Dante
The sun is up, and the world looks alive again.
Bruno had given money to the kind man who gave us shelter, he took it without thinking twice and went to buy food.
I'm not used to seeing or experiencing kindness. I used to wonder if such a thing existed in the world and the answer is yes and I can see it in my brother, the old man, and Sarah.
We are in a fear-induced silence; I’m scared enough to think that every loud noise I hear coming from the streets means they have finally come for us.
Bruno steps into the kitchen, he’s upset, I can feel it. He’s looking at his cell phone, pressing the screen hard enough to break it. Sarah's dried blood is still on his hands, his shirt is dirty and untidy.
Why wouldn’t he wash his hands?
“Any update?”
He looks at me, but I know he's thinking about something else, his eyes aren't connecting with mine.
“Sarah woke up. She's fine, she just needs to rest.” He says deadpan.
“Wonderful news!” says Amira with genuine happiness, her smile appears, and I don't miss a single moment of it, Amira almost never smiles.
“Yes, it is,” answers Bruno as he keeps looking at his cell phone.
My brother seems more troubled than usual.
I get up and walk over to him, so we can talk privately.
“Brother,” I call him, “let me help you, I can see you're worried.” His green eyes, just like mine, are looking at me funny, he's probably still shocked that I call him brother.
I’m a little surprise too.
“Don't worry, everything will be fine.”
“Hey, I might not be a soldier like you, but at least I can hear other people's problems, so if you need me, I’m here.”
Bruno looks around the room, looking for privacy, but there isn’t any in this tiny place.
Amira, who is a great observer, says, “We'll get to know the house...” she gets up, takes the child by the hand and leaves the room.
“What is it? Is it Sarah? Are you worried about her?” I ask as I take a sit.
Bruno sits in front of me.
“Yes, she is not ready to move, a journey like the one we’re about to take can kill her and time is not in our favor. My contact is waiting for us at the border, but we have to get there first before they find us.”
“Can't we ask the embassy for help? I heard there's one in Riyadh.”
“No, we can't go near them, we’re on our own.” he sighs deeply. “And on top of that, Sarah—” he doesn't finish the sentence.
“What about her?”
“She keeps—,” he slams his hand over the table, “why did she have to think of him?! If I—” his bloody hands are rubbing against his face and his hair.
“Who is he?” Why won't he call someone who can help us? Especially if Sarah trusts that person.
“He’s a pain in the ass, that's what he is, and I don't want him involved.”
His words say that, but his tone says something completely different. Jealousy?
