As Amara neared the end of her Master's degree, a quiet idea began to bloom inside her—an idea that felt like freedom. She would apply for a PhD scholarship abroad. Not just to escape, but to become whole again. The only thing that had carried her through the years was her thirst for knowledge, her hunger to become everything she needed for herself.
It was on another night—another storm of words in the house—when she finally spoke her plan aloud.
After suffering a crushing panic attack, Amara lay curled on the bed, breathing unevenly, while Leila sat beside her, whispering gentle reassurances. It had become a familiar scene—Leila listening, Amara breaking, and the quiet ritual of holding each other's pain.
As Amara poured her heart out, Leila offered soft replies to cushion her despair, trying to dispel the spiraling thoughts with fragments of hope.
But then something shifted in Leila.
In the stillness between Amara's sentences, a memory crept in, uninvited.
It was a simple day. Leila had come home from university completely exhausted, drained from everything—the lectures, the crowded commute, and the heavy silence that followed her everywhere. She had wanted to tell someone, just to be heard. Her friend had been upset with her over something small, and it had shaken her more than it should have.
She turned to Amara, hoping for comfort.
But Amara had looked away.
"I'm not feeling well," she had said, before disappearing into her room.
Leila had brushed it off, made an excuse in her head. Maybe she's tired. Maybe tomorrow.
But it happened again. And again. And again.
Even then, Leila never complained. She stayed by Amara's side through every high and low. Through every storm.
And now, as Amara's voice pulled her back to the present, Leila blinked and listened more closely.
"I've decided," Amara was saying. "I'm going to apply for a PhD abroad. If I get a scholarship, I'll go. It's my only way out."
Leila looked at her, surprised but not shocked. She saw it in her sister's eyes—a flicker of something she hadn't seen in years: will.
"You should do the same," Amara added. "You're graduating soon. Why stay here and keep drowning?"
Leila hesitated.
"What about Daim?" she said softly. "We can't leave him behind. He's... he's showing signs of depression. We both see it."
Amara paused, chewing on her lower lip. The thought hadn't occurred to her—at least not fully.
Leila continued, "He's not strong in academics, but maybe he could take a computer diploma—something practical. If we can help him secure a job in Dubai, we could ask Mama's uncle to take him in. At least then he'd have stability... and peace."
Amara nodded slowly. "That's a good idea. He needs a chance, too."
And just like that, a quiet plan of escape was born.
The next day, Leila shared the idea with a few close friends in class. To her surprise, they were overjoyed for her—encouraging her, pushing her forward with their full support.
For the first time in years, she felt seen—not as a caretaker, or a quiet survivor, but as a woman with potential.
Together, Amara and Leila began collecting the documents they'd need: transcripts, recommendation letters, proof of language tests. They didn't restrict themselves to one country—they would apply everywhere and choose whatever opportunity came first.
Then came the moment they feared: telling their parents.
But to their surprise, Zaman Ahmed and Ayesha Nasar supported them. Perhaps the parents who had once been too stuck in their ways had begun to realize the truth: their daughters deserved freedom. Deserved more. Deserved the dreams they themselves had been denied.
"We couldn't do it for ourselves," Zaman said quietly. "But maybe... maybe you will."
And in that moment, something cracked—not a fracture this time, but a door.
A first opening.
A way out.