Unbroken bonds

2

The apartment was small, but it was home. The front door opened directly into a modest living room, where the walls were painted a soft, milky white. The color, though simple, gave the room a gentle warmth that brightened the space. The furniture was minimal and functional—there was no fancy décor, nothing extravagant, but everything had its place. A worn-out couch, covered in a simple beige fabric, sat against the wall, its edges frayed from years of use. In the corner of the room stood a small wooden shelf, lined with a few old books and a vase that held dried flowers, their once-vibrant colors now faded to a muted brown.

There was no television, and the space lacked the usual distractions of technology. Instead, the walls were bare except for a single framed picture of Inaya and her daughter, Halima, hanging just above the couch. In the photo, they were both smiling—a rare moment of peace captured in time. It was a constant reminder of their bond, and whenever Inaya looked at it, she felt a quiet sense of pride.

The living room flowed into a tiny kitchen on the left. The countertops were chipped in places, and the cabinets had a few missing handles, but it was clean and organized. A small stove sat against the far wall, with a few pots and pans hanging from hooks overhead. The dishes were neatly stacked in a drying rack, and a single window above the sink allowed a sliver of sunlight to filter in during the day.

Through a narrow doorway off the living room was the bedroom, which was just large enough to hold a double bed and a small wardrobe. The bedspread was a simple, worn-out gray, but Inaya had placed a few soft pillows at the head, trying to make it feel cozier. At night, this was where she and Halima would lay, talking quietly before falling asleep, their conversations often filled with dreams of a better life.

Connected to the bedroom was the bathroom—a tiny space with just enough room for a shower, toilet, and sink. The tiles were plain white, and the mirror above the sink was small and slightly cracked, but it was functional.

Despite the apartment's lack of luxury, Inaya had done her best to make it a home. The smell of freshly cooked rice or soup often lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of laundry detergent from the drying clothes tucked away in the corner of the living room. There was always a sense of warmth here, not from what they had, but from the memories they created within these walls.

This wasn't the life Inaya had envisioned for herself, but it was theirs, and they made it work.

Halima was an exceptionally beautiful young girl with a light complexion that seemed to glow with youth and vitality, reminiscent of her mother, Inaya. Her slim, oval face was framed by soft, braided cornrows cascading around her shoulders, adding to her enchanting charm. Halima's wide, expressive eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief, capturing the attention of those around her.

Her cheeks were gently rounded, giving her a youthful softness without being chubby, with her husband dimples and her lips were full and naturally rosy, often breaking into a bright, infectious smile that could light up the room. She wore a simple yet colorful shirt and skirt that allowed her to move freely.

Halima's beauty was not only in her appearance but also in her warm personality and kindness, traits that made her a true reflection of her mother, Inaya. the only difference between her and Inaya is their skin color.

Halima was just eleven years old, but her mind worked like someone far beyond her years. She had always been sharp and observant, like her mother, Inaya. The slight change in her mother's tone the day before hadn't escaped her, and now the absence of her mother's usual routine—no work today—planted seeds of worry in her young heart. It was unlike her Umma. Even when sick, her mother was known to push through her day with resilience, never one to show weakness.