Zainaba, or rather Khairiyya, woke up in the hospital bed, her eyes fluttering open like delicate petals unfolding in the morning light. She marveled at the sight of the ceiling fan above, its gentle rotation casting a soothing spell in the room. Slowly, she turned her head to the left and noticed the IV drip connected to her hand, a subtle reminder of her current surroundings.

Her gaze then fell upon Ummi, her mother, who sat by her side, her fingers entwined with Zainaba's, as if tethering her to the warmth and love of family. Ummi had fallen asleep. . .