A Lie Between The HeartBeats lp
Aaliyah sat in the back of a mosque she hadn't visited in months.
Not to pray. Not to be seen.
Just to sit. To breathe.
To try to remember who she was before her life started folding in on itself like wet paper.
She kept her hands in her lap, fingers interlocked so tightly they hurt.
Forgive me.
The words didn't come out.
She didn't even whisper them.
They pulsed through her like poison, but her lips stayed shut. She didn't know if it was shame… or the sick truth that some part of her didn't want forgiveness.
Some part of her liked the fire.
---
She threw up again the next morning.
Not from guilt this time.
From something deeper. More frightening.
The nausea came in waves. First in the early hours when the world was still dark. Then again when she passed the scent of coffee in the kitchen. And once more, violently, when she saw a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket outside the mosque.
She stared at herself in the mirror, hands gripping the sink.
One missed period was a mistake.
Two?
Panic bloomed.
---
She didn't go to a clinic. Couldn't risk the questions, the judgment.
Instead, she snuck into a pharmacy wearing a hoodie and sunglasses like a criminal. Bought two tests. Shoved them in her bag like they were ticking bombs.
At home, she waited until the whole house was asleep.
Locked the bathroom door.
Prayed and peed in the same moment.
And when she turned the test over—
Two red lines.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The second test? The same.
She slid to the floor, cold tiles pressing against her back.
A laugh burst from her chest.
Then a sob.
Then silence.
---
She didn't know how long she sat there, eyes fixed on the word positive, but when her phone buzzed, she almost didn't answer.
It was Lucien.
L: "You okay?"
She stared at the screen.
Then came a second message.
L: "Don't lie."
Her thumbs hovered.
And then finally, she typed:
A: "I'm late."
Three dots.
Then nothing.
Then:
L: "How late?"
She didn't answer.
Her hand was shaking too hard.
But a moment later, her phone buzzed again.
L: "Is it mine?"
Her stomach twisted.
She typed.
Paused.
Deleted.
Typed again.
A: "It could be."
Another pause.
Then:
L: "You told Silas yet?"
She didn't respond.
Because Silas had texted her that morning, too.
S: "Missed you today. Let's talk?"
Aaliyah pressed her palms to her eyes.
She was barely nineteen.
She was Muslim.
She had no ring, no promises, no absolution.
And now…
No idea which man was the father of the child growing inside her.
---