A Kiss on the Forehead

Copyright © 2022 Arsalan Khan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system

without the written permission of the author except in the case of

brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author

and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of

the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of

people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Archway Publishing

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2747-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2745-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2746-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022913679

Archway Publishing rev. date: 10/25/2022

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Author’s Note

About the Author

DEDICATION

In loving dedication to

For my parents and sister:

I love you more than words may ever be able to fully describe,

and I owe everything to you. I know that there are a lot of

things that you may not agree with me on, but I know you’re

still proud that I fought like hell for what I believed in.

For Alisha:

This was more than us. I hope this does us justice.

The story presented before you was written to start a conversation within the Pakistani, Indian, and immigrant communities; all the people and events presented play a pivotal role in having that conversation. I did my best to tell my story to the best of my ability, but I have to stress that it’s MY story and no one else’s. Everyone’s names have been changed to protect their privacy. All events were presented as recollections of my experiences over time, and some events have been compressed for the sake of telling the story coherently.

Chapter 1

Hi Dr. Abbasi, hope everything is well with you. My name is Shaan, and I was hoping that you’d be able to help me. I have some stuff going on; stuff that’s really messing with me. If I have to be honest, it’s really eating at me, and I’m really, really scared right now. I’ve been searching for therapists, and you came up as a top search for a Muslim therapist. I was wondering if I could schedule some time with you. Please call me when you get the chance. Thank you.

Everything was racing in my head, and the room just kept spinning. I felt this lump in my throat as I was fighting to hold back tears from pouring out of my eye sockets.

Was this the right move? I can probably handle this on my own. She’s going to hear this message and call someone to come get me…she’ll think I’ve lost my shit.

Looking around the room, everything just felt incredibly stagnant; the air felt stale, my body felt frozen, and all I could hear was just a faint whirring of the fan behind me. It didn’t take long for the emotion to rush over me. A faint whimper grew slowly, and emerged more and more into a painful sob, fit with all the hysteria and emotion that comes with a breakup. I fell to my knees, wondering how on earth I got to this point. The situation wasn’t perfect, and things could have gone better if I could somehow make a deal with God, but hey, I gave it my all, right? I gave it every last thing I had.

It was all gone.

Alisha was gone. Five and a half years of love gone. All the effort of nitpicking all of my parents’ conversations, all of the time beating my head against the wall and coming up with new solutions, all of the painful conversations with myself, all of it. Gone. I tried to pick myself back up enough to go get some water or a drink or even a shirt to clean myself up, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. I almost felt like I didn’t deserve it.

"You lost her! How you could you lose her?"

I kept replaying the drive back in my head, how I flew down the interstate with no regard for the speed limit, having to navigate through blurred vision from all of the tears, weaving through what I couldn’t figure out was either a semi or a line of individual cars. Everything around me just felt like a painful jabbing reminder of what was just taken away from me, from the scent of her eucalyptus green tea lip balm in my car to the jacket she gifted me that I was wearing when I left her place to all of the furniture she helped me pick in my apartment.

Looking at my bedroom window, I saw a bird land on the outside ledge. It sat there, just watching me in my sorry state, pitying the so-called advanced species crumpled up into a mess in front of it. Even as it turned around and flew away into a distance of rain and gray clouds, it almost felt as if it was looking at me, saying You’re not worth it.

I finally managed to break free of gravity’s debilitating grasp on my lower body, and began to trudge to the bathroom, each step feeling like quicksand that was trying to take me out of my misery. I didn’t even have the energy to turn on the light, but still managed to run cold water over my face and neck. Turning the water on in the shower, I began to take off my shirt, followed by my pants, my socks, and then my underwear. I could practically hear her voice as I did.

"There’s a hook on the back of your door, why would you leave all your stuff on the floor! It’s all going to get wet!"

I used to hate hearing that so much, and would always begrudgingly respond, Yes, I know! I got it, I got it! before just tossing them all to the side in a neat little ball.

Ehh, it’s going in the laundry anyway. I’d say.

But this time, it didn’t feel the same. I quickly picked up everything and hung up everything before preparing to step foot in the shower. The same voice groans.

And you have a fresh towel, right? Ugh, why are all guys so disgusting!

Switching on the light, I cracked open the linen closet to reveal all of the neatly folded towels and sheets that she had helped me fold a week ago. I could feel the wetness in my eyes starting to build up again.

Goddamn, this is getting old.

I took the one towel that was always hers and threw it up on the towel bar.

Guess that’s one thing I won’t need to ask for back.

I finally made my way into the shower. A searing pain ran up my leg to my shoulders and back down again.

Shit, shit, shit!

I jumped out, falling out the side of the tub, and landed on my shoulder onto the floor beside the toilet. It didn’t occur to me until I had tasted the cold bathroom floor that I had turned the hot water knob instead of the cold and was essentially walking into a boiling cauldron. Nothing was working, and it felt like the world was just telling me that I should just go fuck myself. I slammed my fist into the ceramic, over and over again, just begging for everything to just stop.

