3:Shadows and Light

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note: This chapter is a draft and has not been fully edited or proofread. Thank you for your understanding!

A week had slipped away like sand through Inaya's fingers, and each passing day weighed heavily on her. The silence of the house was an unwelcome companion, amplifying her worries as she returned from another fruitless job search. The sun hung high in the sky, but shadows seemed to close in around her. Maman Jamila's suggestion of starting a small business lingered in her mind—a flicker of hope that felt too fragile to grasp.

As she entered the house, a stillness greeted her. Halima should have been home by now, her laughter filling the space like music. Inaya's heart sank—she had warned her daughter countless times not to be alone in the house when she was not at home. With a sigh, she made her way to their room, where she found her daughter curled up on the bed. The soft rise and fall of her chest brought momentary relief, but that relief was tinged with concern.

"Halima," she called softly, hoping to rouse her. The room was dim, a stark contrast to the bright world outside.

"Na'am?" Halima's voice was sleepy, but something heavy lingered in her tone. She blinked slowly, as if trying to shake off a dream that still clung to her.

Inaya sat down on the mat, her mind spiraling with anxiety. Halima's school fees loomed like a storm cloud, and the weight of the rent pressed on her shoulders. She had always found comfort in the strong voices of their community, voices that had guided her through the darkest times. But now, hope felt distant, like an echo fading into silence.

They shared a plate of leftover suran tuwo, the familiar taste a reminder of better days. But as they ate, Inaya couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Halima's usually bright eyes seemed dim, and her silence pressed down on Inaya's heart like a stone.

"Halima," Inaya ventured cautiously, glancing sideways at her daughter. "Are you okay? You've been so quiet lately." Her voice was steady, but inside, her thoughts raced, searching for answers.

"Yes," Halima replied, but her gaze fell to the plate, avoiding her mother's eyes. That one word felt heavy as if it carried all the unspoken worries Halima was too afraid to voice.

"I don't believe you." Inaya's voice softened. "You've been like this since yesterday. Are you feeling sick?" She leaned in, her concern bubbling to the surface despite her effort to remain calm.

"I'm fine, Mom," Halima murmured, though Inaya could hear the undercurrent of worry in her tone. "I just... I don't like seeing you like this."

Inaya paused, her hand hovering in mid-air. The world seemed to tilt as Halima's words pierced through her carefully constructed facade. Her heart ached. She had always tried to protect her daughter from the weight of their struggles, but now, the truth was slipping through the cracks.

"Haliebee, my darling," Inaya said softly, her voice filled with warmth. "I'm fine, okay? You don't need to worry about me, kinji?"

Tears welled up in Halima's eyes, reflecting the vulnerability Inaya had tried so hard to shield her from. "I don't like seeing you sad," she whispered, her smile strained as she pushed her food around the plate.

Inaya took a deep breath, fighting the tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. "I'm just stressed, sweetheart," she said, forcing a smile despite the tension in her chest. "I promise I'll be okay once I've had some rest." The smile trembled at the corners of her lips, betraying the truth. How could she let Halima see the cracks beneath her surface?

"You've grown up so much," Inaya added, attempting to lighten the mood. "Now you can tell when I'm not okay, huh?"

A fragile smile spread across Halima's face, breaking through the tension. For a brief moment, the weight of their worries seemed to lift, as if they had shared an unspoken understanding.

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