"Do you think she's still alive?" Soufiane asked, his voice low, almost swallowed by the wind. His eyes darted to Amal, reading her tension.
"She has to be," Amal replied, jaw tight, eyes forward. "Meriem… she's strong. I have to believe that." Her words carried the weight of faith and fear intertwined, a fragile balance that Soufiane understood all too well.
Hours passed in tense silence. The outskirts of Casablanca faded, replaced by charred fields and empty roads. The familiar buildings of Berrechid emerged in the distance, fewer and scarred by fire and destruction. Amal's pace quickened, her eyes scanning frantically. Every damaged doorway and shattered window was a question mark, every abandoned car a possible danger.
Finally, they arrived at a partially destroyed house at the end of a quiet street. Amal stopped, taking a sharp breath. "This is it," she whispered. Soufiane nodded, aware of the tension radiating from her.
Inside, the house told the story of life abruptly ended. Furniture lay overturned, walls bore scorch marks, and remnants of a family's existence were scattered like broken memories. Dust floated in motes, disturbed by their careful steps. Amal's gaze swept the room, stopping at the corner where a shadow moved.
"Meriem?" Amal called softly, her voice trembling.
A young woman, thin and disheveled, stepped into the weak light filtering through a broken window. Her eyes widened, recognition sparking instantly. "Amal?"
Tears welled in Amal's eyes. She rushed forward, arms wrapping around her sister in a fierce embrace. "I thought I lost you too," she whispered, her voice choked.
Meriem clung tightly, shaking, her face pressed to Amal's shoulder. "I thought… I thought everyone else was gone…"
Amal's lips pressed into a hard line, a mixture of relief and lingering sorrow. "They are. But we're alive, and that's what matters."
Soufiane stood slightly apart, watching, feeling the weight of the reunion settle over the room. The journey had exacted a heavy toll—fear, exhaustion, and grief—but hope, fragile and fierce, lingered between the sisters. Their bond seemed to light the dim, charred space, a reminder that even amid chaos, humanity persisted.
He glanced at the ruined streets outside, at the broken homes and distant smoke rising against the dawn sky. Survival wasn't just about avoiding the infected, outrunning chaos, or scavenging what little remained. It was about holding onto the people who mattered. It was about protecting fragile connections, even when the world tried to destroy them.
Amal pulled Meriem close, whispering words of comfort, small promises of safety and persistence. Soufiane approached slowly, offering a hand to steady them both as they stepped outside. The morning sun, pale and muted through the lingering smoke, illuminated the trio. It was a brief moment of calm, a fragile oasis before the storm of the outside world reasserted itself.
"Let's move," Soufiane said quietly, determination threading his tone. "We can't stay here. The city's still burning, and danger is everywhere."
Amal nodded, Meriem's hand tightly clutching hers. Together, they set off, stepping carefully through the rubble-strewn streets. Each movement, each breath, carried both caution and hope. Survival was no longer just an instinct—it was a mission of connection, of finding and protecting the fragments of life that had endured.
As they disappeared into the shadowed streets of Berrechid, Soufiane realized the truth: even in a world overrun with darkness, holding onto the ones you loved was a rebellion. And this small victory, the reunion of two sisters, felt like a light in the consuming shadows.