The truck groaned as its engine sputtered, coughing like a wounded animal—then, as if the universe had blinked in mercy, it roared back to life. Mud sprayed beneath the tyres as Habeel guided us away from the shattered skeleton of the pharmacy, his knuckles white, jaw taut, muscles trembling with the tension of every second that had passed since the building collapsed.
We didn't stop until the road opened into a lonely stretch framed by a grove of olive trees. Their gnarled branches swayed softly in the damp night, shadows dancing like ghosts across the soft, uneven ground. A broken metal fence leaned precariously to one side, half-buried in mud, yet it felt safe enough to pause. The truck finally halted, and Habeel exhaled a long, shuddering breath—a release that carried hours of fear, exhaustion, and raw adrenaline.
He was out of the truck before I could move, opening the passenger door with a careful urgency. Janneh blinked awake, confusion and fear mingling in her wide eyes. I tried to step down, but a sharp, stabbing pain shot up my injured leg, stealing my breath.
Without hesitation, Habeel steadied me, one hand behind my back, the other under my knees.
"Come on… slowly… I'll help you to the back," he murmured, his voice low, guilty, and fragile in the night.
He lifted Janneh first, setting her gently in the back of the truck, then returned for me, his arms steady and strong beneath my trembling weight. The little sanctuary he had built the night before—blankets, crates, makeshift divisions—welcomed us with quiet warmth, and I sank onto the blankets, wincing as every movement tugged at my injured leg.
Habeel hovered beside me, hands brushing against first-aid supplies like they were explosives. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting nervously.
"I… I don't know much about medicine. So… you'll have to tell me what to do. I don't want to make it worse," he admitted, voice rough, uncertain. His gaze lingered on the bandage roll, as if it might bite back.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus. "Okay. First, clean around the wound. No, not with that—that's antiseptic spray, not a drink. Put it down."
His eyes went wide, caught mid-motion. Janneh giggled silently at the exchange.
Still, he worked carefully, hands gentle despite the enormous strength he had just wielded to save us. Dirt and dried blood came away with careful dabs, the sting sharp but manageable. When he wrapped the bandage around my leg, tightening with slow, steady breaths, I saw something in his eyes—something quieter, more human.
"…I'm sorry," he muttered softly, gaze lowered.
I blinked, startled.
"For… what?"
He swallowed, jaw tightening. "For picking you up. Without asking. I… I got scared."
It was the first time he had admitted fault—truly, openly—since the world had begun tearing itself apart. A small miracle, in its own quiet way.
I couldn't resist. "So you do know how to apologise. Should I frame this moment?"
His ears flushed a vivid red. "Don't start."
"Oh no, I'm absolutely starting. This might never happen again."
He opened his mouth, then froze as Janneh tugged at his sleeve. His tension melted in an instant, replaced with the careful patience of someone who had become naturally protective. He rummaged through his bag, finally producing a crooked-eared rabbit plush, soft and well-loved.
"Here. For you," he said, voice softening, cheeks puffed out in a subtle attempt at humour.
Janneh hugged it tightly, a silent squeak of delight escaping her lips. He followed with a sketchbook and pencil, mock-serious, pointing at her with exaggerated sternness.
"I know you can speak. You just don't want to. So now you can draw instead and make us understand what's happening in that tiny head of yours."
She giggled, silent but bright, wrapping her arms around him. He pretended not to melt, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed him.
Then he turned to me. Something in his movements slowed, deliberate, almost suspiciously hesitant. He thrust a small, dusty silver brooch toward me, avoiding my eyes, ears flushed.
"…Here," he said, voice tight.
"For me?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at me. "It was… uh… just there. Thought you'd… like it. Or whatever."
I turned it over in my hand, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
"Thank you, Habeel," I murmured.
He coughed, a clumsy sound that only made the gesture feel more genuine. "Don't read too much into it."
"Oh, trust me, I will," I teased, smirking.
Janneh opened the sketchbook, drawing the three of us: him with exaggerated eyebrows, me with messy hair, and her clutching the rabbit. For a brief moment, the night softened, fragile and gentle in its stillness.
I shifted slightly, adjusting my leg, and then my eyes caught the dark smear trailing down his forearm. Crimson, bright against the dirt and moonlight. My heart clenched—not from fear, but from a cocktail of frustration, admiration, and helpless love for the man who would rather bleed than admit he needed help.
"Habeel," I said firmly.
He didn't turn. "…Yeah?"
"Take off your jacket."
His head whipped toward me, eyes wide and baffled. "What? I'm not—"
"You're bleeding. Again," I said, voice firm.
He looked down at the spreading stain, as though it had betrayed him personally. "…It's nothing. Just—"
"Take. Off. Your. Jacket."
Reluctantly, he obeyed, peeling it off with a quiet hiss. Sweat streaked his shirt, dried mud clinging stubbornly to his skin. Rolling up the sleeve revealed the stitched wound beneath. Miraculously, it had held—but the skin around it was raw, angry, and cracked. He must have strained it lifting the boulder, running, digging—everything he did for us without pause, without complaint.
I grabbed the first-aid kit.
"You don't have to do tha—" he started.
"You nearly ripped your arm open saving us," I interrupted, meeting his eyes. "Let me help you."
For once, he did not argue. He held out his arm, rigid but still vulnerable, and I cleaned the dirt and blood carefully, fingers steady. His jaw clenched, but he did not flinch.
"You should've told me earlier," I murmured.
"You were trapped. Janneh was unconscious. I didn't think my arm mattered."
His voice was quiet, too quiet, carrying the weight of everything he had shouldered alone.
I wrapped a fresh bandage around his forearm with deliberate care. "You scared me."
He swallowed, eyes flicking away. "…You scared me first."
A pause, heavy and tense, lingered between us. His arm extended toward me, a silent offering of trust and exhaustion. Then he exhaled, a breath he'd been holding for far too long.
"…Thank you," he muttered, low, almost grudging, but sincere.
I tied the bandage gently, smirking. "See? Two apologies in one night."
His glare was sharp, but the corners of his lips twitched—just the faintest hint of a smile hiding behind fatigue.
Janneh sighed softly in sleep, curling closer to her rabbit. Habeel leaned back against the truck wall, shoulders finally relaxing, the weight of the world momentarily lifted from his stance.
And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, the three of us allowed ourselves to breathe. Safe, together, and alive.