Undeserved

“Who’s it from, habibi?”

“Unclear. No return address. The sender’s name is… ‘Equity.’”

Amani snorted. “Well, it’s got our address on it. Open it.”

Sakshi tore open the small envelope. Out fell a black notebook and a scrap of paper.

“Ooh, this is pretty,” Sakshi appreciated, turning over the notebook in her hands. “Blank, too. Babe, you can use it for your poetry!”

Amani smiled, leaning down to salvage the paper. She froze. “Hey. Look at this.”

Sakshi leaned over. “Wha- oh. Oh my gods.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Shit. $20K? Think it’s legit?”

“Sakshi, it’s not ours!”

“It was addressed to us, wasn’t it? My love, think about it. This can actually make a dent in our student loans.”

“I- fine. We’ll deposit it in savings. But we’re not touching the money until we figure out who the hell ‘Equity’ is, okay?”

Days later, Sakshi sat at the dining table with the head in her hands, breathing through the hangover. She gratefully sipped the coffee Amani had made.

“What happened last night?”

Sakshi looked up. “Nothing. Went out with friends after my ER shift, got sloshed.” She averted her eyes from Amani’s disapproving frown. “I needed it, babe. They treat residents like something they stepped in on the sidewalk.”

“I know. But there’s $1000 missing from the account. I thought we agreed not to touch that money?”

“It wasn’t me, I swear. I don’t even remember the account password.”

Amani rested her hands on the table evenly. “Money doesn’t just vanish into thin air. I need you to remember what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Amani slapped the table. “Damn it, Sakshi! I know residency is hard, but you need to do better. $1000 is rent. It’s groceries. You can’t be going off getting wasted, getting up to God knows what at these bars-”

Sakshi struggled to her feet, head throbbing. “The hell is that supposed to mean? Are you accusing me of sleeping around?”

Amani reeled. “No. No, habibi, never. I would never- to doubt you is to doubt my own heart, love. Ya Allah, forgive me. This is only about the money.”

“I didn’t take it. Please believe me.”

“Okay, yes. Fine. Of course I believe you. I’m so sorry.”

She extended a tentative hand. When Sakshi didn’t pull away, Amani stepped forward to gather her into her arms, pressing lingering kisses to her lips in apology. Sakshi sniffled, nuzzling into Amani's neck.

“We should freeze the account,” she mumbled after a beat.

“Hmm. I’ll call the bank before class.”

Some weeks later, Sakshi was stirring a pot of dal on the stove when she heard keys in the door. Her lips curved up in a smile. “You’re late, my love. Class run overtime?”

There was no answer. Sakshi put the spoon down and exited the kitchen. She stopped short. Her wife was standing motionless by the door, face ashen.

“Amani? Babe, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Sakshi ran her hands down Amani’s arms, dislodging the briefcase from her clenched fingers. “Here, let’s get you out of your shoes. There we go. Do you want to take this off?” She held the fabric of Amani’s hijab between her fingers. Amani nodded numbly.

Later, when they were comfortably seated on the edge of their bed, each nursing a warm cup of tea, Amani spoke.

“There was a man following me today. When I was walking by the station.”

“A stalker?”

“Maybe. I crossed the street, and he tried to follow me, but…”

“Mhm?”

“This SUV came out of nowhere. It hit him head on.”

“Shit.”

“I don’t know, it was just… jarring.”

“Understandable, honey. What did you do?”

“Called 911. Waited for them to show up, gave them a statement. Then came straight home.”

“You did right, love. Hey - let’s call it a night early, okay? Let me feed you a bit of dal and hold you until you fall asleep. We’ll talk more in the morning if you want.”

Amani huffed. “Don’t you have night shift?”

“Not until midnight. We have time.”

Suddenly, Amani’s phone pinged. She reached over to grab it from the nightstand, and paused.

“What is it?” Sakshi asked.

“$2000 were withdrawn from savings.”

“What?! When?”

“Just now.”

“...The account is frozen, right?”

Amani sighed. “I- yeah. Damn it. I’ll have to call again to see what’s going on.” She caught sight of Sakshi’s tired gaze. “Habibi, you don’t worry about this. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. For now, how about that lovely plan you mentioned?”

Sakshi chuckled, leaning forward to capture Amani’s lips in a soft kiss. “Dinner’s coming right up, ma’am.”

Several months later, Amani found herself waiting in the parking lot of the teaching hospital’s ER. She hadn’t seen Sakshi in over 40 hours. The last text she’d received, now half an hour ago, read "Surgery done. Tired cant drive. Pick me up?"

Amani fidgeted restlessly. Sakshi had to have left the OT in order to text. What was keeping her?

Just then, Sakshi exited the building, heaving a sigh of relief when she spotted the car. Amani stepped out to help, heart clenching at Sakshi’s shaky gait and the trace blood spatters on her scrubs. They drove home in silence.

“You wanna talk about it now, or later?” Amani initiated in the shower as she gently washed the death and sickness from Sakshi’s hair. “Maybe after you sleep a little?”

“I’ll never sleep again,” Sakshi muttered, eyes closed as Amani massaged the shampoo onto her scalp. “The kid’s never gonna wake up, so I can’t ever sleep. ‘s how it works. I failed him.”

Amani grimaced. “How old was he, habibi?”

“Nineteen. Fucking hate motorcycles. Should be illegal. Fucking death machines.”

“Hmm. Breathe through your mouth,” Amani ordered, tenderly bending Sakshi’s head forward to rinse.