I get it, I get it! She’s gone! Why can’t you just let me deal?!

At this point, I didn’t even try to hold in the tears, and laid there in a puddle of my own sweat, tears, and pity. Suddenly, I felt an embrace around my forehead and neck. It was a warmth that I could tell even if I was blind and deaf.

"Shaan, Shaan! Are you okay?"

I closed my eyes and just breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, I’m fine. Just being stupid.

"Are you hurt? Can I get something for the pain? Oh my goodness, honey you need to be more careful!"

My tears of anger and frustration suddenly melted away, and I began to smile.

I know, it was just me being stupid. Baby, you have no idea. It’s only been an hour and a half since I left your place, and everything has just been like a scene out of a nightmare! Everything’s just been off the rails, stuff just isn’t making sense. But, it doesn’t matter now, because you’re here. You’re—

I looked up to see my hallway, with nothing but my thoughts lingering around me. She wasn’t there. For the first time in a very long time, I felt the distance between the different rooms in my apartment. I could hear the neighbors entering the apartment next to me, as well as the footsteps of my neighbors that lived above me. I had moved out of my parents’ house a little more than five years ago, but for the first time since, I felt alone.

Mustering the energy to get up, I wiped up the floor and stood up, staring into the mirror at what looked like one of those soap opera characters that had gone through eight straight episodes dealing with the same heartbreak. I put on my clothes and walked back into the bedroom, my body giving out as I fell face first into my pillow. This was all just feeling like a huge dream.

There was always a "what if this didn’t work out? in the back of my head, a this is going to be one hell of an argument or a is this all going to be worth it?" Early on, it would drive me mad; I’d be thinking about it all the time, but then as time went on, those thoughts would face presumptions like "they’re my parents; they should get what makes their son happy and this isn’t really that out of the ordinary, is it?" and eventually the whole situation morphed into a combination of confidence and determination. Questions became challenges, and thoughts shifted to "I’m going to show them what real happiness is like through words and action." A vicious uproar came out from inside me, and I began screaming deep into the inner fibers of my pillow.

It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. I can’t believe it’s over.

The thoughts just kept reciprocating in my head, to where I could feel my pulse in every part of my body.

How do I explain this to everyone? What do I say? Just that her and I called it quits?

It never occurred to me how many people we knew together that were so aware of Alisha and I that I’d have to inadvertently break this news to…how many times I’m going to have relive this moment. Nobody prepares you for this. What do you do to cope with extreme sadness? Everything around you comes crashing down, and you’re just stuck in the middle of it all.

Suddenly, a buzzing sound came from my pocket. I looked at my phone and saw a notification in the top left-hand corner: a missed call, and a voice message! Confused as to whether or not I should be excited, nervous, both, or neither, I put the phone on speaker and listened to a message from the therapist:

"Assalamu alaikum Shaan, this is Dr. Salma Abbasi returning your call. I received your message. Please call me at your earliest convenience and be well. Rest assured, we will work together to help you get through this, and everything is going to be okay. I look forward to hearing from you."

Frantically, I called the number back, not having a single idea of what to say if the doctor picked up the phone.

Am I calling back too quickly? Is she going to think I’m crazy? Like I’m going to commit suicide or something? I should sound calm…but if I’m calm, then maybe she might not find the need to help me or think that nothing is wrong with me…what do I do, what do I do?!

A gentle woman’s voice answered the call. Hello, this is Dr. Abbasi.

Hi, Doctor, this is Shaan. I called you earlier.

Yes, yes! Shaan, how are you feeling? Is everything okay?

Instinctively, I began with, Yes, I’m fine.

Are you sure? she asked. It’s okay to say no.

The response took me by surprise. Never in my life had I ever answered anyone asking me How are you? with anything besides Fine, yourself? This was the first time someone had taken an active interest in that question.

Actually, no, I’m not. I was in a relationship of five and a half years with a girl I loved. I don’t really know how to handle this, since it was my serious first relationship. We just broke up about two hours ago. This was the girl I thought I was going to marry.

I heard her take a deep breath.

I’m so sorry to hear, Shaan. I give you a lot of credit though, because it takes a lot for someone to want to seek therapy over something like this, especially when it’s still so raw. We’re going to get through this, and I’ll be with you every step of the way. I have a lot of patients, both young and old, who are dealing with heartache.

Dr. Abbasi, there’s one aspect of this you should know, however, and I hope this doesn’t make things difficult or complicated, and it’s one of the main reasons why I was looking for a Muslim therapist.

I paused, and my voice began to shake. What I was about to reveal could possibly change the whole dynamic of this conversation…and it was the main reason for Alisha and I breaking up.

