The truck was parked at the end of the trees as we made our way down the quiet road. Habeel gently laid little Janneh across the seat, tucking her head near his lap as he slid into the driver's side. She didn't even stir—just let her head loll softly against him, her tiny breaths rising and falling like fragile waves.
He yawned, long and exhausted, but his hands stayed firm on the wheel. The sky outside dimmed, the hum of the engine turning into a lullaby that pulled me under without warning. I don't even remember when sleep took me—only that when I blinked awake, the world outside had already turned indigo.
Night.
The soft glow of the dashboard lights washed over him, carving shadows across his tired face. And then I heard it—
Grrrrrnnnnk.
His stomach.
Of course.
He was always hungry.
I bit back a laugh, keeping my eyes closed, letting him think I was still asleep. He would never admit his needs first—not unless someone else said it out loud. That was him. A man who would starve before asking for a bite… unless you wanted to eat, too.
His stomach growled again, louder this time.
He let out a frustrated whisper—a hissed, "God damn it!!"
I couldn't hold it anymore. My smile slipped out as I lifted my head.
"Hungry?"
He looked at me the way a soaked puppy might look at the person holding a towel—pitiful, hopeful, and absolutely desperate. He nodded vigorously.
I sighed, unable to hide the fondness in my voice.
"Then find a place to camp for the night. I'll put up the fire."
Relief washed over his face immediately. He turned off the road and soon found a small clearing—quiet, sheltered, safe enough for one night.
The moment we stopped, the air cooled around us, carrying the scent of pine and distant earth. I stepped out, stretching my aching limbs, and began gathering ingredients to cook something warm—maybe soup. Something simple. Something filling.
Behind me, little footsteps pattered softly.
Janneh.
Awake at last, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her hair sticking up like a confused baby bird. She wandered toward me with her tiny arms outstretched.
As if she murmured, "Can I help?.
I smiled and nodded, handing her a small pot.
While she helped me prepare the ingredients, the sound of distant rustling drifted toward us—Habeel moving through the trees, collecting firewood.
Night settled thick and blue around their small campsite, the firelight flickering across the trees like trembling gold. The pot simmered softly over the flames, sending up warm curls of steam. Jannah leaned against Ababeel's side, helping her stir, while Habeel sat opposite them—knees drawn up, hands stretched toward the heat, his face glowing in orange light.
He looked ridiculously childlike for someone who'd sworn at his stomach a few minutes ago.
Then he puffed his cheeks, pouted dramatically, and muttered,
"Hey… why are you trying to attack me, you batt-woman?"
Ababeel blinked, stunned. "Pffft—what? Hmm, maybe it's because you tried to rob me? Your record isn't exactly shiny."
Habeel chuckled, shoulders shaking. "Good point."
"Besides," she added, "you saved me twice. From the drone… and then from those soldiers—well, you tried. I don't want to be some pitiful damsel in distress."
He nodded, a rare softness slipping into his eyes. "Then don't be one."
He poked at a burning log with a stick. "I don't have sisters. My house… all boys. But I think I would've liked it if she were like Khawla."
Ababeel's jaw clenched. Sister?
Excuse me?
Her thoughts practically tried to strangle him.
Did he really—??
No. No. Stop. Not this monkey.
He's crazy. That's why. Yes. That must be it.
She forced a calm tone. "Khawla… how?"
He threw a glance toward Jannah. "Campfire story time, eh?"
Jannah brightened immediately, hugging her knees.
Ababeel kept stirring the soup, listening.
Habeel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice lowering into a storyteller's cadence.
"Khawla bint al-Azwar was a warrior in the Rashidun Caliphate. She fought in the Levant. One of the greatest female soldiers in history. Companion of the Prophet."
The flames crackled, throwing sparks upward as if saluting the name.
Ababeel's brows lifted. She had heard the name, but never like this—never with reverence softening a thief's voice.
"So what is it you liked about her?" she asked quietly.
Habeel's gaze drifted toward the fire, as if the past lived somewhere inside the flames.
"Since childhood, she had no one but her brother. He taught her to fight, ride, and survive. One day, he was captured. She… she lost it. Her brother was everything. So she dressed like him, covered her face, and rode into battle with the troops."
Jannah listened with an open mouth.
Habeel continued, voice roughened with admiration.
"She fought so fiercely, people thought she was Khalid bin Waleed. Then the real Khalid came from the other side, and everyone was stunned."
He deepened his voice comically to imitate Khalid:
"'Who are you…You fought bravely.'"
Jannah giggled.
"She didn't answer," Habeel said, leaning in. "They were shocked—how can someone ignore the commander? And then she said… 'Because I am not a man.'"
The fire popped like an exclamation mark.
"It fascinated Khalid," Habeel went on, softer now. "He told her to go home. But she didn't. She convinced him to let her join the troops searching for her brother. And she fought until she found him."
He paused, letting the weight settle.
Ababeel swallowed. For a moment, she forgot the soup, the cold, the fear of being hunted.
She saw a lone woman on a battlefield—fighting for the one person who mattered.
Her voice emerged low, almost a whisper.
"She wasn't brave because she wasn't afraid… she was brave despite being afraid."
Habeel looked up sharply.
Ababeel added, "She fought because love made her fearless. Because losing someone you love… hurts more than any sword."
Silence folded around them.
The fire crackled.
Jannah rested her head on Ababeel's side.
Habeel watched her—not mocking, not teasing—just… seeing her.
Then, very softly, he said:
"That's exactly why I admire her."
And for a heartbeat, the night felt warm. Despite everything. Despite the world outside. Despite who they were.
A small family pieced together by fate, exhaustion, and a desperate hunger that wasn't just for food… but for safety, warmth, and each other. For that moment, around that fire, they were simply three souls breathing in the dark—held together by a story of courage.