Amal leaned back, resting her fingers lightly on the arm of the chair. "So, Nina lays, what would you want to know?"
Nina blinked, slightly flustered. "What? I mean, what created you? What shaped your beliefs?"
Amal's gaze drifted out the window, catching the sunlight on the garden leaves. "That, my dear, is a very big question." She paused, as though weighing whether to offer the simplest version or the full one. Where to begin? Then, softly, she began.
"I was six years old the day we went to the amusement park. My parents, my Siblings, and I were laughing, eating ice cream, chasing each other across the cotton-candy stands, feeling invincible. Everything felt perfect. Innocent. Bright. You know that kind of childhood happiness that seems to promise forever?"
Nina leaned forward, her pen already moving. "Yeah yes, I get that."
Amal smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in her eyes, only the ghost of a memory. "But forever doesn't exist. At least, not as a child believes it does. Someone was careless that day. An operator, a guard, someone it didn't matter whose fault it truly was. A misstep, a lapse of attention… and in an instant, everything changed."
Her voice caught, just a fraction. "My favorite ride malfunctioned. People screamed. I remember my parents, the loud bangs and the screaming. And my brother, my only surviving brother, God, was wounded. A deep cut across his leg. He could still walk, but he would never walk the same again."
Nina swallowed, feeling the weight in Amal's words. "You were just… what? Six?"
"Yes. Six. And suddenly, the world I knew didn't exist anymore." Amal's eyes fixed on something far away, as though she were watching that day play out in slow motion. "I was split from him, my brother. From the only people I had known. And I had to move into a house. a house with a religion I didn't fully understand."
She let the words hang. Nina, always so eager, pressed: "Don't get me wrong, right? You're not saying they were unkind?"
"No," Amal said gently. "My auntie and her husband, the pastor, were kind. They tried. They loved me as much as the Family could. But in their religious belief it's like their beliefs are forced upon you. Faith was poured into me like water into a vessel I had no say in shaping. For a while, I resented it. I resented being told what to think, how to pray, what to believe. But " She paused, folding her hands in her lap. "I began to give it thought on my own terms."
Nina scribbled furiously. "So, are you Christian? Or Muslim? Or atheist? I can tell your name is Islamic origin."
Amal tilted her head, her voice smooth but firm. "I am a Christian. By choice, not by circumstance." She let a quiet beat pass, watching Nina's curiosity bloom. "I chose it because I read. I read the Bible. And in its pages, I found something I couldn't find anywhere else. Characters, stories, wisdom. Solomon, gosh I love his mind. David, I love his courage and unpredictability. They were fascinating, not moral lessons, not parables, but real, human strategy and insight. The more I read, the more I understood. Not because I had a sudden love for reading, but because the lessons entertained me. And when you are entertained by wisdom at six, at eight, you gain an understanding your peers will only achieve in decades."
Nina's pen moved faster, though her eyes were wide now. "So… you got wiser than other kids just by reading the Bible?"
Amal gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Not wiser. Just… more aware. More cautious. More curious. And awareness is the first step in being a better player."
She leaned back, letting her words settle in the room. "That day at the amusement park didn't just take my parents. It took away my innocence. But it also gave me perspective. And perspective, Nina, is invaluable. Without it, you are blind to the game, the players, the rules or the illusions masquerading as rules. That is what created me."
Nina's breath caught. "Perspective and survival?"
"Exactly." Amal's eyes met hers, calm, steady. "Perspective. Observation. Understanding. That is the foundation of everything that followed."
Amal leaned back slightly after a while, her eyes thoughtful. "So, Nina you said you don't have a religion?"
Nina shifted nervously. "Um yeah. I mean, I just don't follow any particular one."
A faint smile touched Amal's lips. "I see. That is fair. I won't question you on that. After all, people often inherit beliefs before they even understand them. They decide, or think they decide, long before they can truly choose."
Nina's curiosity sharpened. "But at what age do you think people decide what to be? And what influences that? Is it parents, culture, the stories they read?"
Amal's gaze turned inward for a moment. "The age varies. Some decide before they can speak clearly, some only in adolescence. But influential factors everywhere family, society, the books they read, the models they observe. You absorb rules and ideals almost unconsciously. And yet" She let a soft pause fall between them. "Some never question them. Some learn to question too late."
Nina scribbled notes rapidly. "And do you think everybody really wants to be 'good'? Like, be doctors, or do charity, or live 'honorable' lives?"
Amal's lips curved in a faint smile. "Not really. Some do, of course. But others are curious about what society calls bad. The illegitimate, the mischievous, the ones who feel an urge to break, bend, or ignore the rules. they often can't. Society doesn't allow them to express it. So they mask it, redirect it, or they simply survive within the constraints. I found that fascinating, even as a child."
Nina leaned forward, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. "Did that influence your reading?"
