Under the Sun

Chapter 1

He'd never be ashamed of where he was from. But then again, where was young Malik from truly?

His childhood was a good one. Luckily being born and raised in Jerusalem just like his mother and uncle. To have a kind childhood as they had. No doubt in his mind, Malik had been blessed in life, even without his father there to guide him. Or so he liked to believed.

No, perhaps his father had never physically been there to witness him grow, but he was always present. Always guiding.

Although, that had not always been the case. At least not at first.

His mother very rarely, if ever, spoke of his father.  Malik knew nothing of him, only that he’d been named in his honor. It didn't feel like much of an honor at first. He knew only the name of a stranger. Had he purposely left them? Abandoned his small family?

What did he look like, sound like? Never ending questions blossomed through his mind.

When he grew desperate enough, the small seven-year-old could only imagine as best he could who his father was. On nights he could not sleep, Malik created an image of his father.

He must have been strong. Stronger than anyone else, every child sees their father as such after all. Tugging at his own curly strands, Malik concluded he must have had such dark, thick hair. Blacker than anything else in the world, and combed neatly atop his head. Age had caught up to him, perhaps around the time young Malik was born, his father's hair, surely scattered with gray and white strands. His skin giving away to wrinkles yet a lovely dark, tanned color from walking outdoors all day.

Malik could only imagine his father. If he was correct, that was a different matter. He would have had a deep voice. Soothing enough to have won over his mother’s heart but deep, scolding to those who deserved it. Perhaps he was a happy man.

No, who was he kidding? He could not have been. If his father were a happy man, he would have stayed. He would have raised Malik and they would have lived together as a proper family.

If his mother’s hidden smiles held any truth, it was that she had been made a delighted woman by his father during their time together. That he was sure of.

Every evening, the lovely Amani sat outside their home, her hair loose from its usual tight braid. Often adorning her scarves with beads or fixing any tears in young Malik's clothing as well as his two cousin's and uncles’.

He was not supposed to know, she did it out of sight, but Amani often wept for her husband. She’d loved him once; it was clear as day. Hidden nearby, Malik watched as his mother gazed into the horizon each evening, lost in all the ways a person could be lost.

In the future, Malik would realize the only shame was in his hesitance to accept a fate much like her own.

But where had his father gone?

His mother was beautiful. Timid, self conscious but strong underneath her soft exterior. She was firm whenever needed. It wasn't difficult trying to imagine why his father fell in love with her. It would be impossible not to. Malik believed his mother to be an angel sent from the heavens. Even dressed in simple clothing, Amani radiated warmth and such strength.

The real question was why she had fallen for his father.

To distract himself, Malik often played out in the dirt with his two cousins during the day. Rahim was eldest only by a single year, Ilma being two years younger than Malik himself. His uncle spent his day in the markets, selling or trading the cloths his mother adorned while she prepared their evening meal inside, often humming to herself. Malik never cared much for his uncle. He spoke very little apart from mumbling to himself or Malik's mother, his own wife having succumbed from an illness years prior. He was never quite the same man as he was before then. But still, he was not an angry man. The same could not be said for his son.