The Child of Soil

Two days.

Thousands forced to flee.

Two communities reduced to ash.

Rubble and ruin where homes once stood.

Buildings crumbled.

People buried alive.

Two days.

Amal watched as her father placed the last suitcase in the trunk. Her mother had already locked the house and now stood gazing at the key in her hand. Slowly, her fingers caressed its shape—hesitant, tender.

Amal turned slightly. Yusuf stood quietly nearby, and beside him was Mira, her eyes devoid of their usual light.

Amal looked back at the house one last time.

Memories flooded in.

Arish practicing football in the yard.

Grandma knitting in her room.

All of them huddled by the fireplace in winter, listening to her stories.

Uncle Taha’s family gathered with theirs, celebrating Eid.

She and Yusuf laughing as they played, while their mother sipped evening tea.

A single tear slid down Amal’s cheek. She looked at the sky, smiled softly while her eyes held tender complaints to the sky.

“Were you able to talk to Sister Marwah?” Musa, Amal’s father, asked Aminah.

“No,” she replied, gently shaking her head. “We’ll have to stop by the hospital and pick her up.”

They all got into the car, which sped toward the hospital.

Marwah had just stepped out for a brief break. She had been working nonstop for eighteen hours. The hospital was holding far more patients than it could handle. Many needed to be transferred to the main facility in the neighboring city—but there was a shortage of ambulances.

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If the hospital is targeted...

No, she thought. They wouldn’t be that cruel... would they?

Her thoughts were cut short by a woman’s desperate wail. Marwah rushed back toward the ward.

A woman lay bleeding from her abdomen, her robe soaked in red. Next to her was her son—young, wounded, and bleeding even more profusely. It seemed she had carried or dragged him all the way to the hospital.

The woman grabbed Marwah’s hand, eyes wide with desperation.

“Doctor, please save him,” she cried. “You can take every single drop of my blood—just save him.”

For a moment, the hospital blurred before Marwah’s eyes. She blinked rapidly and steadied herself. Then she knelt beside the boy, checking his fading pulse, trying to stay composed.

A nurse moved in to tend to the mother’s wound as Marwah focused on saving the child.

Yusuf, who had entered with Amal and Aminah, stood rooted to the spot as he watched the scene unfold. Marwah stood up a while later—she had finished dressing the wounds, the boy’s life hanging by a thread. She turned back and saw Yusuf standing there. A soft smile formed on her face as she slowly walked toward them, having just washed the blood from her hands.

“Mum, how are you?” Yusuf asked.

“I’m good, honey,” she said, sitting down in front of him. “How are you?”

“I’m good too, Mum,” he replied, tears glimmering in his eyes.

Marwah smiled gently and wrapped him in a tight embrace. She patted his back softly as he clung to her scarf with small, trembling hands. Then she stood, still cradling him close.

“Marwah, we’re leaving for the south,” Aminah said. “All the necessary things have been packed. How long until you can wind up and come with us?”

Marwah looked at her, her gaze quiet and steady, her hand still moving rhythmically on Yusuf’s back.

“Aminah, I…” she whispered, “I’m needed here.”

Yusuf raised his head and turned to look at his mother. Marwah met his gaze and softly caressed his cheek.

“Yusuf,” she whispered.

“Yes?” he muttered.

“If you ask me to accompany you, I will leave things here and come with you,” she whispered again, as if sharing a secret.

He looked around—cries, wailing, pain, grief… the scene he had just witnessed replayed in his mind.

Then he turned back to his mother, his eyes steady with quiet resolve.

The child of soil had made his decision.