I exist. In thousands of agonies, I exist
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Kiran's feet ached, her heels digging hard into the soles of her feet with every pounding step. She couldn't feel the pain or the bleeding of torn flesh. She was running—running as fast as she possibly could.
As fast as fear could carry her.
Zineb was ahead, just a blur now, her coat flapping in the cold wind.
Kiran was chasing her.
They'd just gotten off the subway.
Both of them were crying no, they were both sobbing.
It was December 7th, 1941—the day everything changed.
And they were trying to get to Amy's house as fast as they could.
Her family had a telephone.
The Mateks didn't.
"Zineb, wait! Please—wait!"
But she didn't. She couldn't.
Neither of them knew what had happened to James or William.
All they could do was wait by the phone, hope it would ring, and pray that the voices on the other end would be the ones they loved.
Maybe they'd be okay.
Maybe they'd call.
Oh Allah, let them be alright. Please, oh God—please. Let my brothers be alive. Let me see them again.
Zineb reached the apartment first, her keys shaking as she shoved them into the lock.
She flung the door open and disappeared inside, her movements frantic, unhinged.
Kiran could hardly keep up.
Her brother might be dead, the love of her life might be fucking dead.
Zineb flew up the stairs, two at a time.
Kiran followed, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Ya Allah, Ya Allah... La ilaha illa Allah..."
(Oh God, oh God... There is no god but God.)
Her chest pulled in a thousand different directions.
She couldn't breathe. Her head throbbed, pain blooming behind her eyes.
She wanted to scream.
To tear her skin from her bones.
To fall onto the floor and never get up again.
When Kiran reached Amy's front door, it stood wide open.
The hallway air felt colder than the street.
She stepped inside.
Step after step.
Her hands were ice. Her feet numb.
Everything was too loud and too quiet at once.
She reached the kitchen.
There, crumpled on the floor, was Veity, sobbing.
Her shoulders shook, her mouth open in a soundless wail.
Kiran had never seen her sobbing before.
Not once.
Next to her knelt Amara and Femi, their faces pale and soaked with tears.
Only Femi looked up.
Only she met Kiran's eyes as the door creaked open.
Her gaze was hollow.
Empty. Like death was reflecting itself in her eyes. Kiran should have known, should have felt it.
"They haven't called. They haven't said anything..." Femi croaked, her voice cracking like brittle glass.
Kiran just stared at her, frozen.
If they hadn't called, something must have happened.
They wouldn't leave them hanging like this.
James would never allow it.
Zineb was by the phone, her fingers frantically dialling, each call more desperate than the last.
Amy sat on the ground beside her, pulling at her hair, her head thudding against the wall behind her—again and again, each thud like the heartbeat of the room.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Zineb was lost in a world of her own, biting her nails, tugging at her hair—twisting it into knots.
The line went dead. She dialled again.
And again.
And again.
And again...
It didn't matter. The numbers blurred. The sound of the phone's dial tone was the only thing left.
-----------------
The apartment had fallen still, the only sounds the soft breathing of the others scattered around the room. They'd fallen asleep—everyone except for Kiran and Femi.
Kiran sat against the wall, her knees drawn close, her eyes cast down, unfocused, staring at the shadows creeping along the floor. She could hear the ticking of the clock somewhere in the distance, but it was distant, as though it did not belong to her world anymore. The weight of the day pressed down on her chest. It felt as though every breath was a struggle but still, her mind wouldn't let her rest. She couldn't. There was this gnawing feeling, something deep in her gut, telling her what she didn't want to hear.
Femi sat beside her, leaning against the kitchen table, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. She wasn't crying anymore, but her face was still shadowed by something too heavy for words. She was quieter than usual, but Kiran had known her long enough to recognise when Femi was just holding things in, keeping the storm inside.
The room felt cold, even though the radiator hissed softly from the corner. Kiran shivered and hugged her knees tighter, trying to push back the thoughts that kept creeping in.
"Femi," Kiran began, her voice low, fragile. "Have you ever felt like... like the air is too thick, too heavy to breathe?"
Femi turned her head slightly, her eyes soft but searching. She did not respond immediately, but waited for Kiran to continue.
"It feels as though... as though it presses on you from all sides. I cannot find the air to breathe, no matter how I try."
Femi's gaze softened, her fingers tapping against the sleeve of her jacket. She knew that Kiran needed to speak, and she waited, her presence steady, unspoken support.
"Yes," Femi murmured after a moment. "I reckon it's what they'd call... drowning in air."
Kiran let out a bitter laugh, though it was strained. "Drowning in air. That is precisely it."
There was silence between them for a long moment. Kiran could feel the pull of the quiet, almost suffocating, but it wasn't uncomfortable—not with Femi there beside her. Just the sound of their breathing, it had always been comforting.
Kiran glanced at her, noticing how Femi's fingers gently twitched, tapping against her sleeve in a rhythm that Kiran had always thought of as Femi's way of grounding herself.
