Jamil drops Kalim's wrists and presses his lips into a thin line, feeling frustrated--at which of them in particular, he isn't sure. It's easy to lose patience at Kalim's casual insistence of we, we, we--but clearly Jamil can't claim that's presumptuous anymore when he's now the one desperately holding the door open. So what is it?
It feels like there's something stuck in his chest that he can't dislodge. That feels like it might kill him if he tries. Is it just him? Is it that grueling to admit that he might be the problem? That maybe he'll never be ready to leave a familiar hell for a terrifying unknown?
"I don't know if I can..." he says. It trails off like a thought half-finished. He makes himself start over, struggling to form words out of the emotions that fill his throat like stones, rough and heavy and suffocating. He still can't look at Kalim. He feels strangely dizzy and disconnected; almost like he's falling while sitting still. "I don't know how to change. Maybe I can't change."
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It feels like there's something stuck in his chest that he can't dislodge. That feels like it might kill him if he tries. Is it just him? Is it that grueling to admit that he might be the problem? That maybe he'll never be ready to leave a familiar hell for a terrifying unknown?
"I don't know if I can..." he says. It trails off like a thought half-finished. He makes himself start over, struggling to form words out of the emotions that fill his throat like stones, rough and heavy and suffocating. He still can't look at Kalim. He feels strangely dizzy and disconnected; almost like he's falling while sitting still. "I don't know how to change. Maybe I can't change."