Silence weighed like a blanket of clay over the desert.
Every grain of sand seemed to hold its breath.
Nahia walked alone beneath the moon.
Her steps carried a heavy story—woven from memories no one else understood.
An ancient weight. An invisible burden.
Finally, she reached the oasis.
Her refuge.
Her secret sanctuary.
A place where no village voice had ever dared to pierce.
She stopped.
Her movements were slow. Almost sacred.
She loosened the cloth around her hair.
Her fingers traced through her long braid.
With each knot undone, a sigh escaped from a forgotten cage.
Her black hair cascaded down her body—dense, heavy, alive—a waterfall reaching her knees.
She had never cut it since she was twelve.
It bore silent witness to all she had lost.
Nahia knelt beside the water.
A gentle breeze carried the scent of wet earth and ancient leaves.
And then…
She began to sing.
As though something within her was opening up—something larger than herself.
Her voice rose, hoarse, trembling, filled with an emotion she could no longer contain:
> "Fate la nanna, coscine di pollo,
che la mamma va al mercato,
compra le pere e le castagne,
per fare dolci da mangiare…"
The words floated above the water, reflected, then disappeared into the sky, like stardust.
She kept singing.
Even when her voice broke.
Even when tears fell, silent, hot, unstoppable.
Nahia slipped into the water without hesitation.
The cold bit at her skin—but she didn't mind.
Every note, every verse, was a piece of her heart laid bare.
> "Fate la nanna, coscine di pollo,
che la mamma tornerà…"
But she knew.
Some mothers never returned.
Some songs were empty promises.
And yet… she still sang.
For Amaya.
For her sister, sleeping far away.
So she would never feel that burning void—a wound Nahia carried within.
When she stepped out of the water, her body trembled.
But her soul…
Was calm. Strangely calm.
She tied up her wet hair, letting it fall free without the braid.
Then resumed her journey—naked beneath her veil.
The night pressed heavy and moist against her shoulders, like an age-old cloak.
Sand clung to her feet.
Yet she walked on. Always.
Propelled by an ancient rhythm.
That of women who had lost everything…
But kept walking.
For the ones they loved.
And behind her, in the drowned silence of the forgotten oasis,
her song still lingered.
Tiny.
Indestructible.
---
The sky paled—a timid shade of blue.
Dawn approached as she reached their shelter.
The frayed roof rustled softly.
Amaya slept, curled into a small figure on the worn mat.
Her breath was soft and steady.
Nahia knelt beside her.
She stayed there a long time. Just watching.
Amaya's dark hair scattered like a promise on her makeshift pillow.
Her face… so young and already burdened with so many silences.
Nahia brushed her sister's forehead.
A pang of heartache.
So many things she wished she could give her.
So many promises she couldn't make.
She lay down gently, folding her knees close.
Just like they had as children, when storms broke overhead.
Her lips moved. A whisper. A breath.
> "Sleep, sleep,
little one,
for mama will return,
bring flowers,
bring the sun…"
Amaya stirred—barely.
But her fingers found Nahia's in the dark… and clung.
Nahia closed her eyes.
Their mother's words returned, vivid and bright:
> "Over there, the hills roll like golden waves,
and the air smells of sea and wild lemons."
She imagined it:
Fields of flowers.
Narrow streets.
Garlands draped across the sky.
Warm bread.
Free voices.
She dreamed of taking Amaya there.
To let their bare feet tread sweet earth.
To breathe, finally.
Without fear.
Without shame.
One day, perhaps.
In a soft, low voice, Nahia sang again:
> "Ninna nanna,
piccolina mia,
la luna veglierà su di noi…"
Her voice drifted into the wind.
She held onto it, like a star.
And in the darkness, holding Amaya close, she fell asleep.
Her heart full of memories.
And a dream she refused to abandon.