Chapter 14
Khalee
The past few days have been a blur. Ever since the night with Mada, she moved back to our parents’ house without a word, so I’ve been spending my time at home alone, except for Kaze.
I’ve tried calling my sister a few times, but she doesn’t pick up. I know she’s avoiding me, and I can’t blame her. She’s not ready to talk, and honestly, I’m not sure I am either. The guilt gnaws at me, but that’s nothing new in our dynamic.
Our parents reached out to me shortly after everything happened, and part of me, naively and foolishly, hoped that they had noticed something.
That maybe, this time, they had finally seen the cracks in Mada, in me, in everything.
But as always, they didn’t. Or perhaps they did, and they chose not to pry because, unfortunately for us, they love us too much.
It’s always been like that.
They love us so much that they never say no.
Never push too hard. Never demand answers we don’t want to give.
It’s a beautiful thing, in some ways. They never made us feel like burdens, never judged us, never made us feel like we weren’t enough.
No matter what we did, no matter the messes we made, they were always there with open arms, waiting to forgive, to understand, to support.
And yet…
I don’t think it was the best model of parenting.
They wanted so badly to be parents. They fought for it.
They longed for it. And when they finally got us, I think they were so terrified of doing something wrong, of losing us in some way, that they never set limits.
Never told us things we didn’t want to hear.
They never risked pushing us away, and in doing so, they never really held us accountable either.
I see it now, in how Mada acts, in how she spirals and expects the world to bend to her will.
She’s never been told she can’t have something, not in a way that made her truly listen.
And me? I went the other way. I became the one who always says yes.
The one who absorbs the chaos, who fixes things before they break, who takes on the responsibility my parents never dared to enforce.
We were too loved.
Isn’t that a ridiculous thing to say? Too loved.
But it’s true. Their love was so unconditional that it blurred into something else, something that left us floating without real guidance, without walls to push against. Without the kind of structure that forces you to learn hard lessons before the world teaches them in crueler ways.
And now, here we are.
Mada, lost in her recklessness. Me, drowning in the need to fix it. And our parents? Still loving us unquestioningly, standing at a distance, waiting for us to come to them instead of stepping in.
I hate that I resent them for it. I hate that part of me still wishes they would just look harder, see what’s in front of them, and tell us that something needs to change.
But they won’t.
And, as always, I didn’t tell them anything. I never do. I didn’t tell them about what happened with Mada. Just like I never told them about that night. The night that changed everything.
Over the phone, my mother mentioned their upcoming trip to Lebanon, another one of their Catholic volunteer missions, another chance for them to help communities in need.
She sounded so lighthearted, as if the idea of leaving their daughters behind wasn’t anything to worry about. Because, in truth, it isn’t.
Or at least, it’s not supposed to be.
“Just a few weeks,” she had said, her voice full of certainty, full of faith. “We’ll be back before you know it.”
And I believe her. I know she means well.
I know she thinks Mada and I are fine, that we can take care of ourselves, that we always have.
And in some ways, we can. But that doesn’t change the fact that the moment they leave, my sister will have all the time and space she needs to keep destroying herself.
Not that it would matter either way.
Even if they stayed, even if they canceled the trip, even if they finally saw what was happening, what could they really do? They wouldn’t push her. They wouldn’t tell her no. They’d just keep hoping, keep loving her through it, keep waiting for her to save herself.
And maybe that’s what terrifies me the most.
Because what if she never does?
The house is quiet. Too quiet.
I sit on the couch, staring at my phone, debating whether to try Mada again. My fingers hover over the screen, but I can’t bring myself to call.
Kaze is nearby, sitting in the armchair across the room, doing his usual thing, quiet, steady, and somehow managing to look both brooding and comfortable.
It’s strange how much comfort I’ve found in him, even when I barely understand what’s happening between us.
Sometimes I catch him watching me, his green eyes soft and searching, like he’s trying to figure me out. Or maybe trying to remember something just out of reach.
Stop hoping for it, stupid heart. He doesn’t remember you. I keep reminding myself.
And the weirdest part?
He never asks for anything.
Not once.
Not even an annoying, “Hey, can you change the channel?”
It’s almost unsettling how self-contained he is. But it also makes me feel this gnawing urge to help him.
He’s here because he needs me, yet he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand.
That almost makes it harder.
The way he just exists, offering support without expectation.
I let out a sigh and set the phone down on the coffee table. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit, my voice breaking the silence.
Kaze looks up, his expression calm but attentive. “About Mada?”
I nod, leaning back into the couch and running a hand through my hair. “She’s not talking to me. I shouldn’t have let her leave the house.”
“She never gave you a choice,” he says, his voice annoyingly reasonable. “She just left before you were even awake. Stop blaming yourself.”
“She’s my sister. ” I retort, crossing my arms.
He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, and you’re her sister. You’re trying. That’s more than most people would do. Give her time.”
“Time?” I scoff. “Time to screw her life up even more?”
“Time for her to come to her senses,” he corrects, like he’s some kind of wise ghost-therapist. “You mentioned you were away for some years. There’s probably a lot you don’t know.
Let’s give it a couple more days for everyone to catch their breath.
She survived this long without you. I’m sure that if she needs you, she’s gonna call. ”
I groan, leaning my head back on the couch. “You’re right. I hate that you’re right. But fine. I’ll give her time.” I shake my head and mutter, “We also have to start working on you.”
He leans back with a smirk. “No worries. I have time.”
I shoot him a flat look. “Do you? Because honestly, I’m not entirely sure how that works with… your situation.”
His smirk deepens. “Of course I have time. It’s not like I’m dying.”
I don’t think. I just grab the nearest pillow and launch it at his stupid, smug face.
Obviously, it goes straight through him.
Still, I feel mildly victorious. “Don’t say stuff like that!”
He laughs, a real, warm laugh that somehow makes the room feel less suffocating. “Why? I’m not even lying.”
“Because it’s sad…”
He sobers slightly, meeting my eyes with something softer. “I already told you not to be sad because of me. It’s just what it is, love.”
That damn word.
It makes my heart clench, and I hate it.
“Yeah, but…”
“Deflect, remember?” he interrupts smoothly.
“Right…” I mutter. “It’s your coping mechanism…”
He nods, expression smug again. “And look, it works.”
I roll my eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s just try to find some answers before I regret this.”
“See?” he says, stretching like he’s got all the time in the world. “We make a great team already.”
Asshole.
But I don’t argue. Because deep down, I know he’s right.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
And in the hours that follow, search for answers it’s exactly what we do.