Chapter Nine: When Morning Came
Morning arrived quietly, as if afraid to disturb what the night had spared.
Amira woke before the sun, her body stiff from sleeping on the floor beside Lina. For a moment, panic seized her again the memory of the open door, the letter, the fear but then she heard it. Lina's breathing. Soft. Uneven, but real.
She exhaled slowly, pressing her forehead to the cold floor.
You're still here.
Outside, the city stirred. Distant traffic. A door slamming. Voices rising and fading. Life went on, careless and loud, unaware of the war fought in silence behind cracked walls and drawn curtains.
Lina opened her eyes an hour later. Her face was pale, lips dry, but when she saw Amira, she smiled faintly. "You didn't sleep," she whispered.
Amira shook her head. "I didn't want to miss you breathing."
Lina reached out, her fingers weak but warm. "I'm not going anywhere."
They stayed like that for a long time, hands linked, letting the morning exist around them. For the first time in days, the rain had stopped. Sunlight crept through the window in thin, careful lines, touching the floor like a promise.
But safety was still an illusion.
By afternoon, Amira knew they couldn't stay. The apartment felt watched now. Every sound made her tense. Every knock—real or imagined—sent her heart racing.
"They know this place," she said quietly.
Lina nodded. She already knew.
They packed only what they could carry. Clothes, the little money they had left, the photograph of them taken years ago before the city hardened them. Lina hesitated before picking it up.
"We look so… untouched," she murmured.
Amira smiled sadly. "We were."
They left before sunset.
This time, they didn't run.
They moved carefully, deliberately, choosing crowded streets, blending into noise and movement. Amira kept her arm around Lina, steadying her when her steps faltered. Every few minutes, she glanced back, watching faces, memorizing shadows.
At the bus terminal, chaos worked in their favor. Vendors shouted. Children cried. Engines roared. Amira bought two tickets with shaking hands out of the city, far enough that names and memories would blur.
As they boarded, Lina leaned into her. "Do you think they'll follow?"
Amira looked ahead. "Maybe. But not forever."
The bus pulled away just as the sky darkened again, clouds rolling in like a familiar threat. The city receded behind them its lights flickering, its streets swallowing secrets it would never answer for.
For the first time, Amira allowed herself to cry.
Not loud. Not broken.
Just quiet tears that fell without shame.
Lina wiped one away with her thumb. "You're allowed," she said. "You've been strong too long."
Hours passed. Lina slept against her shoulder, her body light with exhaustion. Amira stayed awake, watching unfamiliar roads unfold, thinking of everything they had lost—and everything they still had.
They arrived before dawn in a town that smelled of dust and bread and possibility. It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't kind-looking. But it was quiet.
They found shelter in a small community center run by an older woman with tired eyes and a gentle voice. She didn't ask many questions. She rarely did.
"Stay as long as you need," she said, handing them blankets. "The world is hard enough."
That night, lying side by side on clean mats, Lina whispered, "Do you think this is the end of running?"
Amira stared at the ceiling, listening to the steady rain begin again. "No," she said honestly. "But maybe it's the beginning of living."
Weeks passed.
Lina's strength slowly returned. Amira found small work cleaning, carrying, anything honest. They learned the rhythm of the town, the safe streets, the faces that meant no harm.
The fear didn't disappear. It softened.
One evening, as they sat outside watching the sun dip behind low buildings, Lina spoke quietly. "They tried to erase us."
Amira nodded.
"They didn't."
"No," Amira said, squeezing her hand. "They didn't."
The past would always walk beside them. Trauma doesn't vanish it learns to coexist. But so did hope. So did love.
And as night settled gently around them, Amira realized something simple and powerful:
They were no longer just surviving the storm.
They were finally learning how to stand after it.