Since their arrival in Italy, an unexpected calm had settled around Nahia. Giulietta's house, with its ivy-covered walls and windows opening onto a small garden, offered her what she hadn't had in a long time: a refuge.
Every morning, Amaya, radiant with life, would gently place her hand on her sister's still discreet belly.
— "What do you think he wants to eat today?"
— "Maybe strawberries… or pancakes."
— "I think he wants mangoes!"
Giulietta, preparing breakfast, laughed softly:
— "A baby that demanding will be a little king!"
The days resembled one another, yet never felt monotonous. There were morning walks through the orange-tree-lined streets, trips to drop Amaya at school, hours spent in Giulietta's shop where Nahia handled orders, her heart in standby mode.
Far from the turmoil of her past life, she was slowly relearning how to exist.
The nights, however, remained restless. She fell asleep with her hand on her belly, whispering silent promises to the life growing inside her. Sometimes, she dreamed of Assad—his looks, his silences, the fire beneath his skin. Other times, she woke with a pounding heart, caught again by fear, doubt, and memories.
But every morning, Amaya was there. And Giulietta too. And this life within her, invisible to the world, became her quiet strength.
---
One stormy evening, while Amaya slept soundly, Nahia and Giulietta lingered in the kitchen, steaming cups in their hands. Rain drummed softly against the windows.
— "Do you still think of him?" Giulietta asked, directly.
Nahia nodded.
— "Every day. But I don't regret it. It was necessary."
— "Sometimes, leaving is the only way to protect yourself."
The silence that followed had the softness of mutual understanding. Giulietta knew some wounds could never be mended with words.
---
Three months passed like this.
Amaya blossomed in her fashion studies, bringing home sketches each day, vivid and overflowing with color. Giulietta ran the shop like a small kingdom. And Nahia, despite her wounds, learned to breathe again, to find a measure of peace.
She spoke little of herself, even to Amaya. Some truths remained buried, still too fragile or too painful to share. She preferred to listen, observe, rebuild in silence.
The sun finished bathing the garden in its warm glow. Sitting on the stone steps of the little house, Nahia held her phone to her ear, breath unsteady. The scents of mint and figs drifted in the air. Inside, Amaya hummed while polishing a fashion assignment. Giulietta simmered soup in the kitchen.
It was only the second call she had made since their arrival in Italy. And yet, Amira had always been there, like a lighthouse. Tonight, Nahia had needed that beacon.
— "Hello?"
Amira's voice, familiar and warm, crossed the distance but cracked almost immediately.
— "Nahia? Is that you?"
— "Yes… it's me."
A silence fell, followed by Amira's trembling breath, then a muffled sob.
— "Do you know I thought something had happened to you? That I would never see you again?"
— "I'm sorry…" Nahia murmured, her throat tight. "So sorry I didn't call you sooner…"
— "I thought you had forgotten me."
— "I will never forget what you did for us. Never. But I needed time. I was afraid… that if I spoke to you, I would break."
A gentler silence settled between them. Then Amira spoke again:
— "How are you?"
— "We live quietly here. Giulietta is very kind to us. Her shop is a few streets from the house, I help her every day. Amaya has started her classes. She comes home in the evenings with arms full of drawings. And me… I'm trying to breathe differently, to rebuild myself."
— "That's already a lot."
— "And you, how are things there?"
— "It's not the same. Your presence is missing. For me. And especially for Yasmina."
Nahia lowered her eyes. The name Yasmina still stirred something inside her.
— "She… is she well?"
— "She's sad. She talks about you almost every day. She waited for you, you know. She believed you would change your mind, come back."
— "I had no choice… Amaya's future depended on it."
Amira sighed softly, then, more hesitantly:
— "Nahia… may I ask you something?"
— "Yes…"
— "What happened between you and Assad?"
Nahia's heart skipped a beat. Her fingers tightened against her dress.
— "Why are you asking me that?"
— "Because after you left, he summoned me to his office. He asked where you were. He was… shaken. Different."
— "He asked you questions?"
— "Yes. He wanted to know if I knew where you had gone. I had never seen him like that."
Nahia lowered her eyes, her voice breaking slightly.
— "Something happened between us, Amira… something too strong to be ignored. We crossed a line we maybe never should have crossed."
Her voice faltered. She drew in a deep breath, trying to contain what overflowed.
— "He is a sheikh, Amira. And I… I was just a servant in that gilded world. When I realized what I felt for him, he was already engaged to Zeyneb. Do you understand? Everything was against us. The conventions, the stares, the silences. I didn't want to become a problem, nor a source of shame. So I left… before it all crushed me."
— "You loved him?"
— "Yes. And that's what hurts the most."
— "Do you plan to return, someday?"
— "I don't know… I'm trying to move forward where the future still seems possible."
— "Then promise me one thing: stay in touch. Even just a message. Just to say you're okay."
— "I promise you, Amira. I don't want to disappear again."
And in the fading light, as Giulietta and Amaya's voices floated through the house like a familiar lullaby, Nahia remained there, the phone still warm against her cheek, cherishing that tender silence, a witness to a bond she was no longer willing to let die.