God's way

Part 20

The next morning, Saturday, I woke up to the sound of birds outside my window and the soft light creeping through the curtains. I rolled over, my body still tired but my mind wide awake. Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I unlocked it, squinting a little at the screen in the early morning light.

There was a message.

Hi, it's Nabil. I was just wondering if you're okay.

I stared at the message for a moment, trying to shake off the lingering feelings of yesterday. My heart still ached from everything that had happened, but I knew I had to answer him. He had been kind to me, and despite everything, I appreciated it.

I typed back quickly: 

I'm fine, thank you for checking in. And thank you for helping me yesterday.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment longer, but I didn't know what else to say. I didn't want to overthink it or drag the conversation on when I didn't really have the energy for it.

He didn't respond after that.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a strange, quiet calm. It had been two whole days since I had heard anything from Sayjan. Two days of silence. The weight that had been crushing my chest, the constant fear of what he might do next, was starting to lift, but not entirely.

I still felt the tightness in my stomach whenever I thought about him, like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the longer the silence stretched, the more I began to hope—maybe he was finally starting to back off. Maybe he'd realized how far he had pushed things.

Still, I couldn't shake the unease. The fear had sunk so deep into my bones that even with the silence, I couldn't relax fully. I knew better than to believe it was over. It wasn't that simple.

I put my phone down, feeling the weight of the day ahead of me. I didn't know what was coming, but for now, I needed to take a breath and try to enjoy the small moments of peace that had returned to my life, even if just for a short while.

The sound of laughter from downstairs reached my ears, and for a moment, I paused. It was the familiar sound of family, filling the house with warmth and life. I smiled to myself, remembering that Armin, Zina, and Zeynep were here. It felt good to have them around.

I quickly got dressed and brushed through my hair, hurrying downstairs. The smell of breakfast greeted me as soon as I reached the kitchen. My grandmother was busy at the stove, moving with the same gentle grace I had known my whole life. I felt a small sense of comfort in the simple routine of it all.

"Good morning, Jedda," I said as I entered the kitchen, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

She turned to me, her face lighting up with that familiar warmth. 

"Sabah el khir ya binti," she said, calling me "my girl" in Darija. 

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, her voice soft, her accent thick and loving.

"Yes. It wonderful," I replied, feeling the warmth of her presence.

"Alhamdulillah," she said,  as she turned back to the stove. She was always so humble, no matter what.

I walked into the living room, where the rest of my family was. Armin and Zina were sitting on the couch, talking quietly with Sahmir. My little brother Malik and my mother were on the floor, playing with Zeynep, who giggled as Malik made silly faces at her. It was nice seeing them so happy, especially Zeynep, her baby laughter echoing in the room.

I sat down next to Sahmir on the couch, leaning back into the cushions and letting out a deep breath. I didn't feel the need to talk much. They were all just there, and that felt like enough. The TV played in the background, the Italian news droning on, but I barely noticed it. It wasn't important. What mattered was the people around me—the ones who didn't know everything I was going through but were still here for me.