Dawn bleeds slowly over the treetops, a pale blue wash stretching across the forest like a soft breath after a long night. The first hints of sunlight spill through the branches, catching on dew-wet leaves and glistening spider webs. The fire they had built hours ago is nothing now but a shallow bowl of cold ash, grey and lifeless, still holding the ghost of last night's warmth.
Ababeel can't remember when sleep finally dragged her under. She only feels the stiff ache lodged in her neck and the thin hum of morning insects vibrating through the silence. Her fingers brush the dirt beside her as she shifts, still half-dreaming—
A rustle cracks through the bushes.
Her eyes snap open.
Her body reacts before thought can form—she jerks upright, heart hammering like a fist against a door. She presses herself deeper behind the foliage, breath caught halfway in her throat.
Then she sees them.
Through the lattice of branches, three soldiers push their way through the undergrowth.
And in front of them—a tiny girl.
No more than six.Barefoot.Sobbing so hard her breath comes out in broken hiccups. Her little feet slap the forest floor, stumbling, tripping, scrambling for a place to hide where none exists.
The soldiers' shouts crack like whips.
Ababeel's stomach knots. Her hands tremble. Fear freezes her bones solid.
She wants to move. She wants to help. But every instinct screams Don't. You'll die. You can't help her. You're not strong enough.
Something stirs behind her.
A raspy, half-awake mumble:
"What are you looking at…?"
She jumps so violently that she almost shrieks.
Habeel is standing right beside her—hair exploding in every possible direction, eyes swollen and foggy with sleep, one cheek stamped red with the imprint of a pillow, the blanket still drooped over his shoulder like a confused grandmother who wandered out of bed by mistake.
"I thought you were a monkey or something!" she hisses, grabbing his shirt and yanking him down into the bush.
"Wow. Good morning to you, too," he mutters, rubbing his neck as he crouches next to her.
She jabs a finger toward the clearing.
When his eyes focus, everything inside him hardens. The sleep drains from his face like water leaking through cracks. His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. His hands curl.
Because the girl—the trembling, crying child—is being grabbed now. One soldier clutches her tiny arm . Another snatches her hair. She screams like a cornered animal.
And Habeel… remembers. He remembers what was almost done to Ababeel. He remembers the truck. The threats.Her terror.
He forces the memory out with a hard shake of his head.
"We have to get her away from those animals," he whispers, voice boiling, barely contained.
Ababeel swallows. Her throat is sand-dry. "But… how?"
Habeel looks down at the stolen uniforms still clinging to their bodies. At the truck hidden behind the trees.At the military insignia stitched across their chests.
A slow, dangerous idea forms in his eyes.
"We're dressed like them," he murmurs. "And we have their truck. We pretend to be recruits. Say we were assigned to transfer survivors."
Ababeel stares at him for a heartbeat. "Great idea. But if they find out—"
"We won't talk much," he cuts in, steel in his voice. "Just enough to get her into the truck. Once she's inside… we run."
She nods, heartbeat climbing. "Okay… let's do it."
The forest opens into a raw patch of trampled earth where the soldiers have cornered the child. One drags her by her wrist and ties a rough rope around her tiny hands. She kicks, screams, pleads—but her voice is too thin, too small, drifting helplessly into the morning air.
Ababeel and Habeel step out from the trees.
Uniforms straightened . Faces blank.Postures stiff—cold—professional.
Habeel hides the limp in his leg as best he can. His arm throbs with every step he takes, but he forces his pain deep down, burying it beneath the grim mask of a soldier.
One of the soldiers spots them. "Who the hell are you two?"
"Recruits," Habeel replies, tone clipped and icy. "Orders to collect survivors."
Ababeel steps forward, hands behind her backchin raised. She speaks with bored annoyance—exactly like the soldiers they'd watched.
"You sure a child needs to be tied up that much?"
The soldier snorts. "Precaution."
He yanks the rope so harshly that the girl yelps, stumbling forward like a rag doll.
"And besides," he adds lazily, "kids aren't supposed to be kept in adult camps. We separate everyone."
Ababeel crosses her arms, pretending curiosity even though her blood feels like boiling acid.
"Why are there different places?" she asks.
Another soldier checks his rifle, barely looking up.
"Men go to the hard-labour camp."He smirks."Females for… ahem ahem…You know."
The grin on his face curdles something deep inside Habeel. His arm twitches, fist tightening until his knuckles go white. Rage is a spark breathing fire in his chest.
"And kids," the soldier finishes casually, "go for farming. Teach 'em how to be useful."
Ababeel keeps her face blank with all the strength she can muster. Not screaming takes more discipline than any battlefield drill.
"Orders were to take the girl," she says evenly.
Habeel steps closer. "Load her into our truck."
The soldiers exchange uncertain glances, then the one in charge shrugs.
"Fine. She's a handful anyway."
As they turn away to gather gear, Ababeel crouches and pretends to inspect a ration crate. Her fingers slide into the bottom, finding the small packet of sleeping pills she had hidden earlier.
She moves silently. Smoothly. A soldier would never question someone preparing food.
She cooks a quick meal over a crackling fire. The men descend on it like starving hyenas.
Ababeel glances at Habeel—a flicker of fear behind her steady exterior.
He gives her a tiny nod.
Phase one.
Minutes pass.
The first soldier blinks slowly. His fingers loosen around his spoon.
Then—thud.
Another sways, collapsing sideways into the dirt.
Then another.
And another.
Until all three lie sprawled across the forest floor, breathing deeply, unconscious.
Ababeel jumps to her feet. "Let's move!"
They rush to the girl. Her wrists are raw, bruised from the rope. She flinches when Habeel touches her—but his voice is soft, warm, safe.
"You're okay now. We've got you."
He lifts her into his arms despite the shooting pain. His breath trembles, but he doesn't let it show. The girl clings tightly to his shirt.
They hurry to the truck.
Ababeel wraps the child in a blanket, pulling her close against her chest as she climbs into the back.
Habeel throws himself into the driver's seat, jaw tight.
"Hold on," he warns.
The engine snarls awake. Leaves whirl into the air. The tyres skid, grinding over roots and dirt.
They shoot forward down the forest road—fast—faster—carrying the girl farther and farther away from the hands that almost stole her life.
And three souls—bruised, exhausted, unprepared—speed toward a future none of them imagined, bound together by danger, fear, and the quiet, stubborn courage of people who never asked to be heroes.