The dull sound of the crash still echoed in her nightmares.
A scream.
The harsh screech of brakes.
Then silence. That dreadful silence—heavier than a thousand thunderclaps.
Nahia's eyes flew open, her breath ragged. Her heart pounded in her chest like it was trying to escape.
Sweat soaked her forehead. Her hair clung to her clammy skin, making her feel like she was suffocating.
Outside, dawn painted the desert in a blood-red glow. A cruel light. Mocking.
Thirteen years.
Thirteen long years since everything fell apart.
But some wounds never heal.
She sat up slowly on the rough mattress laid directly on the floor. Her sore muscles protested, but she ignored them.
Beside her, Amaya was still asleep. Her thin face looked peaceful—almost childlike—despite the hunger.
Nahia reached out and gently brushed a strand of her black hair. An instinctive, protective gesture.
Her little sister had grown so much. Eighteen now. A quiet, gentle young woman, far from the giggling girl she used to be.
But the past... the past always lingered between them. A stubborn fog.
The memory of an amusement park.
Joyful laughter.
Soap bubbles floating in a summer sky.
The sun warm against her skin.
And her mother's hand—soft and reassuring.
Then... the void.
Since that night, their life had been a slow descent into oblivion.
The village they had taken refuge in was no sanctuary.
Hidden deep in the eastern desert, it felt frozen in time.
Adobe houses. Dusty alleys beaten by scorching winds.
Here, life stretched like a long, muffled cry.
Thirst. Hunger. Distrust.
They lived under the roof of Ahmed, their uncle. A dry, regretful man who hid behind cowardly silence whenever it came to them.
But it was his wife, Rokaya, who ruled the house.
And Rokaya... hated Nahia.
From the moment they arrived, she made it clear. Heavy glances, biting words, sharp gestures.
— "If you hadn't been so spoiled, if you hadn't wanted your stupid party… they'd still be alive," she whispered, venomous.
Then she spoke. To the neighbors. The elders. The young mothers.
She said Nahia brought bad luck.
That she lured death.
That she was a witch disguised as an innocent girl.
In this village consumed by fear and superstition, that was all it took.
The glances became evasive.
Doors shut as they passed.
Children avoided their path.
They became shadows.
Ghosts among the living.
Every morning, Nahia rose before dawn.
She fetched water from the well.
Avoided the eyes.
Avoided the words.
The few coins she earned washing clothes or sweeping courtyards barely bought some bread, a few dates for Amaya.
But she endured.
For Amaya. Always for Amaya.
Her sister didn't know the full extent of what Nahia endured. She wanted to protect her. Let her believe that maybe, someday, things would change.
Sometimes, at night, Nahia would climb to the highest dune.
Up there, the world felt distant. Blurred.
The warm wind swept her hair.
The sky above exploded with stars.
She would whisper her memories.
Her father's deep voice.
Her mother's crystal laughter.
Shreds of love, snatched from oblivion.
But sometimes, another voice slipped in.
Rokaya's.
— "It's your fault. Always your fault."
So Nahia squeezed her eyes shut. Until her breathing drowned out the whispers. Until the tears dried.
The desert buried everything.
Dreams.
Cries.
Hope.
And yet…
Somewhere inside her, a spark endured.
A tiny flame.
An instinct to survive.
A silent dream of escape.
She didn't know it yet…
But fate was about to strike again.
And with it… a man would appear.
A man with a storm in his eyes.
A man with a soul in ruins.
A man who, without knowing it…
Would change everything.