Amal's eyes sparkled. "Yes. I loved folktales, stories of princesses, tales of impossible romance and faraway kingdoms. I suppose I was waiting, as most girls do, for a prince charming. But the closest I came was my boyfriend in high school." She gave a soft, almost regretful sigh. "I attended a private Christian school. Evangelical, not Catholic. Even among Christians, divisions are profound. Rules, rituals, subtle judgments. And yet, I had a skill. A way of reading between the lines, seeing intentions hidden beneath appearances. It might have saved me more than once."
Nina paused, pen poised but still. "So your skill is to read people, to understand society and its limits. Did it start there?"
Amal nodded slowly. "Exactly there. Between lessons, prayers, and whispered judgments, I learned to watch. To observe. To anticipate. To be aware. That skill became my survival toolkit."
Amal moves closer to the garden and lets her gaze drift toward the garden outside. "You know, Nina, there's a saying 'penny wise and pound foolish.' It's popular for a reason. The fact that you know something doesn't mean you can apply it when it counts. And that is a terrifying truth about this society."
Nina tilted her head, intrigued. "Can you give me an example?"
"Sure," Amal said, her voice calm but precise. "You might know first aid, every step, every protocol. But during an emergency, when stress is high, fear is present, chaos all around, you need to gather your thoughts, suppress panic, and act. Most people aren't capable. They freeze. They fumble. Knowledge alone isn't enough."
She paused, allowing the words to sink in. "That realization drew me closer to being a Christian. Not blindly, not as a ritual, but because I began to sense powers beyond my own. Forces that influenced outcomes far beyond human understanding. It made me ask questions: why? how? what governs these powers?"
Amal's eyes darkened slightly with memory. "That doesn't mean I didn't fall for the traps set for me. The bullying, for example, was on a scale most people can't imagine. In Christian schools, particularly mine, students weren't given help or cleaners. We were taught to manage our environment ourselves. And both teachers and students sometimes used that as a weapon. If you were unpopular, you cleaned the dirty toilets; if you were liked, you got to do the top of the tables. Every lesson was a subtle test, a measure of social standing. Every action, every favor, every slight it mattered. I saw it, I understood it but I still got caught. Still fell victim."
She exhaled softly. "That's when I realized one of life's hardest lessons: you cannot always be a solo player. Sometimes you need teammates, although sometimes the world leaves you to fend for yourself And yet, trying to survive alone without alliances, without strategy is incredibly risky. Being able to see, to anticipate, to plan is the difference between mere survival and thriving."
Nina scribbled furiously, eyes wide. "So this sense of power, of strategy, came from both your faith and the challenges around you?"
Amal nodded slowly. "Exactly. Faith taught me perspective and patience. Observation taught me timing. And experiencing the bullying, the isolation taught me caution, adaptability, and the value of alliances. Knowledge alone, without application, without discernment is nothing. That was my first real lesson in being a better player."
Nina leaned forward, curiosity burning in her eyes. "You're very good with words… have you thought about writing?"
Amal let out a small, almost self-deprecating laugh. "Oh, I did write some books. But they were self-published, and honestly no one really cared. Back then, I was just writing what I observed of the small dramas of high school life, the truths people refused to speak aloud. It wasn't glamorous, it wasn't polished. It was real, and that apparently didn't sell."
Nina's pen hovered over the page. "Could you Explain further ?"
Amal smiled faintly. "Sure. There was one story, called Knowing to Know. It was about a girl whose life was a dance of perception. Her father wasn't formally educated nor literate, but he understood business, numbers, and money. Education, though, in the traditional sense, he didn't have. So the girl would manipulate the truth. If she scored thirty out of a hundred on a test, she might tell him it was thirty out of thirty. Little adjustments, little lies, to preserve his expectations and protect herself. She learned early that survival often requires knowing which truths to reveal and which to guard."
Nina's eyes widened. "That's clever. And a little sad."
Amal shrugged slightly. "Sad, yes. But necessary. Life teaches lessons harshly. And there's more human behavior fascinates me. For example, if a girl admits a crush on a boy, she's not expressing love. She's marking territory. She's establishing a social position. And often, pursuing her love interests is a mistake. It's better to maintain distance, to protect yourself. I learned this painfully. In my own school, a boy admired by many seniors took interest in me and it became unbearable. Not because of him, but because of what it revealed about the expectations, the jealousy, the social chessboard I was navigating."
She paused, letting the story settle. "And that was the world I was writing about, observing, and understanding. I wrote to make sense of the chaos around me. But back then, few people cared to read it."
Nina scribbled furiously, fascinated. "So your writing was always tied to your observations? Your understanding of people?"
Amal's eyes softened. "Always. Writing was my way of cataloging, of analyzing, of seeing patterns. Not for applause, not for recognition just to know, and to understand. And understanding is always the first step in being prepared for what life throws at you."