The sun was already beating down on the sand-covered village, suffocating the wind in a dusty silence.
Nahia was drawing water from the well with her bare hands.
Her fingers were bleeding.
But she no longer paid attention.
The weight of the bucket was nothing... compared to what she carried inside.
A little farther away, Amaya played alone, crouched in the dust.
She traced strange shapes with small stones.
Only she knew what they meant.
Her long black hair hung in rough strands before her face.
She laughed softly.
But the laughter faded before it could even reach the wind.
— A throat cleared.
Nahia flinched.
Rokaya.
Draped in her black abaya, massive, still—like a statue of fury.
— "Hurry up, you wretch! You think the water will rise on its own?"
Nahia lowered her eyes.
Not a word.
She had learned that speaking was useless.
She no longer had a voice.
No place.
Only the duty to bend. To survive.
Since her parents' funeral, Rokaya had never accepted her.
She hadn't even tried to hide her disgust.
She had taken them in—Nahia and Amaya—like two burdens.
And in the dusty alleyways, whispers had bloomed:
> "The cursed girl."
"The witch with strange eyes."
And everyone believed it.
Everyone stepped back.
Even the children.
She had become invisible.
A breath.
A ghost.
Only Amaya remained.
Amaya—her little sister, her light.
Sometimes, Nahia caught her worried gaze.
Too young to understand, but sensitive enough to feel the loneliness.
So Nahia smiled.
A smile carefully crafted.
To keep the tears at bay.
Her left eye was a deep blue.
Her right, a pale green—almost unreal.
A difference that frightened people.
A strangeness that fed superstition.
---
Later, when everything had been cleaned, swept, folded…
Nahia slipped behind the house.
She sat under the thin shadow of a dried-out tree.
It was one of her sanctuaries.
No one ever came there.
She closed her eyes. Listened to the wind.
She saw again her mother's smile, her father's song.
The park. The laughter. The joy.
And the accident.
Everything had changed.
> If only she hadn't insisted that day…
Maybe they'd still be alive.
She felt tears rise, hot and bitter—
But a voice interrupted her.
— "Look, Nahia! A treasure!"
Amaya ran barefoot, holding a dusty seashell in her hand.
— "There must be a pearl inside," she added, eyes sparkling.
Nahia smiled.
She brushed a strand of hair from her sister's forehead.
— "It's beautiful," she whispered. "Just like you."
Amaya offered her the shell like one offers a crown.
Nahia held it to her heart.
It was nothing. A broken object.
But to them, it was a silent promise:
> One day, they would leave.
One day, life would be gentle.
---
Later that night…
The air was heavy.
The smell of sour couscous clung to the walls.
Rokaya ate slowly. Loudly.
Each bite was a declaration of superiority.
Nahia sat straight. Silent.
She could feel the hatred like heat against her back.
She hated this moment of the evening.
Everything felt fragile. Tense.
Amaya didn't understand it all yet.
But she watched.
She remembered.
Suddenly, Rokaya's spoon slammed against the table.
Nahia barely flinched. But she understood.
The storm was coming.
— "You can't even eat properly! You bring misfortune into my house!"
Amaya jumped this time.
She sought refuge in her sister's arms.
Nahia held her close, shielding her from their aunt's gaze.
— "It's nothing, sweetheart… We'll eat later, okay? It's just a bad moment."
Amaya nodded, trusting.
Too trusting.
Rokaya stared at them, frozen.
— "You deserve nothing. You're a curse. A burden."
But Nahia didn't react.
Not tonight.
She stood, took a piece of dry bread and a few dates.
She shared them with Amaya.
And in that tense silence, under the flickering glow of the lamp, she understood:
> She wasn't broken.
Not yet.
Something in her still burned.
A quiet hope.
Stubborn.
And one day, she could feel it—
Someone would come.
Something would change.
And maybe then…
The door would finally open.