Under the Olive Tree

21. Wahid Wa'Ishrun

"You weren't," Amani teased.

He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes for the briefest of moments before looking ahead of him, nodding to the older man who greeted them. It felt weird. As if their walk through the evening streets in front of all the townspeople somehow made Amani and Muhsin more official than they had already been.

She imagined what it may be like to walk side-by-side in the future as more than just an engaged couple. When they would be married and the child in Muhsin's arms might just be their child rather than his cousin. It filled her with a warm excitement that pulsed vigorously through her body's muscles.

"Amani," Fayza was the first to greet her at the door with a welcoming embrace. The scuff on her jaw was the first thing Amani noticed. "Oh, this? I tripped in the street and fell straight onto my face," she laughed, gently patting the injury.

Amani narrowed her eyes at her in scrutiny. "You're telling me that this had nothing to do with any occupational soldiers?"

At the mention of the possibility, Fayza's grin grew mischievous. "Well, you know me. If I'm running, there's always an angry soldier somewhere following me," she winked.

"You should really be more careful, Fayza."

She shrugged. "I haven't died, yet."

"Is that how you're measuring your success?"

"There is an injustice in the world, Amani," Fayza stretched her arms out to her sides and closed her eyes as if awaiting an answer from the heavens. "I am only an instrument in bringing the end of the oppression. May God grant me many more years to make the occupation's life a living hell." She pressed her hands together in prayer then touching them to her head in prayer.

Amani snorted, nudging her. "Amen."

Um Muhsin arrived just in time to hear her daughter's prayer and scowled at the girl. "You will not stop until you have put me in my grave from worry, will you?" She asked, handing Fayza a large dish to place on the table.

Fayza frowned. "Never, Yama. I will do whatever I can to keep you as far away from your grave as possible. What would I ever do without you?"

When she stepped away to find a place for the tray, Um Muhsin turned to Amani with a slow shake of her head. "That girl is reckless in ways I will never understand," she sighed.

Then another woman stepped in. Amani recognized her as Farouq's mother and Muhsin's aunt. "Fayez was just like her at that age," she smiled. "It is uncanny how much she resembles her father."

Um Muhsin nodded. "Yes, and I love that I can see his passion within her eyes—like a fire that nobody on this Earth can extinguish. But I worry that she will have the same ending as her father if she continues this way."

"She's wise. She would not allow herself harm," Fayza's aunt said.

When Amani met Um Muhsin's eyes, they both understood exactly what the other was thinking. Um Muhsin murmured as if confirming Amani's opinion. "My daughter is wise. Bas, of the second statement, I am unsure."

Fayza was humming a light tune when she joined them in the kitchen again, swiveling her hips to the rhythm. It sometimes baffled Amani to see both different sides of the girl. Fayza, who was now beaming and tugging her aunt into a dance following her own song, was the same girl who'd screamed into the face of an armed occupation soldier and shoved him back.

Amani knew nothing of her father, but she would have loved to meet him if he held the same power his daughter did.

Everyone was afraid of what she could do—even her brother.