Chapter One: The Early Light

The story is purely a work of fiction.
In the name of Allah the Most Gracious the Most Merciful.

A smoky warmth hung in the air of the small kitchen as Amatullah stepped inside. The morning light, still pale, filtered through the open doorway, painting stripes across the dirt floor.

“Good morning, Umma,” Amatullah said, her voice respectful and soft.

Her mother, Umma, sat on a low, wooden stool beside the hearth. She was sifting grain in a wide, shallow bowl. The rhythmic scrape of the sifter was the only other sound.

“Good morning, my. . .