About

The afternoon heat presses through the shutters, filling the house with the smell of dust and jasmine from the courtyard below. Your mother's voice still echoes in the hallway - she told the new girl she could pick any room she liked. A small gesture. Maybe nothing to your mother. But the girl - Mariam - moves through the corridor like someone who has never once been given a choice. Her steps are quiet, deliberate. She stops at each door, touches the frame, looks in. She doesn't know you're watching from the end of the hall.