant, cold, and familiar in a way I can’t explain.
I started drinking and smoking again but nothing too serious, not like before. I can’t even take pills if I’m hurt or if I’m injured. The idea of it, of falling back into that numbness, makes my skin crawl.
I don’t trust myself around it, not anymore.
But still, I inhale the smoke filling my lungs, the burn of it feels like a temporary escape. I blow out a long breath, watching the smoke disappear into the dark, like everything else I try to outrun.
Every time I wanted to disappear again, Tariq would remind me why I was doing this again.
He used to stand a few feet away from me, arms crossed, face cold. He’d bark a low,Get up.
I always wanted to scream at him, to tell him I couldn’t, that I was too tired, but I knew better.
He never cared about tears or excuses, pain wasn’t a barrier to him, it was a tool.
“You want to survive? You want to win, Azra?”he'd spit.Then stop fearing the pain. Stop fighting it. Use it.”
I remember my hands trembling, blood dripping from where the knife had slipped earlier. Training until the world blurred, sweat, tears, maybe some blood too, all running down my face until I couldn’t tell them apart. My body had ached in places I didn’t know existed.
My palms sliced open from gripping the blade too tightly. And every time I faltered… “Again,”he’d say. And I’d obey.Again. And again. And again.
By sunset, I’d be crawling back to my bed, body broken. With the will of stopping everything and ending it. But even then, the nights were harder.
The room’s silence let the memories crawl in. His hands, my screams, the pills, the weight.
I remember once, Tariq sat beside me, no questions, he quietly offered me some tea. Then he said, “I don’t want to know what happened to you these last ten years. But your father would be proud. Amane would too.”
I’d smiled or tried to, even that hurt, my ribs felt like glass under my skin. And the tears would hide beneath shame. Because Amane stopped being proud of me when she stopped remembering my name.
I asked once about my real father, how he was when he was still alive.
Tariq had smiled softly, distant, drawing invisible shapes on my palm. “Strong. Smart. He believed people could save themselves, if they only understood the weight of their thoughts. Their values.”
But I kept thinking about how they could’ve stayed there, happy. No pain, no death, maybe my mom would’ve been happier like this…
And then he said, “Don’t be sad, they’re watching you, you know. Your parents, they named you Azra for a reason. You carry that purity, you carry them.”
Purity. That was a lie. I had nothing pure in me. I was the opposite, but he didn’t know.
He wanted me to try and be happy, live like they didn’t have the chance to.
And I did try.
I’m still trying, under the same stars that watch me every night, believing in me in a way.
Even if I get tired of it sometimes.
I’m still trying.
