(After Misaki disappeared behind her room door in shyness, laughter soon filled the place. Ahmed, with his calm smile, turned towards her younger siblings who were standing, staring at him with astonishment and curiosity. He kneels among them, lowering his tall stature to be close to their small hearts, and plays with them with great ease.)
He started sharing some simple Japanese games he had learned with them, and his laughter harmonized with theirs as if from the same source. Then he began telling them stories from his distant homeland—about the sands that the wind sings in the deserts, about the markets that teem with life, and about mountains that embrace the sky with pride and tranquility.
The children's hearts were attached to him, to his eyes that sparkled when he spoke, and to his voice that carried a warm resonance like a bedtime story. They saw in him a big brother who was like them, but different... as if he had come from a land of fairy tales.
And from the top of the stairs, Misaki was watching. She didn't speak, she didn't move, only her eyes were speaking. She saw her siblings laughing with all their hearts, and she saw Ahmed embracing their world with gentleness and tenderness. And in her eyes, a smile was born that she didn't want to show... but it was there, transparent as a ray of sunshine on a winter morning, silent but grateful.