You watched me eat pomegranate in front of the television and asked me if I liked the fruit. Through chewing and spitting out the seeds, I mustered up the words “Obviously”. The next day, 6 pomegranates appeared in our fruit basket.

Pomegranates are hard to eat; you have to dig into them with your fingernails and scoop out each seed one by one. So, I let them rot.

You yelled at me—understandably. Well, I didn’t understand it then. I figured you were just being irrational, yelling at me like you always seemed to. Sometimes, it felt like I only heard you speak when I needed to be scolded.

But a few days later—after I got home from class—I found a bowl of neatly prepared pomegranate seeds waiting for me in the fridge. Mama told me you’d cut it for me.

Every night, we always had dinner as a family. Breakfast was a free-for-all since we all woke up at different times, and lunch rarely happened together. But dinner? Mama made sure it was non-negotiable. Few excuses were ever acceptable to miss it.

I always tell people I have a big family, though five people doesn’t sound massive. It’s the size of our personalities that fills every inch of silence and empty space. Well, except for yours.

We yell, argue, and debate about every topic under the sun, forcing our opinions onto one another in ways no outsider would find acceptable. Not you though; I’m not too sure where you stand on most things.

Our dinners swing between heated arguments and uncontrollable laughter, emotions spilling out in every direction. But your face is always straight. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you weigh in. You’re always there, sitting with us, but it’s rare to see you even glance up from your plate. For a long time, I thought you hated those dinners.

That was—up until—we missed three in a row.

It was no one's fault, we’re all busy people. School, work, and everything in between. Life gets in the way. Of course, you didn’t tell us it bothered you; Mama had to. She had to sit us down and let us know you weren’t happy.

Before I knew it, we were back to our regularly scheduled programming the next evening. We ate Lebanese food that you trekked through -60 degree weather to pick up for us. You knew it was our favourite.

We were in Pakistan when I got accepted into university abroad. It took months to decide whether or not the cross-continental move was meant for me. With hours of research and enduring what felt like a thousand opinions, Mama and I were trying to figure it out. I made lists and spreadsheets. I can’t even count how many times Mama stressed about money. There wasn’t much input from you though.

As much as I expected your silence, this felt like a bigger deal. I was moving away, potentially forever, and I needed to get a read of what was on your mind. For a fleeting moment, I thought you didn’t care.

Then Mama—the bridge between every interaction we’ve ever had—let me in on a secret:

“Ayla, he won’t tell you, but his heart is sinking.”

And suddenly, things started to make sense. When I first broke the news, there was nothing but a blank expression on your face. You were trying to show me something. Every time the conversation of me leaving was brought up, you’d walk away on your phone, acting disinterested. You were trying to show me something. Even now, as I’m gone, you send me a million WhatsApp videos a day. You're still trying to show me something.

I don’t watch those videos; I don’t have time. They’ve eaten up almost half my iPhone storage and I’m pretty sure a few have given my phone a virus. But I’ll never delete them. They represent something you’re trying to show me; something you’ve always tried to show me.

Love doesn’t always need to be verbalized, and if anyone taught me that it's you. Sometimes love is about shovelling the snow off the driveway so your precious daughter and wife don’t have to touch the cold. Sometimes it’s driving me wherever I need to go since I couldn’t be bothered to get my license. Sometimes it’s offering to buy me all the textbooks I want and need for uni. Dad—thank you for the offer—but everything is online now.

Love with you—more often than not—is that steady, comfortable feeling I always have when I know you're around. Even though you may appear cold to an outside eye, I feel nothing but warmth near you. With every pomegranate you cut, dinner you sat through, and WhatsApp video you send my heart grows fuller. I see exactly what you’ve been trying to show me, and I’m sorry it took as long as it did. I promise—moving forward—I’ll look harder.