The night shift had left her drained.
Her name was Zia, a young woman in her early twenties, with tired eyes that still held a quiet strength.
She worked long hours, often returning home when the streets were silent and half-asleep.
Tonight was no different; her shoulder ached, her hair was messy from the day, and all she wanted was sleep.
When she stepped out of the hospital gates, the sight of her father's car waiting brought a small comfort.
He always made sure she never came home alone after late shifts.
She opened the door and slid inside, dropping her bag onto her lap with a weary sigh.
She didn't even notice that a boy sitting there sat back in the car! She leaned back and closed her eyes.
To her father and the boy, her avoiding shocked them.
The car rolled through the quiet streets, and before long, they reached home.
Her father leaned toward her and gently tapped her shoulder.
"We're home," he whispered.
She nodded sleepily, stepped out, and was inside without waiting.
Behind her, her father glanced at the boy, who stood by the car.
"Why are you just standing there?" he asked. "Go on, follow her."
Inside, she called out softly, "Mom, I'm home," before retreating straight to her room.
Her things landed carelessly on the bed as she slipped away.
The boy, a little hesitant, greeted her mother politely. "Hello, Aunty."
Her mother smiled warmly at him.
"Oh, hello! Please, come in.
And come in.
And you can call me Mom too," she replied before going into her own room.