In one of the working-class neighborhoods of Kenitra, inside a modest apartment — not much, just enough — sat an old woman, fussing over her granddaughter and scolding her like every day at this time.
Grandmother (a bit old, wrapped in a headscarf, wearing a green caftan that reminded one of the past; her features were still clear, like an old poem left engraved on her face): "Ah, where do you think you're going again, girl?"
Sarah: "I have a delivery, grandma."
Grandmother (shaking her head): "Delivery with 8 proofs? And why are you up to all these tricks? I swear you have conditions for everything, and that mess of yours is why you're in this state."
Sarah sat beside her: "Come on, calm down, grandma. It's delivery, not a trick. Enough nagging already. Give me the money so I can catch the bus and pay the stadium fees—I'm gonna be late."
Grandmother: "Isn't this holiday? What delivery? That's the one they go for? And how many times a month do you pay for the stadium? It's only been two weeks since I gave you the money, and you say you paid."
Sarah rolled her eyes: "Did you forget that month I paid the water and electricity bills myself? I still owe a month since then, and the holiday I'm just preparing for the nationals, not resting."
Grandmother: "A month? Look, I'm really tired of your explanations. I swear, if you don't behave, I won't take you anywhere. I'll send you to your mother or father—they can handle you. I'm exhausted."
Sarah stood, annoyed: "Just send me then! Life with them or with you, I'm the one who's tired, not you. They live well with their kids, who want to take care of them, and if you remind me of that 1000 dirhams they gave me once in five months…"
Grandmother: "My daughter, if I hadn't been so soft with you this time, I swear, I'd send you back crying to them. I swear I'll take you and return you to them again."
(Sarah grabbed her bag and slammed the door behind her) "Better off on my own. Damn their dusty fathers and stepmothers!"
+++++++++++++
Sarah, now 17, was of medium height and slender build, with fair skin and delicate features. Her hair was naturally blonde but she had lightened it further with dye. What made her stand out were her large, light blue eyes and a charming dimple on her chin. Everyone knew her as "Barbie the Street Girl" because she pronounced the letter "R" in a unique way.
This year, she was in her final year of high school, studying in the science stream—a tough path, but she was confident in it until she met bad friends and drifted into the wrong crowd. She arrived at their usual hangout spot and sat waiting for her friends to show up. Passersby admired her striking beauty, often mistaking her for a foreigner due to her appearance: a tight short skirt above the knee, white superstar sneakers, a short loose hoodie over her shoulders, and her blonde hair flowing down.
Lamia, Sarah's friend, was also flashy with her dyed saffron curly hair and always chewing gum. She looked older and more confident.
"Why the sour face, huh?" Lamia teased.
Sarah greeted them quietly. "Just leave it, grandma took my money again."
Fati, another friend who was louder and bolder, chimed in, "Count the money for today, someone's paying for us! Let's go, they've been calling since morning."
Sarah frowned. "Who else? Didn't you say we'd go out just the three of us?"
Lamia shrugged. "Nothing major, just some guys want to hang out with us. And the one carrying three carries six." She smirked.
Sarah stood up. "Even if they carry ten, I'm not coming. Honestly, I don't party with anyone but you two. If you want, we can go just the three of us. Bring me a taxi and I'll be back soon, maybe even cut the outing short. It's clear from the morning."
Fati smiled, "Fine, then just us. But remember, you're broke and I've got 20 dirhams. I'm the one paying, not some random guy."
Sarah remained silent.
Fati laughed, "Come on, think smart. If you want, we can turn tonight into a party. It's not the first time."
Sarah replied, "I did it once and regretted it. Because of you guys, you left me. The rich boys just want to eat me up."
Fati teased, "You're so jealous."
Sarah raised her voice, "Fatna! Fati, calm down!" Fati grabbed her hands gently and said, "Always, no need to get angry. Between you and me, if you want to play the noble girl, don't do it in front of me—we've been friends for life."
Sarah put her hands on her hips. "Whatever, sister. I'm telling you, keep your attitude or you'll find me sleeping in a small cramped house. Thank God I'm okay, and you both know what Sarah is worth, so I better keep quiet, my mouth is a problem and better not to open it."
Lamia winked at Fati. "That's it, girls! Wanna get her started on this? Bestie, you always add the drama."
Sarah smiled faintly, "Lamia, you know I'm half sane and I get worked up over nothing. Just tell her to let me pass so we don't turn into little kids distracted by nonsense."
Lamia laughed, "Alright, shut up. Tonight, I'm paying for the party, so just relax!" She looked at Fati, "Call the guys and tell them we're not coming anymore." Fati did just that and returned apologizing.
The girls walked to the nightclub inside the Jacaranda Hotel in Kenitra. Once inside, they laughed and had fun with the bartenders and crowd. The place was packed, and they became well-known there.
They settled in a corner, watching and laughing. Anyone seeing them wouldn't believe these girls were the troublemakers they once were.
Lamia went to the bartender holding her mixed juice with a bit of alcohol, started dancing while holding a cigarette. She glanced at Sarah and asked, "So, what's your plan with your grandmother?"
Sarah sighed, "Oh God, I keep thinking about my father. When I'm late, neighbors stare at me, and I feel so stressed."
