I’ve always known Aqidah didn’t want the disease to affect her life, but tonight showed me just how much she’s ignored her genetics. Does it not bother her to know she will break the hearts of everyone who was there tonight when she forgets them? Does it not tear her apart when she thinks about the fact that her husband will need to take care of a wife who will be nothing like the woman he met? Sure, when people get married, they say for better or for worse, but that’s when the worse is not expected, isn’t it? Not when they know with almost complete certainty that the worse will come, and fast.

My entire being ached while looking at them and their happiness, something so close yet so far.

Of course, we’d all rather live a nice, happy life like hers, but I don’t see how I could live with myself if I did this to someone like Aaron. Vivid are the memories of the countless times my mother shouted at me to leave her alone, of her telling me she didn’t know who I was and needed me to get out, or of the time she almost burned our house down by waking up at 3:00 a.m. with the urge to make grilled cheeses, then going back to bed without turning the stove off, forgetting all about her craving and the toast burning. I was so scared that night, the moment I made sure the flames were all under control, I ran to the bathroom and emptied my stomach multiple times in the toilet.

Alzheimer’s isn’t a cute disease. It isn’t only forgetting about your first elementary school crush’s name or the place you visited with your parents when you were five or the meal you ate for dinner yesterday. It’s agitation and aggressiveness and bursts of sadness that break the hearts of everyone around you. It’s not remembering how to braid your hair while looking at yourself in the mirror, and not realizing that when it is snowing outside, it means it’s winter. It’s looking at your husband but seeing a stranger. It’s forgetting how to speak, but weirdly remembering the lyrics to a song you knew decades ago. It’s shattered souls and broken hearts and sniffles hidden behind smiles.

So I can see why Aaron’s in a bad mood. I was in a bad mood too. It’s better now that I’m getting far away from it, at least. Going back to my place, where Aaron and I can be as close as we want and call it a friendship.

Once he parks in the back of my building, I unbuckle my seatbelt, then turn to him. He’s not exactly scowling, but there’s no sign of his casual, ever-present smile.