The fire burned low and steady, its amber glow breathing warmth into the cool night. Sparks spiralled upward like tiny fireflies, fleeing into the sky and disappearing into the canopy of looming trees. Shadows shifted and stretched across the forest floor, moving with the crackle of the flames as though the darkness itself were listening.
Habeel stood at the edge of the firelight, legs trembling beneath him. His breath came in shallow, uneven pulls, chest rising and falling as he tried to anchor himself back into reality. Sweat and dirt clung to his face, and his hair—usually unruly—hung damp against his temples. He scanned the small circle around him with dazed eyes, as if one wrong blink might make it all vanish.
Then Ababeel moved toward him.
She came quietly, like a soft breeze against smouldering embers. Kneeling beside him, she reached out with a gentleness that contrasted with the night's harshness. A stray leaf clung stubbornly to his shoulder; she brushed it away with delicate fingers, her touch steady, grounding.
When he finally lifted his gaze to hers, Ababeel met him with eyes full of a calm, unwavering warmth.
"You're safe now," she murmured—her voice low, firm, and wrapped in compassion. It was a sound that seemed to hush even the wind. It sank into him, easing the tremor in his chest.
Habeel's lips parted, but his voice wavered, thin as smoke. "I… I didn't… know I'd make it…"
"You did," she whispered, her hand settling reassuringly on his arm. "We made sure you did."
Across the fire, Janneh sat curled into herself, her tiny hands clutching a worn strip of cloth. Her enormous dark eyes glimmered with worry, the firelight reflecting in them like two trembling stars. Though mute, her silence was heavy—spoken concern hidden in every nervous blink.
Habeel's heart clenched when he saw her. Something inside him softened painfully. With a shaky breath, he reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly. Ababeel guided it gently, placing it near Janneh's.
The little girl didn't hesitate.
Her tiny fingers slipped into his, gripping tightly—fear melting into relief as she clung to him. Habeel's throat tightened. Her warmth seeped through his skin, grounding him more deeply than any word could.
Not far away, Abdullah leaned against the trunk of a tall cedar, arms loosely crossed. The firelight painted his features in amber shadows, illuminating the shift in his expression. His eyes, sharp and observant, held a tension he couldn't fully mask.
It flickered there—jealousy.
Quiet. Controlled. But present.
He watched Habeel and Ababeel with a stiffness in his jaw, his normally warm gaze cooling at the edges. The connection between them—subtle but unmistakable—did something to him he didn't voice.
Habeel noticed.
But the moment was too fragile, too drenched in relief and exhaustion to confront it.
So he simply offered Abdullah a small nod that said later, then turned back to the girl holding onto him like he was a lifeline pulled from a storm.
Ababeel smiled softly, her voice barely above a breath. "You were so strong…" she said, almost as if she was speaking to the night.
Janneh leaned closer, resting her head against Habeel's arm. Her small breathing steadied, syncing unconsciously with his. The weight of almost losing her—of almost losing all of them—pressed heavily against his ribcage. He swallowed hard and squeezed her hand gently.
"You've got a strong grip," Abdullah said after a moment, his tone light—too light—trying for casual but failing to hide the strain underneath.
Habeel didn't bite at it. He only nodded, letting the tension drift unaddressed, choosing instead to focus on what mattered: the child's steady grip, the warmth beside him, and the fire's soft hum keeping the night from swallowing them whole.
Silence settled around them—gentle, deep, comforting. The forest whispered in distant sighs, leaves rustling softly as though nature itself was exhaling.
In that small circle of flickering light, surrounded by exhaustion and fear and unspoken emotions, something fragile and precious took shape.
And for Habeel—breathing easier now, with Janneh's fingers curled into his and Ababeel's quiet presence steady beside him—that was enough.
The night deepened, swallowing the forest in a blanket of darkness. The campfire's glow had dimmed to smouldering embers, sending long, restless shadows across the clearing. Ababeel and Janneh had settled into the small, secluded space Habeel had made for them—a shallow trench lined with blankets, hidden partially by fallen trucks' crates. The little girl's head rested against Ababeel's side, her small body rising and falling with quiet, rhythmic breaths. Ababeel's eyes scanned the perimeter one last time before she whispered, "Sleep. You're safe."
Habeel remained near the dying fire, sitting cross-legged opposite Abdullah. The older man's features were lit by the faint orange glow, eyes reflecting both experience and something unreadable. The night air was cold, crisp against Habeel's skin, and the forest around them was alive with rustling leaves and distant nocturnal calls.
"How… how did you survive all alone?" Habeel asked, voice low, careful not to disturb Ababeel or Janneh. His gaze didn't leave Abdullah's face, measuring every twitch, every flicker of expression.
Abdullah shrugged lightly, leaning back against a tree trunk. "Luck," he said casually. "And knowing the woods better than they expect. You make the right choices, keep moving… avoid people who want to stop you." His tone was easy, but there was an edge underneath it—a subtle confidence that didn't sit right with Habeel.
Habeel frowned slightly, the unease growing in his chest. "All luck?" he pressed. "No… planning? No help?"
Abdullah's eyes narrowed just a fraction, a shadow crossing his face for a heartbeat before he smiled again. "Some help, maybe. From strangers, sometimes. But mostly… It's just knowing what not to do."
Habeel's gut twisted. There was something in the way Abdullah spoke, a careful withholding, a precision in his words that felt like a trap waiting to spring. He couldn't put it into one clear thought, only a gnawing, raw suspicion. This was a man who had survived alone, yes—but someone who could survive like that had to be cautious… calculating. And calculative people weren't always trustworthy.
"Right," Habeel said finally, voice quiet but firm, masking the tension coiling in him. "I just… keep wondering. You've been out here, doing what you had to, surviving… alone. Makes me wonder what else you've done."
Abdullah chuckled softly, a sound that didn't reach his eyes. "You worry too much, kid. The forest doesn't lie, though. It'll tell you who to trust if you know how to listen."
Habeel's jaw tightened. He nodded slowly, letting the words pass, but the unease didn't fade. The fire crackled between them, throwing flickering light across Abdullah's calm face. And all the while, Habeel's mind worked, mapping every detail, every possibility—his instincts screaming that this man was someone to watch closely. Not yet an enemy, but not yet an ally either.
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and tea tree leaves. Somewhere nearby, Ababeel shifted in her sleep, Janneh murmuring in her dream. Habeel forced himself to focus on that fragile peace, even as the gnawing suspicion in his chest refused to be silenced.
Tonight, he thought, some truths would remain hidden. But tomorrow, he would be ready to see them.