"I can't stop thinking about it," she said, her voice so quiet it felt like it might shatter if she spoke any louder. "I keep thinking... what if something happened? What if they're not—"
She couldn't finish the thought, the fear strangling her words. She didn't need to say it. It was already there, gnawing at her, creeping into her bones. The sickening feeling in her chest, the tightness in her throat—it was like she already knew. She could feel it deep in her soul, that sense that he wasn't coming back.
Femi didn't look at her, but Kiran saw the slight tension in her shoulders, the quiet sigh she let out. Her fingers moved a little faster, trying to avoid the same thing Kiran felt in her gut.
Femi's voice was soft, but there was something steady about it. "They'r strong," she said, her words slow and deliberate, as if she needed to believe them herself. "They ain't gone. Not yet. Not like this."
Kiran nodded, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally coming. She didn't wipe them away, didn't try to hide them. The room felt too heavy, the world outside too far away. There was only this—her and Femi, and the weight of everything that was breaking them slowly, piece by piece.
But Femi didn't speak anymore. Instead, she shifted slightly, moving closer to Kiran, her shoulder brushing against hers in the kind of silent comfort only best friends could share. It was a simple thing, but in that moment, it felt like an anchor. The kind of comfort only two souls bound by years and tears could share. Warmth in the cold of it all, even as Kiran's heart ached with the realisation of what she already knew, what she had been dreading.
Kiran leaned her head back against the wall and shut her eyes, if only to escape for a moment. She wished she could sleep, wished she could drift into some dreamless place—but her mind would not quiet.
Femi yawned gently, her body sagging with weariness. She was the still one, the quiet one. The one who kept her heart locked away. But even she could not hold off sleep forever.
"I... I reckon I must sleep now," Femi murmured, barely above a whisper.
Kiran opened her eyes to glance at her. "You ought to," she said, voice hoarse. "I think I'll stay up just a while longer."
Femi nodded, already halfway to slumber. "Don't be too long, Kiran. It's no good... stayin' up all night, not for any of us."
"I shan't," Kiran said gently, a take on humour. "Go on, habibti. Rest."
Femi gave a small nod, standing up and walking out into the hallway towards Amy's room, her breathing soon steady.
Kiran remained where she was, listening to the tick of the clock, each second pressing down on her like a weight. An hour passed—or perhaps two. She couldn't be sure. Time had grown thick and strange.
Then it came.
The phone rang.
Kiran stumbled upright, heart leaping to her throat. Her limbs moved before thought caught up with them—her hand snatching the receiver as though it might disappear.
"James?" she gasped. "William? William!"
But there was no answer.
Only breathing—ragged, broken—and then a sound that carved through the silence: muffled sobs, deep and gut-wrenching, the sort of crying that tore straight through a man's throat.
She did not know who it was. It might have been James. It might have been William. It might have been someone else entirely. Some poor soul, perhaps, burdened with the cruel task of delivering ruin.
But he was in pain. That much was certain.
So Kiran spoke as gently as she could, saying the words she herself would have longed to hear—had it been her on the other end of the line.
"It's quite alright, darling," she murmured, voice trembling but sure. "You are safe now. Everything shall be well, do you hear me? You shall come home, and your family will be waiting for you, my love. And if home feels too far, why, then you may come here. I shall make your favourite dish, and a cup of tea, and you may rest—wherever you please, sweetheart. All shall be well, dear heart."
Still, there was no reply.
Just the sound of someone breaking.
Kiran pressed the receiver tighter to her ear. Shut her eyes. Held the line like it tethered her to the world.
Then—
A voice.
So sudden, so breathless, she thought at first it might be a trick of her own mind. But no—it was him. William. And he was unravelling.
"Kiran—James is dead. Jesus Christ, he's dead—I saw him, I saw it. He... I didn't even wake him up, you know? I was gonna go to church..."
His words came out in a rush, panicked, fragmented. As if speaking them fast enough might outrun the pain.
"He's Jewish, you know? Right. Well—I was gonna go to church, and—and oh my God, Zineb, what am I to do? What can I tell her? I can't—Kiran, don't make me tell her too—I can't I can't please don't make me please! He was going to propose. I saw the ring. Gold—just like you said. He bought the ring. He was going to do it..."
Kiran felt herself sliding down to the floor, slowly, helplessly, her legs no longer able to bear her weight. The receiver stayed clutched in her hand, white-knuckled, death-grip tight.
"Then the planes came—my God, I thought it was just a drill. We all did. But then the screaming started, and the smoke, and I—Kiran, I swear I thought I was going to die. There was blood, so much blood, and I ran—ran to our room. It was covered in soot. Black all over. And then... his face.."
A pause.
A choked, shuddering breath.
And then the sound of him dry heaving—guttural, raw.
Kiran's chest felt as though it had caved in.
