The sunlight washed over the flower field in long, golden ribbons—soft, warm, almost holy. After Habeel tickled the life out of the tiny girl, she lay gasping with laughter in the grass while he stood, brushing petals off his clothes.
He looked down at her—this mute, mysterious child who had burst into their lives like a spark—and said, voice gentler than the sky itself:
"Since you can't tell us your name… we should give you one. What should we call you?"
The girl nodded—vigorous, eager, almost glowing.
It was the first time she truly responded—truly connected.
Habeel lifted her effortlessly, raising her above his head the same way Rafiki held Simba, offering her to the world. Sunlight haloed her small face.
Then he looked at Ababeel.
Really looked.
With the softest smile she had ever seen touch his stubborn, monkey-faced features.
"Janneh," he said.
And in that moment, she looked like a piece of heaven placed in his palms.
He spun her around once, making her giggle, then gently set her onto the ground.
"Hide," he whispered, tapping her nose, "I'll come find you."
She gasped dramatically and darted into the flowers, her tiny figure swallowed by a sea of petals.
Habeel lowered himself back onto the ground, inhaling the warm breeze, eyes reflecting a calm he seldom allowed himself. Ababeel approached and sat beside him—not close enough to touch, but close enough to share air. He didn't look at her… but he didn't flinch away either.
It was something.
"I AM COMING!"
He shouted suddenly, giving Janneh her cue.
Then he lay back down again, giving her more time. The sunlight embroidered his face—tracing the strains of exhaustion, the shadows of pain, the lines carved by fear and guilt. For a fleeting second, with the flowers around him and the peace on his face, he looked like a man preparing his own burial.
Stop, Ababeel scolded herself.
He's resting. That's all.
He finally rose and ran after Janneh—charging into the flowers with a dramatic roar.
Ababeel, curious, slid onto the exact spot he had been lying in.
She let herself sink into the petals, closing her eyes, letting the same warm breeze roll over her skin.
For a moment, she understood.
For a moment, she felt the same fleeting peace.
Then:
"GOT HER!"
Habeel's triumphant shout echoed through the field.
He emerged holding Janneh upside down like a sack of potatoes. Her arms and legs flailed wildly, kicking the air.
Habeel cackled villainously.
"We have hunted a rabbit successfully. Let's head back and cook her—MUAHAHAHAHA!"
Janneh screamed in scandalised giggles.
Ababeel peeked her head above the flowers, catching his eye.
He froze.
Just for a second.
The sight of her lying where he had been—eyes soft, lips curved, hair kissed by sunlight—did something quiet inside him.
But he said nothing.
He simply set Janneh down.
And the girl sprinted straight toward Ababeel.
Twenty minutes later, Janneh had worn herself out—a tiny tornado reduced to a sleepy kitten. She climbed onto Ababeel's back, rested her head between her shoulder blades, and fell asleep instantly.
Ababeel staggered a little from the weight and the sleepless nights.
Habeel noticed immediately.
"Hand her to me," he said.
"But you're injured."
"I'm fine."
He glanced at her with a small, tired smile.
"I actually slept well last night. Thanks to you. And she's hardly eighteen kilos."
Ababeel hesitated… but she nodded.
Transferring the girl from her arms to his felt strangely intimate. Janneh clung to him instinctively—tiny fingers holding his shirt like he was something familiar, something safe.
Something father-like.
A flicker of jealousy flared sharp and sudden in Ababeel's chest.
She looked away quickly.
"I'm bad with directions," she muttered. "Where did we even come from?"
"That way," Habeel answered without hesitation.
"I remember where we parked."
They followed the narrow dirt path between the flowers until the forest swallowed them again.
After a stretch of silence, Habeel exhaled—deep, thoughtful.
"Trying to protect yourself is your right," he said quietly.
"Maybe I would've done the same."
Ababeel glanced at him.
He continued, eyes fixed on the path ahead:
"But killing isn't always the answer."
His grip on the sleeping girl tightened gently.
"It's a punishment. For you… and the one you give it to."
The wind whistled through the trees.
Ababeel absorbed his words—felt their weight, the ache behind them.
And side by side, with Janneh sleeping between them, they kept walking.