When the girl woke, she found herself on a surface softer than she'd felt in far too long. Her eyes darted around the space in surprise, struggling to recognize the room around her, but she was not afraid. In her heart, she felt a strange peace.
She turned her head on the thin pillow to find a woman sitting on wooden chair near the corner of the room, knitting a garment of sort. The girl said nothing, watching the stranger work until they lifted their gaze to see her.
"Dear god!" The woman gasped, lifting her hand to her heart in surprise. The movement revealed her large, pregnant belly. "You frightened my soul."
The girl remained silent, watching curiously.
"You're awake, finally. I thank God that you did not die. Your head was bleeding quite a bit. In the state that I found you in, you appeared more as a rotting corpse than a lively human. For a moment, I thought you were..." she murmured then shook her head and returned to her knitting. The girl narrowed her eyes at the woman; she did not seem older than thirty years. When she did not respond, the woman lifted her attention to her once again and hummed. "Where have you come from like that?"
The girl blinked at her then thought to herself for an answer, but nothing came to her. She felt the pain and discomfort within all of her muscles as well as a familiar ache in her chest, but her bodily sensations were all she had. Her voice croaked weakly when she spoke. "I don't know...."
"Shoo?" The woman's eyes widened in intrigue. Perhaps it was not intrigue, perhaps it was more of a bewilderment at the thought of a mind left completely empty. "You don't know where you've come from?"
The girl shook her head.
"Well, what's your name then?"
The girl paused, her eyes growing distracted with an attempt to think to herself. It felt unusual to ask her mind a question of such simplicity but receive a silence in return. She met the woman's gaze, her expression uneasy.
"I don't... know."
"How did you escape?" Kader asked, sitting a little further than Amer and Farhan who lingered closer, their bodies leaned forward to listen intently to every word the girl spoke. Riyad sat on the ground behind Amer, his back against the tent's wall and his eyes forward as if he couldn't meet Harakat's gaze when she spoke her story. His lowered brows drew an evidently bothered shadow over his features, his jaw working with each word.
"The vehicle hit a mine," she replied.
Farhan paced ahead of her, his fingers running over his chin in deep thought. Only when Harakat fell silent did he speak up. "That doesn't make sense," he muttered. "There are no Occupational Prisons near here. The road you're referring to is nowhere near here. You're telling me that you walked all the way here after all those years of, not only imprisonment, but torture and starvation? That you were able to make it on your feet?"
Harakat shook her head. "No."
He paused. "No?"
"There was an older woman—a pregnant woman—in Nabulas who took me in when she saw me. She took care of me for days while I slept, then weeks until I could walk again. I spent... five years there," she remembered. Riyad glanced once at his wife, barely catching the glimpse of a reminiscent smile before her expression fell.
Farhan leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms, no longer pacing around the room. "It took you five years to recover?"
Harakat responded with another shake of her head. "Iman died-," she whispered, "-in childbirth. She made me promise to raise her son, Tamim."
YOU ARE READING
Between the Grapevines
RomanceSEQUEL TO "Under the Olive Tree" After losing all he had lived for at the hands of a merciless Occupation, Riyad joins the Resistance fighters to persist against the Armed Forces and liberate his country. Known for his obedience and ghost-like comba...