There was nothing to say. Nothing to do.
Only listen—because this, right here, was the end of something. Her head ached so terribly that tears started to fall again.
Kiran's fingers trembled on the receiver, but she held it fast against her cheek. Her other hand pressed to her lips, like maybe she could calm the shaking from the outside in.
"William..." she whispered. "Listen to me."
He was still sobbing on the other end. Broken. In pieces. But she spoke anyway, low and steady, like she was trying to coax a wild animal into stillness.
"I'm comin' to fetch you. You hear me? I'm comin' to Pearl. I don't care what it takes. I don't care how long it takes. You ain't gonna be alone, not if I can help it."
There was a pause—no words, just the aching sound of someone fighting to breathe through grief.
She swallowed hard.
"Hold on, William. Just a little while longer. That's all I ask."
The line clicked. Went dead.
And then the silence came, roaring loud.
Kiran sat still with the receiver pressed to her ear, as if she could will his voice back into it. But the dial tone screamed—sharp, final.
Slowly, she set it down.
The world was too quiet. The tick of the clock, the creak of old wood, Femi's steady breathing down the hall.
And then the thought landed heavy as stone.
Zineb doesn't know.
Kiran's spine went stiff.
She rose too fast, her legs almost giving under her, but she didn't stop. She moved through the hallway like a shadow, running her fingers along the wall until she found the door to the back bedroom and pushed it open.
The room was dark. The glow of a streetlamp spilled through the curtain in a stripe of gold. Amy slept curled tight, face pale and tear-streaked even in rest. On the other bed, Zineb lay turned toward the wall, her braid just visible above the covers. Two others were scattered on floor mats, breathing soft.
Kiran stepped in and gently crouched by Amy's bed. She reached out, laid a careful hand on her shoulder.
"Amy," she whispered. "Amy, I'm sorry—but I need to wake you."
Amy stirred, blinking into the dark. "Kiran? Wh—what's wrong?"
Kiran leaned in close. "Come. Please. Quietly."
Amy caught the urgency in her voice and nodded. She slipped from the bed without a word, following Kiran out into the hallway. Kiran shut the door behind them, slow and careful.
Once they were clear, she turned to face her.
"I've got to go," she said plainly. "To Pearl. William's there. He made it—but just barely. And he's alone. "
Amy stared at her. "What do you mean go? That's the other side of the country—how would you even—Kiran, no. You can't just up and—"
"I've got to."
"Kiran, don't be crazy. You're not cleared for that. You're not military, you can't just hop a ship and—"
"I'll find a way. Amy, James is dead." It was as if Amy hadn't realised that until now.
Amy stared at her. Then her hand flew to her mouth, and she bent forward, a soundless scream tearing through her. Once. Twice. Four times.
She shook with it. Her eyes filled fast, and the tears ran hot down her cheeks as she fought to breathe.
Kiran just stood there. Didn't flinch. Didn't cry.
She let Amy fall apart.
Because someone had to stay whole.
After a moment, Amy sank to the floor, curling in on herself. "God, Kiran... God. James..."
"I know," Kiran said, barely above a whisper.
Amy looked up at her, wild-eyed. Finaly coming to some sort of sence.
"I'll find a way. I promise"
"Kiran." Amy's voice cracked, trembling. "James is dead. Zineb doesn't even know yet. You can't just... go. She needs you."
"I know." The words came too sharp. Kiran winced, jaw tight. "I know. But I can't tell her. Not tonight. She needs one more night thinkin' he might still come home."
Amy's breath caught. "And you don't?"
Kiran's voice dropped. "I don't get to. I don't have that luxury."
Silence fell between them. Heavy. Then:
"How long?" Amy asked.
"One week," Kiran said. "I'll take the morning train. You'll watch her for me. You have to, Amy."
Amy's eyes brimmed. "You're really gonna do it. You're really goin'."
"I told him I would."
"Kiran, you can't just—what are you gonna do, hop on a ship and hope for the best?"
"If I have to."
Amy looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "That's insane."
"Maybe," Kiran murmured. She reached out, tucked a piece of Amy's hair behind her ear. "But I'd rather be insane than leave him sittin' there thinkin' nobody's comin'."
Amy's lower lip trembled. "He was gonna propose. Did he tell you that?"
"Yeah, i helped pick out the fucking ring Amy," Kiran said softly. "I helped pick out the ring.
Amy gave a broken laugh, wiped her cheeks, and tried to steady herself. "I—I don't know if I can—"
"You can," Kiran said. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe it." She leaned forward and pressed her forehead gently to Amy's, her voice low and firm. "I trust you."
Amy's hands shook, but she nodded.
Kiran straightened. And just like that, the softness was gone. Her posture snapped tight, like she'd slipped back into uniform. Grief still burned in her gut, but it stayed behind her ribs where no one could see it.
There wasn't time for anything else.
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