Ammar Habib - The Heart of Aleppo - A Story of the Syrian Civil War

Fatima is upstairs, searching for any first aid supplies she can rummage up. I already refilled my food sack a few minutes after the prayer. Before I could offer to go up with her, she ordered Salman and me to relax and rest ourselves for the evening. With the sternness in which she uttered those words, even Salman did not have the audacity to argue with her.

Sitting next to Salman in the second floor’s corridor, I hear her footsteps coming from the third floor. The floors here are just as creaky as anywhere else in the city. With our backs against the wall, Salman’s and my legs are stretched out in front of us. The evening light spills into the hallway from the open doors. It’s visibly waning with every second, but I do my best not to pay attention to it.

Salman’s voice breaks the serenity. “I can’t believe that we found a place like this. Working electricity, running water, supplies—what more could we ask for?”

I nod without saying anything.

“I think it was a good idea,” he continues. “Praying was, I mean.”

Looking over at him, I reply, “Fatima’s ideas always are.”

“She tends to have better ideas than us, but I guess that’s not saying much.”

The two of us laugh.

After a moment of silence falls over us, he lets out a sigh. “I miss it, Zaid.”

I know what he means.

“What I would give to be at the park again.” He closes his eyes, his words filled with a nostalgic longing. “Feel the shade of the old tree as we stand at the lake’s bank. Hear the laughter all around us. See the stones gliding across the water like they’ll go on forever.”

With my eyes shut, I see it all too. The breeze is cool, the park peaceful. Salman’s laughter is triumphant, and Fatima’s green eyes are so caring. It’s as if it was all yesterday. Yet, it feels like a lifetime ago. I keep myself from breaking down as the memories flood in.

“We may see it yet,” I whisper. Opening my eyes, my gaze again meets Salman’s. I slightly smile. “You still owe me a rematch.”

He returns the gesture. “You never could stay down. Always a fighter. It must run in your family.”

As soon as he says those words, I think of Nabeel. I… I miss him. So much.

“Still planning on attending The University of Aleppo after this all ends, Dr. Zaid?” Salman’s lighthearted question brings me back to reality.

I pause before replying, “I don’t even know if it’s still standing.”

“I wouldn’t count anything out. Not after what we’ve seen. Are you ready for tonight?”

“More or less I guess. I feel better now than I did a few hours ago. How’s your leg?”

“I want to say it’s fine. But I guess we’ll know the answer tonight.” He looks over at me with a grin. “Worst case scenario, I’ll have you carry me on your back.”

A light chuckle escapes me.

Salman again falls silent before his voice grows a bit more somber. “I’m sorry, Zaid.”

“Sorry? For what?”

He glances down. “How I’ve been acting since this entire thing began. I know I’ve been hard and distant. I just… just wanted to protect you the way your parents trusted I would.”

Simply hearing him utter those words dissolves all the frustration he’s caused these past few days. In this moment, as his words sink in, I feel closer to him than I ever have. I gently pat him on the shoulder and give it a light squeeze. “I know, Salman.”

He smiles. “Is your hand alright?”

I raise up my bandaged hand. The wrapping has held up perfectly, even with the shower and everything. “I think Fatima was right when she said the cut wasn’t deep. I can move it and use it just fine.”

“Good.” He thinks for a long moment as he looks away, hesitant to say his next words. But when he speaks, his voice holds a tenderness in it, a brotherly love. “Fatima thinks highly of you. She… cares for you.”

“I think we all care for each other.”

Salman’s gaze returns to me. “That’s not what I mean.”

There’s a look in his eyes. I’ve never seen it before. Does… does it mean what I think it does?

“I am glad, Zaid. I’ve always thought of you as a brother—the younger brother I never had. Maybe when this is all over and we get some semblance of our lives back, something will come out of it. I… I hope it does.” He pauses. “You’re an amazing boy, Zaid—an amazing person. You’ve proven it more every day. When I froze and was unable to move as they tried to take Fatima with them, it was your lead that I followed. You gave me the courage to fight back. I never thought it’d be you—the boy who could never do anything right—that I would be following into battle. You’ve become something else, Zaid. I think you’re as brave as Nabeel ever was.”

There’s another brief silence.

“And…” He puts his hand on my shoulder, wearing the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen. “I’m glad you’re with me. I’m glad to be at your side, Zaid Kadir, even if this will be the end of all things.”

It’s far less than an hour until we leave. I’ve gone searching for any last-minute supplies. One last room, then I’ll go join the others. Opening the door, I enter a desolate bedroom. At first glance, I can’t tell if it was a boy or girl’s room based on the green wallpaper and white bed sheets, but then I see some pictures hanging on the wall. It’s a progression of a girl from birth to young adulthood. She looks to be thirteen in the last picture. My age.

Turning away, I scan the rest of the room. First the table. Then the bed. Then the—

I do a double take. What’s that? It can’t be. Without thinking, I rush over to the bed before crouching down and yanking it out. It’s a radio! Holding the black, plastic, portable device, my hands are trembling with excitement. I instinctively elongate the rusting antenna. God, please let this work.

The others! I’ve got to show this to them! Clenching it with both hands, I race through the corridor, keeping my eyes on the radio. I nearly slip on the floor, stumbling a few steps. But I don’t slow down. Bounding down the stairs, my steps are quick and heavy as I go two steps at a time.

My feet hit the second floor with a loud thud. They must have heard me coming because I find Fatima entering the hallway and looking my way as I dash towards her. Seeing what’s in my hands, her eyes light up.

Turning into the sitting room, Salman’s gaze is immediately on me. “Zaid, what is—”

He stops mid-sentence, catching sight of the radio. Fatima is a step behind me as she enters the room. Scampering over to Salman, I set it down between the three of us.

“Switch it on!” Fatima’s words are ecstatic.

Salman hits a switch. Loud, wrenching static immediately pours out of it. Fatima and I impulsively cover our ears before he lowers the volume. After waiting a moment to make sure it’s gone, Fatima and I exchange a quick glance. Salman begins to play with both dials, searching for a signal. I turn my gaze to him. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“God-willing,” Salman replies. Even as he tries to control it, his voice is flowing with excitement.

There’s nothing but static. It’s unending. Is this really all there is? Without realizing it, my fist starts to impatiently beat against my thigh as I keep watching Salman fine-tune both dials.

The static fades down a little and… then there’s a voice. My eyes widen. It’s in the background and can barely be heard at first. But then the voice grows louder, and I know it’s not just my imagination. Soon, the words flood out the static. It sounds like a reporter—a woman.

“…reports of heavy bombing continue to pour in. The military is still… failing to comment on whether they are actively avoiding civilians in their targeting. City… government officials still advise citizens to stay indoors… not possible to evacuate the city. There is a temporary camp being set up in Mansoura for civilian refugees. All refugees who arrive there within the next few days will be taken someplace else. The military… security forces are continuing to heavily engage… rebels on foot in the districts of…”