She was covered up with her silky abaya and niqab as she hurried out to the market before curfew hours in the village started for the day. As she was walking down the sandy alleyway to the market, she saw a yellow flower in the midst of the dirt. When she bent down to pick up the flower, she noticed with her side eye that the troops had already started to line up and take their places for curfew. Lowering her gaze, she went to the closest store to purchase fresh vegetables for the family. Guarding the door to the store stood a tall man. She noticed his thick brown hair, golden skin and hazel eyes. She also noticed the uniform he wore – a soldier from the other side.

He respectfully moved aside to let the girl in, and his piercing stare gave away how she had struck him somehow. When the girl walked out of the store with her bags, he tried to lend a hand. 

“Asalamuailkum, may I help you bring your bags home?” Ignoring his Islamic greeting and offer, the young lady kept walking in a fast pace towards home. 

“I don’t take help from you people who are against my country. It would be better for both of us if you leave me alone.” 

Quietly, the man listened, and as she left, he continued to guard the roads during curfew time. Though he said nothing to her, his eyes revealed his distress. 

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 “It’s past midnight and Baba has not come home yet”, said the girl in worry to her mother. Everyone else had gone to sleep, leaving her alone to watch the moon in silence as she waited for the gate to creak open. She waited for the moment when finally she would be able to take in a sign of relief. 

She didn’t know that moment would never come. When the sound of banging on their gate door suddenly woke the family from its slumber, she ran outside to greet her biggest fear. 

 “He’s no more! My sweet girl; he is no more! He has been killed; oh God!” 

The world stopped around her. All she could hear was her fast breathing. In front of her feet stood the same white male soldier she had met guarding the market. In his arms lay her lifeless father,  pale in the face with dark blue lips and half-closed eyes…

                                                                                                                                           ***

This ongoing war had torn families apart. Innocent families watched their loved ones die every day. Not a day went by that wasn’t driven by the fear of being killed. And every day the girl was reminded of her father who had been killed by the troops.   

A letter was delivered to the girls’ house by the local mail man. It seemed to be a love letter. 

“I was not the one to kill your father. I was in town at the time he was murdered by a fellow soldier. I was ordered to bring the body back to its home and when I saw you come out the door, I didn’t know what to say or think. I would have never thought this was your father. I am sorry. It is my duty to serve my country and it happens to be that I am at war with this country of yours. Forgive me. The day I saw you at the market you left a mark on my heart. To this day I think of you and the very little time I was able to speak to you. Tomorrow at noon, meet me where you found the yellow flower. I will be waiting…”

The girl’s innocence took over, and the very next day she returned to the same location where she had found her yellow flower. And there he was. 

They gazed into each other’s eyes. 

“What is your name, may I ask?” 

“Amal…My name is Amal...”