The girl I was dating was a Hindu. I understand if this is something you don’t want to deal with, and frankly, I’m not in a space to be told the classic stuff—

Shaan, she quickly interrupted. Emotions are emotions. For you to take a step in trusting me to help you is something I admire you for, and rest assured, her being of any faith doesn’t constitute your pain being diminished in any way. From what you said, you didn’t lose a Hindu girlfriend, you lost the woman you thought you were going to marry! That hurts, and I’m not here to criticize. I want you to feel as open as possible, and I know that might take a little bit of time, but I’m here to help you navigate through this. It also sounds like this has been a sore spot for you for a while, but don’t fret. My job is to help you with damage control and getting through this in the healthiest way possible.

I was utterly dumbfounded. Therapy is always showcased on TV like some kind of treatment for sociopaths or nutcases, and I thought I was one of them for being in the situation that I was in, and she figured me out in less than five minutes over the phone! There was a breath of fresh air and an ease that suddenly came over me, like a storm had just calmed.

Thank you, Dr. Abbasi…for understanding. I’d love the opportunity to work with you and tell you everything.

Wonderful, Shaan. Let’s get something on the calendar.

After setting up an appointment for the following day, I hung up and just sat on the floor of my bedroom. This all just felt like a crazy dream. The room began to spin, with the ceiling feeling like it was coming closer and closer to crush me and wake me up, so that I could get back to my normal routine. A rush just came over me, and I almost felt paralyzed; not even a single tingle in my fingers or the desire to blink.

Nothing.

Dr. Abbasi’s words kept eclipsing my thoughts: It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to not be okay. And yet, at the same time, an inside voice kept telling me that I should just get up and take the steps forward to move on.

What are you going to accomplish just lying here on the floor like a useless piece of fabric? She’s gone, you’re still here. Get up and move! Stop being dramatic!

The two opinions were waging war, with me as the lone soldier caught in a bunker in the middle of this battlefield, digging his heels deeper into the trench and hoping that some miracle would make this all go away. I looked through the window across from me to see all of the gray outside dissipating and the sun coming out to cast light on the trees and the streets, and yet the more I looked at it, the more it felt that all of the darkness and gloom had instead just found another place to exist and was making itself comfortable around me.

Chapter 2

I sat nervously in front of the computer, my eyes bolting and my teeth firmly holding my tongue in its place. Only three days had gone by since that frantic phone call, and yet it felt like it’d been three months. The fact that I’d only had about an hour’s worth of sleep the entire time was the last thing on my mind. All I could think about was the call with Dr. Abbasi.

I couldn’t really explain why, but I had this strange anxiety about speaking to her via video call. With her office being a few states away in Pennsylvania, she recommended teleconferencing sessions to allow for a face-to-face interaction. While it made sense in my head, it felt like the protection of anonymity that the phone had given me was being taken away. I knew I would have to be vulnerable, but coming from a strict Pakistani household, I wasn’t necessarily encouraged to wear my heart on my sleeve…at all. There were still about ten minutes before I was supposed to log in, and I realized how unprepared I both looked and felt. No notes, no pictures, no dressing up decent for a stranger like I was used to doing at home.

She’d sent me an email a few days ago with some breathing exercises to help me relax and some meditation techniques to try as well…which I hadn’t even opened. I didn’t really care. Alisha was the only thing on my mind, and Dr. Abbasi was going to be the first person to hear the whole story. Naturally, the never-ending void of questions began to overtake me.

She might just tell me I’m overreacting…everyone goes through heartbreak. Should I wait to tell her certain things or just spill everything? At the end of the day, she is Muslim…will she just give me the same information I could have been given by an imam? Just have faith and pray and it’ll go away with time

Eight o’clock.

The system prompted me with a view of myself in the camera before logging in, as is typical. What I saw frightened me; it was a weakened shell of a man who was used to smiling in pictures, standing upright and confident, and just being happy in general. The resting expression of sorrow on my face was only accentuated by my undone hair, red eyes, and slumped shoulders. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath and joined the call.

On the screen I saw Dr. Abbasi’s image (the same one that I saw on her website), before it switched to live. She couldn’t have been over forty; she had a youthful look. Fair skinned, petite and wearing a hijab, her presence embodied calming demeanor, almost as if she’d never raised her voice before; her temper never exceeded a mild simmer. She faced the camera and smiled.

"Assalamu alaikum, Shaan. How are you?"

Her voice was also quite even-tempered, and she spoke with a softness that fit with her persona. This woman was made to be a therapist.

Umm, I’ve been better, but pretty much the same since our phone call. I replied.

Have you been trying any of the breathing exercises or the meditations I sent you?

To be honest, my mind has gone to complete shit, and I haven’t even opened the email yet. I’m sorry, I can open it right now if you like and tr—

Don’t worry about it, Shaan, she quickly interjected, still smiling. "Those exercises are by no means a cure; they’re just a reminder to breathe.