Before Our Dawn| ongoing

twenty-six

Chapitre vignt-six
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As they left their apartment, Isra carried Sophie, her small, delicate hand clutching her mother's finger. The journey to work was a reflection of life in occupied Paris – a city burdened by a stifling sense of despair. Soldiers in crisp uniforms, their youth a stark contrast to the heaviness in their eyes, patrolled the streets with an air of arrogance that seemed to grow with each passing day.

Isra walked the familiar route to the tailoring shop, her steps measured, her head down. The city was a dangerous place for someone like her, an Algerian living in the heart of occupied France. She had learned to keep a low profile, to navigate the streets with caution, lest she draw unwanted attention from the occupying forces.

But today, as she passed by the same cafe where she had encountered the soldiers from yesterday evening, there was an unexpected sight that caught her by surprise. The young soldier who had intervened on that night, was seated at one of the tables, uniform crisp and appearance neat.

She had not expected to see him here, in this corner of her daily life. Nevertheless, she ventured on to work with Sophie. She didn't expect him to remember her either. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched and finally decided to peer over her shoulder. There, just inches away from her, he stood, his presence both startling and unsettling. How had he managed to catch up to her so quickly and with such stealth? His smile, though seemingly friendly, did little to quell the unease that tightened her chest.

For his part, he maintained the appearance of normalcy, as if their chance encounter was nothing out of the ordinary. "I'm glad to see that you're safe."

She wondered what had prompted him to seek her out once more, and why he had chosen this moment to do so. People would surely question why a German soldier was engaged in polite conversation with a woman such as herself.

Isra, her guard still firmly in place, regarded him with wariness and curiosity. "Why are you here?" she asked.

He sighed softly, his eyes briefly scanning the bustling streets of occupied Paris before returning to her. "I didn't want our last encounter to define our interactions," he admitted, his gaze meeting hers. "I wanted to make amends for the behaviour of my comrades that night. That's all."

Her brow furrowed as she considered his words. The memory of that night, with the drunken soldiers and the fear it had instilled in her, was still fresh in her mind. She couldn't deny the genuine remorse she saw in his eyes, but trust remained a fragile commodity in their uncertain world.

She chose not to reply to his attempts to make amends with words alone. Instead, she maintained her silence, her footsteps steady and resolute as she made her way to work. He continued to walk beside her, the sense of unease that had initially accompanied his presence gradually giving way to a more relaxed disposition. He even managed a small, friendly laugh as he noticed Sophie reaching out her hand again as if extending an olive branch of her own. Isra pushed her hand away. She couldn't afford to let Sophie get too close, not in a world where danger lurked around every corner.

"Your daughter seems to remember me," he remarked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Children have a way of remembering faces," she replied curtly.

He decided to shift the conversation, attempting to lighten the mood. "She is quite the charmer," he commented, his eyes returning to Sophie, who watched him with glee. "She resembles you. You're beautiful."

Isra felt a jolt of surprise at his compliment, her guard momentarily faltering. The unexpected praise caught her off guard, and she found herself momentarily at a loss for words.