Lamia leaned closer, "Don't you think you're overdoing it?"
Sarah frowned, "How?"
Fati, sitting next to them, exhaled smoke, "Let me explain, girl. Your parents gave you freedom, and you're taking advantage of your grandmother more than them." The smoke surrounded her. "Divorce her, don't care about what she says. She's been strict for too long."
Sarah grabbed her Red Bull, poured it into a glass, drank and said, "Today I argued with her about that. She said she'd send me back to my parents."
Lamia smiled, "Good! Your father's wealthy. Go to him and feel safe."
Sarah frowned, "I want to, but his wife and I don't get along. She's like a witch, always stirring trouble with my parents. Whenever my father comes home, she fills his head with nonsense."
Fati said, "Well, think about the benefits you'll get there."
Lamia added, "Yeah, you'll have plenty of money to go out and enjoy. And his wife won't have a reason to mess with you."
Sarah said thoughtfully, "Let me think."
Lamia smiled, "You know we only want what's best for you."
Sarah nodded, "I know."
Fati offered her a hookah, "Take this and forget everything."
Sarah refused, "No, you know I don't do that."
Lamia laughed, "Here she goes, righteous Sarah is back." They laughed together.
"My dear, we only live once, not 100 times. So stop complicating things and live your life your way, not others'."
Sarah said nothing. They laughed while she hesitated but then took the hookah. "What harm could it do?"
Fati smiled, "Just tobacco, don't worry."
They stayed out until 11 p.m., then each went home. Fati and Lamia had easy lives — one worked in the Gulf and the other lived with her grandmother pretending to be 10 years younger. Sarah came home dragged by her grandmother's grip on her hair.
Grandmother pulled her roughly, "Come here, brat! Where were you? You tired me out! Don't rest until you bring me some food, then you can relax. All the girls went home, and you come back smelling like a bar!"
Sarah freed her hair, "Get off me! Don't touch me! You're not my mother to control me! Did you hear? You raised me well, thanks be to God, but you don't control me! If my real parents gave me, then who are you to deprive me? You raised me but they paid you — you did it for money, not love. When I was little, I saw the money they sent you to spend on me, but you hid it and let me starve. I never had the courage to ask you for even a dirham. Now I'm done. Why should I keep silent? And if your daughters bring you food from the street, I'm not like them."
Grandmother shouted, "My daughter! We became like fighting here! Enough, take it easy! We've become a joke, an insult!" She hit her chest. "I deserve this. I only want what's best for my granddaughter. I said I would raise her and earn my reward. But you only gathered sins. And now, you want your rights. Tomorrow we go to court, me and your father, to get your custody back because if he gets custody, you'll come back to me. God willing." She walked to the living room where she sleeps, as her house was given to Sarah. "Go cook dinner. When you're done, call your father to meet us at court."
Sarah lay down exhausted, sighing heavily. She turned her back on her grandmother who was still standing, breathing heavily, and sobbing. She never imagined her grandmother would say such harsh words.
Her wounds and shocks ran deep inside her mind too. She went inside, sat on a mattress looking ahead with tears in her eyes, boiling inside.
She was too tired to blame herself anymore, because regret wouldn't help. Words once said cannot be taken back, especially harsh words that reach the heart—that's the hardest...
She cried a little to calm down, then took her phone and called her father. She explained the situation and he welcomed her, arranging to meet at court at 9 a.m. He promised to handle everything.
Morning came and the sun rose announcing a new day. Sarah, who hadn't slept all night because of the hookah, got dressed in loose pants and a t-shirt, wore slippers, tied her hair in a ponytail, took her jacket and bag, and left the house. She couldn't face her grandmother after what happened yesterday.
She went and sat on a bench nervously rubbing her hands, watching her grandmother preparing breakfast in the kitchen.
She waited until breakfast was done and her grandmother had gathered her things. They both put on their cloaks and left together, without speaking.
After some time, they arrived at the primary court in Kenitra.
They stood there among the noisy crowd, stuck between the entrance and exit. Suddenly, Mohammed appeared near his van with a man carrying a black bag. They greeted him and the man, who was known as his lawyer. Then they entered the court to attend the session.
After some deliberation and nonsense, the verdict came: custody of Sarah was granted to her father.
Outside the court, Sarah was standing holding her bag tightly, looking at her grandmother who was talking to her father. From her gestures, it was clear she was advising him about Sarah.
When they finished, her father came to her, took her bag, and put it in the trunk.
Father Mohammed said, "Come on, ride with us. We'll take you home."
Grandmother replied, "No, my son, may God bless you. I still have things to do here; I won't go home now."
Father said, "For your sake." He extended his hand, she shook it and took a blessing. "Take this blessing. You're always on my mind, and you're welcome anytime. This house is your home."
Grandmother shyly said, "God bless you, my son. You always think of me and bring me blessings. You're welcome anytime, this is your home too."
Father said to Sarah, who lowered her head, holding back tears, "In the van, greet your grandmother and get in. We're still on the road."
Sarah raised her head, nodded, signed, then got in the van. She looked back at her grandmother and spoke softly with a broken voice, "Grandma, I'm leaving..."