The therapist leaned forward, eyes narrowing, brow furrowed in a mixture of curiosity and confusion." So… did they let you guys in? Or not?"
Ababeel's lips pressed into a flat, firm line. Her fingers twisted in her lap, betraying a nervous tension she didn't voice."No," she said quietly. A beat passed, heavy and deliberate."Not directly."
Outside the gates, the waiting area was cold, the air tasting of dust and sleeplessness. Dawn had not yet broken, leaving the world suspended between night and morning. They sat on the hard bench, the cold seeping into their bones, and Ababeel found herself stealing glances at Habeel, as though she could read the story of survival written into the lines of his face.
Curiosity finally broke through her restraint."So… what did you even do all this time?"
Habeel exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together, attempting to chase away the chill. His eyes reflected the weight of memory, but also a faint glow of pride."Well…" He began, voice steady, controlled, though tinged with humility."Thanks to my father's instincts and awareness, he got the whole family to the outskirts. Reached here before everything went bad."
A small smile played on his lips, fragile but real."He worried about me… but he knew I'm stubborn enough not to die that easily."
Ababeel blinked, intrigued. "What about his job?"
Habeel shrugged lightly, an almost imperceptible shrug that carried years of consequence."He was close to retirement anyway. No one would've hired him after… well, everything. So, with whatever savings he had, he bought a small house… with a bakery attached."
Ababeel's eyes widened. "Bakery? What for?"
Habeel's face lit up like lantern fire."The cupcake you ate? I made it." His posture straightened, chest swelling with a quiet pride."My mother is a genius in the kitchen, so we opened a bakery for her. I started working there as her assistant. My father pays me at the end of each month, and I save for my studies. The rest goes to my siblings… and the house."
Ababeel's expression softened, admiration and warmth stirring deep inside her. The resilience of his family hit her like a quiet miracle."That's… sweet," she whispered, almost to herself.
He nodded gently. "When I was… miserable, my mother told me I could help make extra pastries. Take the leftovers to the orphanage at the end of the day. It made me feel… closer to Janneh."
Her chest tightened, her gaze lingering on him, protective instincts surfacing. She swallowed, then turned back to the therapist."So… when did they let you in, then?"
The memory came in slow, jagged waves, each detail sharp against the rawness of the moment.
They had waited until dawn the next day. The first pale stripe of sunlight touched the horizon when Sulaiman finally appeared through the gates, uniform slightly crooked, face unreadable."Commander calls for you two."
They stood, dusting off clothes stiff from the chill, and followed him through a labyrinth of tents and stacked crates. The camp buzzed with early-morning tension—boots thudding against dirt, radios crackling, someone shouting about missing supplies.
Sulaiman led them directly to Commander Ahmed's tent. Inside, the commander was already at work, organising papers with sharp, deliberate motions. The tent smelled faintly of dust and strong coffee, and the sunlight slanting in through the flap cast angular shadows over his face. His posture straightened as they entered; eyes narrowed, assessment sharpened."You came back."
Habeel swallowed, stepped steadily, and placed a small pastry box carefully on the commander's desk. Ahmed's eyes flicked down, then back up, slow eyebrow rising."What's this? A bribe?"
"No," Habeel said quickly, shaking his head. "I'm… sorry. For what I did last time. And I agree with what you did. I'm sorry."
Ahmed's expression remained carved in stone, unmoving. Hands folded behind his back, military precision in every line."I don't hold grudges. You may leave."
But Habeel leaned forward, voice urgent, almost pleading."No—wait! You said we would talk about the situation—"
"I didn't mean that," Ahmed cut in, voice flat. "And we did talk. Just now." He gestured toward Sulaiman, pinching the bridge of his nose, irritation already visible."Take them out. Don't bother me. I have too much to do. And… thanks for the cake. Distribute it among the boys."
Habeel's hands lifted, surrendering, voice barely contained."Wait—just listen, okay?"
Ahmed's lips twitched—a half-smirk, half-warning—as he glanced at Ababeel."She was right. You are stubborn as heck."
His expression hardened, eyes like knives."But I don't pity. Rules are rules. You may leave. Or else—"
"We will go if you listen for once!" Habeel interrupted, the determination in his tone like iron.
The commander's glare sharpened into something dangerously cold."Rewind his ankle monitor to four months. And put one on her too—since she dared to follow this hooligan's thinking."
Before Habeel could protest, Sulaiman let out a tiny, muffled chuckle. Barely a sound. Ahmed's gaze snapped to him like a loaded weapon; the fury was instantaneous. He stalked toward Sulaiman, jaw clenched, steps heavy as if shaking the very floor."DO I LOOK LIKE I AM JOKING, SERGEANT?!"
Sulaiman straightened instantly. "No, sir!"
"THEN?!" Ahmed's voice dropped to a deadly low, each word weighted."I didn't say anything because they are civilians. But you… You will pay dearly." He jabbed a finger toward the outside. "Give me twenty laps. After this. You're getting way too comfortable with me."
Sulaiman gulped visibly, confusion and terror swirling in equal measure."And if you still don't understand," Ahmed added sharply, "I'll put one on your ankle too. And if you run out, I swear I'll tase you myself. AM I CLEAR?!"
"Yes, sir!!"
Ahmed turned back to Habeel, studying him with a strange curiosity."What if she's already dead? All that risk for nothing? Am I right?"
Habeel glanced at Ababeel, eyes steady, unwavering, and then back at the commander."Dead or alive, she is ours to take. Besides… even if not her, we'll save the rest. God knows how many of them are in that… jail of a place."
Ahmed paused. The words hit him harder than any pastry ever could."Jail of a place," he muttered, pacing to his chair before sitting, fingers drumming. Finally, "Very well. You'll come with us. But you will not step out of the truck. If you do, I will punish you."
Habeel nodded so fast his hair bounced. "We won't come out until you say so. You have my word."
Ahmed's lips curled into something dangerous, yet impressed."I like you. I saw your application for entering the forces."
Habeel straightened, posture rigid. "I'll take you."
A pause. Ahmed's voice sliced through the tent like a blade: "But I'm not a lieutenant commander. I will break you."
He stood, hand slamming onto the desk with a resounding crack that made the table wobble."We leave in five minutes. Be by the trucks."
"Sulaiman!" he barked. The sergeant jumped."Yes, sir?"
"Don't mess up this time. I swear, I have all the headaches in the world because of you."
Sulaiman grabbed Habeel's hand and practically dragged them out, muttering hurried, panicked prayers under his breath.
And so their fate shifted—not with speeches, nor grand proclamations—but through pastries, stubborn hearts, and a commander who ran out of patience long before he ran out of care.