Later, after Amani managed to force half a protein shake into Sakshi and have it stay down, after she gave up trying to make progress on her dissertation and instead pressed her body over Sakshi’s in a desperate attempt to quell the nightmares, Amani got a notification on her phone.

It told her that $6000 had disappeared from their account, but she couldn’t find it in herself to give a damn. Not when Sakshi needed her.

The account balance didn't change again for a long time. Not until one June day, a week after Amani successfully defended her thesis on Queer Influence in Middle Eastern Literature, when she was enjoying her last class as head TA on the undergraduate campus.

The gunfire took everyone by surprise. It wasn’t this classroom (thank God, she thought guiltily as they cowered beneath desks), but it wasn’t far away, either. The professor barked out instructions, and Amani moved to barricade the door with chairs as her co-TAs hit the lights and pulled down blackout curtains. They’d rehearsed this countless times.

An eternity later, seated in a trauma tent outdoors waiting for the ringing in her ears to cease, she finally heard a familiar voice.

“Let me through! My wife is in there! Get the fuck out of my way!”

“Oh, you’re family? Survivors are over there, in the trauma tents.”

“Survivors-” Sakshi’s breath hitched on the word, and Amani closed her eyes, feeling tears roll down her cheeks. There were footsteps, frantic, uneven, and suddenly Amani felt warm hands on her face, stroking over her arms, her chest, distraught prayers of gratitude whispered against her forehead, her lips.

“Sakshi,” Amani mumbled, standing up and falling into her beloved’s embrace.

“Oh gods, oh my love, you’re okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you…”

Amani buried her face in Sakshi’s shoulder and sobbed.

“Babe?” Amani hesitated in the doorway, watching Sakshi toast cheese sandwiches on the stove. The day after a mass shooting was oddly normal, she thought. Yesterday, there had been doctors, counselors, people from the media, politicians. Today, there was eerie silence.

“Hmm?” Sakshi said, turning off the stove and sliding the sandwiches onto plates. Her hands trembled slightly as she carried them to the table.

“I don’t know if you saw. The remaining $11000 is gone.”

Sakshi sighed deeply. “I don’t care. It means nothing to me. I could lose everything, Amani, everything, and I wouldn’t care. Except you.” She turned to face her wife. “If you go, I go. You know that, right?”

“Don’t say such things, my love. Courage suits you more.”

“I don’t care.” An errant tear slipped down her face.

Amani stepped forward and took Sakshi's hands in her own, lovingly intertwining their fingers. “Hey. Just breathe. I’m here, habibi. I’m not leaving you.”

“Can we- can we just sit in bed for some time? I’m so tired.”

“Of course. Do you want tea?”

“No. Let’s just go.”

But the moment they entered their bedroom, they froze. The nightstand drawer was open, and in it lay the black notebook that had come with the check.

“That’s a little creepy,” Sakshi said.

“Gonna be honest with you, I completely forgot about this book. Never did get around to writing any poetry.” Amani picked it up and opened it. “Oh. It’s not blank anymore.”

They sat down and looked at the entries together.

$1000 - Appointment with gynecologist. Plan B. Six months CBT for severe anxiety.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sakshi asked. “We never needed-”

“Wait. Didn’t $1000 go missing the night you got really drunk? And we fought about it the next day?”

“Yeah. But babe, I was fine, I would remember if…” Sakshi gestured at the words. “Hey, check this next one out.”

$2000 - Relocation of shoulder joint. Soft collar for hyperextension of the neck. New phone.

“Huh,” Amani mused. “$2000 was the night that guy was stalking me by the station. Wha- hyperextension of the neck?”

“Whiplash. Could happen during a mugging, if someone grabbed your hair and pulled, or- oh. Your hijab. If someone tried to snatch it off from behind, it could definitely cause this.”

$6000 - Twelve stitches on the inside of the wrist. Blood transfusion, two pints. Eight days in residential ward for depression/suicidal ideation.

“Wait a minute,” Sakshi whispered, brow furrowed. “This was the day of that 40-hour surgical shift. When the kid didn’t make it. I…”

There was a charged pause.

Amani swore colorfully in Arabic, then again in English. “You didn’t see your face when you came out, Sakshi. You had me scared.”

“No, babe, I would never-”

“I know you wouldn’t. But after two days straight on your feet, no one's in their right mind, you know?”

$11000 - Bullet extraction surgery. One year combined medication-therapy treatment for PTSD.

“Wonder what this one’s about,” Amani spat sarcastically.

“Bullet extraction surgery?!”

“I was barricading the door, habibi. That’s pretty much the direct line of fire.” Amani felt Sakshi’s fingers tense instinctively where they were resting against her thigh. She sighed. “Well. One more page.”

“I can’t look.”

“I’ll read it.”

Paid in full: $20000.

Money you did not have

Spent to prevent mistakes that weren't yours

From ever touching your lives. Good luck.

Signed,

Equity.

“So why us?” Sakshi asked the next morning.

Amani scooped scrambled eggs onto her plate. “What?”

“I said, why us? Aren’t there other women out there who go to bars? Hijabis who walk home after dark? Residents battling physician burnout? Students and teachers in classrooms, just living their lives?”

“You’re asking why we were spared, and not them? Why we survived?”

“Yeah.”

Amani clicked her tongue. “Insanity. That’s where that train of thought leads.”

“But babe-” Sakshi gasped, abruptly cut off by Amani’s lips on hers, fierce and demanding. She looped her arms around her wife’s neck, holding her close as Amani broke away to rest their foreheads together.

“We did not deserve it any more than they did, habibi. But since it was given to us, I choose to believe it’s so we can make things better. For all of us."