Night had settled over the compound, the kind of still darkness that made even familiar places feel strange. Amina sat outside on the low wooden bench, hugging her knees. The ground was cold beneath her bare feet, but she barely noticed. Her mind was full — too full — replaying every word, every warning, every quiet fear she tried to bury.
Since the incident with Maryam earlier that day, she had been moving like someone carrying a secret on her back. Even her father's voice, soft and tired when he returned home, hadn't lifted the weight pressing on her chest. She answered him politely, hid the swelling on her arm, and smiled like she wasn't breaking inside. She was good at that now — pretending she was fine.
But tonight, her courage felt stretched thin.
She picked at the chipped wood of the bench, listening to the faint sounds of neighbors settling in for the night. Laughter drifted from a distance, children still playing somewhere far off. Life was continuing as if nothing had shifted, but for her, the world felt tilted.
A soft footstep made her turn.
It was Fatima, her closest friend — gentle, short-tempered only when someone tried to hurt the people she loved, and always stubborn enough to show up even when she shouldn't.
"You didn't come to my house this evening," Fatima said, sitting beside her. "I knew something was wrong."
Amina forced a smile, but her friend wasn't fooled. Fatima took her hand, raised her sleeve, and sucked in a sharp breath when the faint bruise appeared.
"She did this again?"
Amina swallowed. "It's nothing."
"Nothing?" Fatima's voice tightened. "Amina, you keep saying that. One day it won't be nothing."
Amina looked down. "I don't want trouble."
"You already have trouble," Fatima said quietly. "You're just pretending it isn't happening."
The words cut through the thick air. Amina blinked away the sting in her eyes, but tears had a way of slipping out when she least wanted them.
Fatima sighed, leaning closer. "Just talk to me. What happened today?"
Amina hesitated, then told her everything — Maryam's anger, the books thrown aside, the harsh words, the threat whispered under her breath. After she finished, Fatima didn't speak for a long moment. The silence felt heavy.
"She's not going to stop," Fatima finally said. "And your father… he doesn't see what she's doing."
Amina nodded weakly. She wished she could defend him, say he tried, say he cared. And he did care — just not enough to face the storm in his own home. It was easier for him to look away.
"Maybe I should just endure it," Amina whispered. "It's almost time for exams. If I can just get through—"
"Amina." Fatima squeezed her hand. "You shouldn't have to survive your own house like it's a battlefield."
Amina didn't know what to say. She wished she could be brave enough to demand better. But where would she go? What would she eat? Who would believe her?
Fatima shifted, lowering her voice. "Listen… I heard something today."
Amina blinked. "What?"
"Maryam borrowed money last month," Fatima said, watching her reaction closely. "A lot of money. People in the market are whispering."
Shock ran through Amina. "Borrowed? Why?"
"That's what nobody knows. But she's desperate to pay it back quickly. They said she has until the end of the month."
Amina's heartbeat tripped. "What does that have to do with me?"
Fatima paused, face tightening. "Some people think she might sell something in the house. Or someone."
Amina's breath froze. "Fatima, stop. My father would never—"
"He doesn't have to," Fatima replied gently. "Maryam controls everything when he's not around."
The words echoed through her mind like distant thunder.
Before Amina could respond, footsteps crunched at the entrance of the compound. A lamp swung in someone's hand, casting long shapes on the ground. Her stomach tightened when she recognized the silhouette.
Maryam.
Fatima stood up immediately. "I should go."
"No," Amina whispered, panic rising. "Please—"
But it was too late. Maryam had spotted them.
"So this is where you've been hiding," she said, her tone smooth but sharp underneath. "Gossiping with your useless friend."
Fatima stood her ground. "We're just talking."
Maryam's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Talking about what?"
Amina felt her pulse throbbing in her ears. Fatima opened her mouth, then closed it, sensing the danger.
Maryam turned to Amina. "Your father is inside. He wants to speak to you."
Amina stiffened. "Me?"
"Yes," Maryam replied. "And you better come now."
Her friend shot her a worried look. Amina nodded quickly, trying to reassure her before following Maryam toward the house.
Inside, the lantern glow made the room look warmer than it felt. Her father sat on the edge of the bed, his face serious, his hands clasped. He looked tired — older than she remembered.
"You called me?" Amina's voice wavered slightly.
He nodded. "Sit."
She obeyed.
"Amina, I heard something today." He paused, choosing his words with care. "Is there anything going on between you and Maryam that I should know?"
Her heart thumped painfully. She glanced at the door. Maryam was standing there, arms folded, watching like a shadow with eyes.
Amina's throat tightened.
Her father leaned forward. "Amina… talk to me."
She opened her mouth — and closed it immediately. If she spoke, Maryam would punish her later. If she stayed quiet, her father would think everything was fine.
"I'm okay," she forced out.
Her father frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Maryam smirked slightly, as if she had won something invisible.
Her father exhaled. "Good. Because Maryam told me you've been… distracted lately. And careless. That you even disobeyed her today."
Amina felt a deep ache inside her chest.
"I didn't"
"Enough," her father said gently but firmly. "I don't want arguments. I just need you to behave and stop causing trouble."
She stared at him, stunned. Trouble? Her? The words sat in her lungs like a stone.
Her father stood. "Go to bed. We'll talk more tomorrow."
Amina rose slowly. She kept her head down as she walked past Maryam, but the woman leaned in and whispered:
"Next time, I won't be so generous."
A chill rushed through Amina's bones.
She stepped outside, inhaling the cold night air like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Fatima had already left. The compound was quiet now. Too quiet.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself, but a sound startled her — the soft creak of the backyard gate being opened.
She turned.
A shadow slipped in, moving quickly toward the side of the house. She squinted, stepping closer, but the darkness swallowed the figure. Only the faint glint of metal caught her eye — a strange object in the person's hand.
Her breath hitched.
Someone was inside their compound.
At this hour.
And they weren't moving like a visitor.
A chill ran up her spine as she realized.
That person wasn't supposed to be there.
And they weren't alone.