Nahia and Amaya had walked for hours, following the dusty paths that led to the town's market.
The desert seemed to swallow them with every step, but they pressed on, driven by one vital need: to find shelter.
Once at the market, they melted into the bustling alleys full of smells and shouting.
They had almost nothing, barely a few coins hidden in the hem of Amaya's dress, and far too few certainties.
For three days, they wandered.
Under a light veil hiding their faces, they tirelessly walked the burning cobblestones, past stalls overflowing with spices, colorful fabrics, and vibrant fruits.
At nightfall, they sought refuge wherever they could — often under the shaky roofs of stables, on dusty piles of hay, praying not to be discovered.
Nahia held on to hope with fierce determination.
She scanned faces, corners, looking for that woman who, once, had shown kindness when no one else had.
The first day passed.
Then the second.
Anxiety grew slowly: what if she never returned? What if it had all been just a fleeting gesture, a passing illusion?
But on the third day, just as Nahia and Amaya were about to give up once more, their steps heavy with exhaustion, Nahia saw her.
She stood in front of a spice stand, a wicker basket on her arm, speaking calmly with the vendor.
Nahia's heart leapt in her chest.
Without thinking, she crossed the crowd, weaving through passersby.
She gently pulled back the veil from her head, revealing her face.
— Ma'am... she whispered, her voice trembling. Do you remember me?
The woman slowly turned her head.
Her eyes squinted, studying her for a moment, then lit up with recognition.
— Yes, I remember you, she replied softly. You're the girl the merchants refused to serve...
Nahia felt an immense weight lift from her chest.
She nodded, unable to speak for a few seconds.
Then, in a voice broken by emotion, she said:
— We... we need help. My sister and I. We have nowhere to go...
She swallowed hard, lowering her eyes briefly.
We were living with our uncle, but after a disagreement with his wife... they kicked us out.
A tense silence fell.
The woman looked at her, then turned her gaze to Amaya, still standing back, half-hidden behind a fabric stall.
She saw their faces, worn with hunger, fatigue, and worry.
A breath escaped her lips, like a silent prayer.
She gently placed a reassuring hand on Nahia's shoulder.
— Come, my child, she said simply. You and your sister. Come with me.
Nahia felt tears rising in her eyes, but she swallowed them with force.
It was not time to cry. Not yet.
They still had so much to overcome.
But for the first time in months… a door had just opened.
And, perhaps, a new life could begin.
Nahia held Amaya's hand tightly as they followed the woman through the winding alleys of the market.
The sun was setting on the horizon, drenching the city in a golden, stifling light.
They walked for a long time, their steps hurried, nervous.
Nahia kept glancing around, afraid at every moment to see an obstacle appear, a hand reaching to stop them, a familiar face from their past.
The woman walked at a steady pace, never once looking back.
She led them away from the chaos of the market into narrower, quieter streets, where the pink clay walls muffled even the faintest sound.
Finally, she stopped in front of a small wooden door worn by time.
She pulled a key from her basket, opened it, and let them inside.
The interior was simple, modest, but clean.
Tired cushions lay on the floor, an old water jar stood in one corner, and the smell of warm bread still floated in the air.
— Make yourselves at home, said the woman, gently closing the door behind them.
She pulled a curtain to block the view from the street.
Amaya, too tired to speak, collapsed silently onto a rug.
Nahia, straight as an arrow, remained standing, uncertain, almost suspicious despite the clear kindness of their hostess.
The woman watched them for a moment with eyes full of compassion, then disappeared into another room.
She soon returned with two steaming bowls of soup and a piece of bread.
Nahia hesitated.
Everything in her screamed caution.
But Amaya's stomach growled desperately, and fear finally gave way to necessity.
They ate in silence, savoring each bite like a treasure.
When their bellies were finally full, Nahia gently set her empty bowl down and looked up.
Her eyes met the woman's.
— Thank you... she murmured in a hoarse voice.
The woman gave a faint smile.
— My name is Amira, she said simply. You can stay here for a few days. But…
Her gaze hardened slightly.
You'll need to be discreet. Many here don't look kindly on outsiders.
Nahia nodded solemnly.
She understood.
She had always understood.
This life, their life, would be made of shadows and silence.
Until they found a truly safe place, they would have to blend in, hide their faces, weigh each step.
— Thank you, Madam Amira, said Nahia, her voice trembling but firm.
Amira stood up, took a few blankets from a dusty chest, and laid them near the girls.
— Sleep here. Tomorrow, we'll talk.
She blew out the oil lamp, letting the small house fall into a soft twilight.
Lying beside her sister, Nahia stayed awake for a long time, listening to the distant sounds of the sleeping city.
For the first time in a long while, fear wasn't a wall enclosing her.
There was a path.
Fleeting, fragile, but real.
She pulled Amaya close to her.
Tomorrow, perhaps everything would begin again.
But tonight… tonight, they had a roof.