The fire crackled softly, casting warm, wavering light across the worn blankets and scattered supplies. Dawn seeped slowly into the sky, melting the night into pale gold, brushing the olive trees with hesitant fingers of light. Habeel had slumped against the truck wall hours ago, exhaustion finally winning over, head tilted, arms folded, mouth slightly open in a way he would deny ever happened. I had tucked a blanket carefully around Janneh, letting him sleep while the first morning warmth teased its way into the truck.
A low groan rumbled from him, soft, then sharper, as he stirred. Eyes fluttering open, confusion crossed his face for a moment—then, in an instant, he was alert, muscles taut.
"Everyone alive?" His voice was rough, edged with lingering panic.
I offered a faint smile, the corners of my lips trembling despite myself. "Shockingly… yes."
He stretched, letting the tension in his limbs ease just slightly before climbing out of the truck. The early morning chill bit at his skin, turning his breath into small clouds. He moved instinctively, gathering wood—dragging branches, breaking sticks, stacking them neatly. The rhythm was methodical, almost ritualistic, like a soldier performing a drill by muscle memory. I watched him from the truck doorway, quiet, amazed. He crouched to spark the fire, small flames leaping greedily, and a grin spread across his face—childlike, triumphant, almost unbearably alive.
"Look at this. I can make a fire now. Your wilderness-nerd skills are rubbing off on me."
I gasped loudly, flinging my head out. "HABEEL!"
He straightened so fast it was comical. "What—are you two okay?!"
I held up a small jar with a triumphant flourish. "I found coffee!"
His eyes shone brighter than the morning flames. "Really?!"
"Yes!" I said, voice tight with a mixture of relief and delight.
"Blessed. We are BLESSED. Give me two cups!"
"Why two?" I asked, squinting.
He puffed out his chest, full of self-importance. "Our supplies won't last. We have no idea when we'll find a camp or allies. So…" He pointed toward the dense forest beyond the clearing. "I think I should go hunt a rabbit or something."
My stomach lurched. "You can hunt?!"
He shrugged, casual as a man strolling through a garden. "Kind of. My father took me hunting when I was really small… so yeah, I can try."
I rolled my eyes, brewing the coffee. "Try not to trip over air while you're at it."
He threw back his head, rolling his eyes dramatically. "At least I'm not a dwarf. And camels trip because their feet are flat—science, Ababeel."
"You're calling yourself a camel now?"
"Better than being a hobbit."
I flicked a spoon at him, laughing softly. He ignored it, sipping the hot coffee like it was sacramental.
"You know… we really got lucky yesterday."
I paused, sensing the shift in his tone. "How?"
He inhaled slowly, a shadow passing over his features. "After walking for an hour and a half, I found a car. Two people inside. I thought they'd help…"
My stomach dropped into my boots.
"So that's how you found fuel?"
He nodded, the warmth of the morning vanishing from his face. "When I got close… they were shot dead. Probably running, like us. Someone got to them first."
Janneh wobbled from the truck, small hands clinging to my legs, sleep still heavy in her eyes. I hugged her close, feeling her tiny body shake against mine, while Habeel continued, voice low, heavy.
"But their car had three full gas cans." He paused, frown awkward and bitter. "I… reconsidered my life choices for thirty minutes… said my sorries… and took them."
I stared. "You apologised… to corpses?"
He glared over his cup, the faintest twitch of humour in his tension. "They won't need the gas anymore. And manners matter."
I couldn't help laugh, half-horrified. Janneh tugged at his pant leg, pointing at the knife on his belt. He sighed, scooping her up and seating her beside him.
"You're not getting the knife, tiny menace. But I'll teach you something." He handed her a small twig. "Look—the knife goes away from you. Press, then shave it down. Like sharpening a pencil."
His movements were careful, slow, precise. Janneh's eyes sparkled with focus, mirroring the joy of a child learning a secret trick. He demonstrated once more, then stood, brushing off dirt and leaves.
"Alright. I'll go look for food. Stay here. Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't—"
"Just go," I interrupted, cutting him off before he could spiral into his overprotective panic.
He grumbled, muttering, and disappeared into the trees.
Two hours passed in anxious silence. The forest held its breath with him. Not a rabbit. Not a bird. Nothing. The dry crackle of twigs under his boots was the only sound. Just when he was ready to surrender, to admit defeat, he saw it.
A deer.
He froze, heart hammering. Every instinct is screaming. One step forward, then another… the deer bolted.
"Hey—!" he shouted, sprinting after it, branches slapping his body, leaves scratching at his skin.
Then—a sound that tore his chest open. Children crying. Small, terrified wails carried by the wind like fragile glass.
Habeel stopped. Breath caught. He pivoted, tracking the voices through the thick underbrush, heart hammering.
Ahead loomed a building: concrete, barbed wire, high-security gates. Soldiers dragged two children inside, helpless, struggling against iron and brute force.
His fists clenched so tight the knuckles whitened. "Stealing them… tearing them from homes. Animals." His voice was low, venom simmering, rage coiling like a spring.
He had nothing to offer—no gun, no cover—but fury sharpened every sense. His shoulders were rigid, mind racing with strategies, threats, plans—anything. Anything to keep them safe.
Branch after branch cracked beneath his boots as he retreated toward the clearing, already rehearsing lies about the deer, excuses to cover his failure.
But when he emerged from the trees—
Ababeel stood at the back of the truck, hands pressed to her mouth, trembling violently.
"What happened?!" Habeel's voice rose, cracking with alarm.
She pointed, shaking, toward the front of the truck.
He turned—and his breath froze in his chest. Eyes widening, pulse hammering like a drum in his ears, colour draining from his face.
"…Ya Allah…" he whispered, voice breaking under the weight of fear, dread, and unspoken terror.
The world had shifted again, in a heartbeat, and for a moment, all else ceased. The forest, the morning, the fragile warmth of fire—all of it seemed to pause, holding its breath with him.