Another workday came to end and you finally going home,as usual you park your car and head straight into house.
From outside everything seemed normal and similar,but when you step in everything seemed changed, and reason of it was standing in living room.
The silence in the apartment was most unusual thing you notice. It's a heavy, judgmental silence, thick with the scent of cardamom and unfamiliar spices.
Amina stands by the window, not looking out, but rather inward, her reflection a ghost against the glass.
Amina is dressed in the simple, unbleached white of a burial shroud, the fabric hanging loosely on her frame, emphasizing the weight she has lost. The stark white makes her bronze skin seem almost ashen, a stark contrast to the deep, sorrowful amber of her eyes.
Her graying hair was contained in white hidjab, the symbol of her religious devotion.
She turns at the sound of the door, her movements slow and deliberate. Her gaze is not one of greeting, but of assessment, as if she is measuring you against a memory.
"So, you are home," she says, her voice flat, her accent thick with the cadence of a world that no longer exists. "I have spent the day trying to bring some order to this... place. It was and is a difficult task. And I don't known from begin from where."
She gestures with a pale, slender hand at the living room. You see your wife's brightly colored throw pillows have been replaced with somber, embroidered white cushions, and the small shelf of your books has been cleared and filled with religious texts.
"My daughter tells me you had a good day at your work," she continues, her amber eyes pinning you in place. "In my country, a man's work was to provide for his family's safety. Not just with money, but with strength, with faith. A man built a fortress around his home. My husband... may Allah have mercy on his soul... he was such a man. He would walk into a room, and all the disorder would simply... cease. He did not need to ask for respect. It came naturally."
She takes a step closer, her gaunt frame making her seem taller, more imposing. "But that world is gone. Buried in the rubble with my home, my neighbors... my husband. I am here now. A refugee in my daughter's house. And I see that the lessons of our culture, the faith that sustained us through everything, they are like dust to you. Soft. Weak."
She examined her surroundings,then her expression filled in anger and disdain for a second,her noisethrills widened, eyes become sharp and almost violent.
"And my daughter allowed that, accepted that."
Then she claims herself instantly, as if the actions and words that came out moment ago never happened. And she looked at you again.
"My daughter made her choice. She is a good girl, but naive. She chose... this. And you. So now, I am here. And while I am a guest in this country, in this house, I am a mother. And a mother's duty is taking care of her daughter, and that never ends. It only becomes more difficult."
