"May Allah have mercy."
                          
Damon converted to Islam a couple years ago, which was before he married Amira. I was glad that he found the light to Islam on his own rather than allowing love to consume his rationality. He was the complete opposite of me much like my sister. Maybe that was why they fit so perfectly. 
                          
A part of me wished to be where they were in their lives, wished to have the bubbling excitement of a new family, of a wife and kids. A darkness clouded over me, sinister whispers reminding how unfit I was for such a life, how useless I would be to another person. 
                          
I was never too close to my parents, and that shame continued to follow me in my adult life. I hurt them in ways I never should have. I was that rebel, annoying, smart mouthed son that no one wanted, but my parents continued to stay by my side. Helping Amira achieve her dreams was my only chance at redemption.
                          
It was the least I could do.
                          
But after all was said and all was done, I still hurt my family. Knowing that I did caused shame and resentment to course through my body, for guilt to overpower my senses, for darkness to engulf me in its cold embrace. 
                          
Allah, forgive me. I lost my path in the past, but please don't let me lose it again.
                          
I hated myself for how I disrespected and pained my family. I hated myself for the scars I left them. I hated myself for the harsh tones I used. Now, I couldn't even face them without tears in my eyes. 
                          
Damon's spluttering for water broke my thoughts. "Tanwir..." he strained to say as his face swelled with redness. 
                          
"I told you so," I said, pouring him another glass. "Damon, this is only going to make it worse."
                          
"Shh, I... need it."
                          
I rolled my eyes. "So stubborn," I muttered under my breath. Why am I not surprised?
                          
Damon chugged the entire glass, sticking out his tongue like a dog as if it would help. "You're one to talk," he teased, a slow smile on his lips. "Your entire family is stubborn as hell."
                          
"Your point?"
                          
He shook his head, waving a hand at the thought. "Forget about it. Are you going back to work next week?" he asked, worry and concern lacing his voice. I knew he was talking about if I'd move out again. 
                          
I shrugged. "I don't know yet."
                          
A brief silence ensued between us, a touchy subject weighing heavier than I expected like a delicate balance of responsibilities rested on my shoulders. As the tension stretched, my mind felt numb, uncertainty the thin line that dictated my decision. 
                          
I'd gotten multiple job openings for cyber security, so finding a job wouldn't be difficult for me, especially with how the technology field grew in my hometown with each passing day. I could be ahead of the competition with my experience at my current job as a cyber security technician for a friend's father at his profound business. 
                          
I wasn't sure if I was ready to continue living with my parents. I stayed with them whenever I visited, but I barely conversed with them unless they initiated or I had too. Every time I looked into my father's eyes, I knew he was upset and hurt by my actions, that he feared for the man I might become, that he wished I would speak to him. 
                          
I couldn't. Something was stopping me. 
                          
Every time I saw my mother's frail form continue working for Amira and I, continue her daycare, continue her struggles for our well-being, I wanted to erase it all. I wanted to save her from the tedious life she lived, but again the words always melted on my tongue.