????? ??? ??? ???'? ????? ??

The island revealed itself just after dawn—a jagged line between sea and sky. The ship had creaked all night, the boards beneath their feet moaning like the wind itself. But the waters had calmed, and Zayd, pale and burning with fever, had whispered just before sunrise, "Land. To the east."

Samir saw it first. Then Tariq, who shouted loud enough to rouse even Khalid from sleep. The women emerged from below deck, bleary-eyed and veiled, Ilham clutching her scarf, Amira helping Umm al-Kabira up the steps. Alya was the last. She held the wooden railing, eyes narrowed at the green shape ahead.

"Is it inhabited?" Amira asked.

No one answered.

By midday, they'd pulled into a narrow cove. The island was a quiet thing, shrouded in heavy trees and silence. No smoke rose, no boats waited, no footprints marked the sand.

They came ashore cautiously, the men first. Zayd had refused to be carried, despite his state. He leaned heavily on Samir, jaw clenched, face ashen. "We stay together," he managed to say, barely above a whisper.

Alya watched him as he spoke, the edge of her veil fluttering in the sea wind. She didn’t like how thin he looked. His eyes, once sharp and unwavering, seemed clouded now.

---

Later that day

Umm al-Kabira spread out a cloth on a flat rock. "We must speak."

Everyone gathered. The women sat apart from the men, but close enough to hear clearly. Tariq fidgeted beside Khalid, his small face tight with worry.

"We don't know this place," Samir began. "No wells. No farms. No homes. But it might be our only chance."

Zayd, lying under a makeshift canopy, raised his voice weakly. "The ship needs repair. And I—I need rest. We can't go on until both are whole."

There was silence.

Then Alya spoke. "So we make camp. Temporarily. We collect food, find water. We live, for now."

Amira nodded quickly. "We'll cook. Ilham and I can gather wood."

Umm al-Kabira cleared her throat. "And what of the future?"

They turned to her.

"We can't drift forever. If Allah wills we survive, and we find no other land... we must consider that we are all we have. A people of our own."

Khalid lowered his gaze. "You mean... families. Children."

No one answered. Even the wind held its breath.

Umm al-Kabira, her voice quiet but firm, said, "If we all die, who remembers us? If we live, how long without children? Without new names, this story ends here."

Zayd exhaled shakily. Alya glanced at him quickly, then away.

---

Nightfall

That evening, they lit their first fire on the island.

The women prepared a simple meal—lentils and wild roots boiled in seawater. Amira found a place for prayer. Ilham cleared a spot near the trees for a wash area. Khalid and Tariq carried stones to mark a boundary. Samir sketched a map of the area.

---

The knock came gently — two soft taps on the wooden beam just outside the small room where Zayd had been resting. Alya stood there, her head lowered.

“Umm al-Kabira asked me to change your bandage,” she said. Her voice was quiet, respectful. “She’s worried about infection.”

Inside, Zayd stirred. He was sitting against the wall, one arm resting on his bent knee, his breath slightly shallow. The pain had worsened, but he never said much. Just nodded or thanked someone, always calm, always composed.

“You can leave it by the door,” he replied, his voice hoarse but steady.

“She said… someone has to change it. She can’t manage today.” Alya hesitated. “I’ve done it before. With goats and children. I won’t look where I shouldn’t.”

There was a pause. Then, with a sigh, Zayd turned his head away and nodded once. “All right. If it’s just for the wound.”

She stepped inside, her hands already clean, the new bandage and boiled cloth held carefully. She didn’t look at him. Not once. She kneeled beside him, eyes fixed on the wound site as she slowly lifted the old dressing.

Blood had dried in places, but the skin around it looked angry, inflamed.

“You’ve been walking too much,” she muttered, not intending for him to hear.

Zayd gave a small, ironic smile. “We’re on an island in the middle of nowhere. Not walking isn’t much of an option.”

Alya gently pressed the cloth against the area, dabbing away the dried blood. “You could rest. For once.”

“Others need me.”

“No one needs you dead.”

He looked at her then, but she still hadn’t met his eyes. Her headscarf was pulled slightly forward, her expression focused and cool.

“You’re not like the others,” he said softly.

She froze for just a second, then continued wrapping the fresh cloth.

“None of us are like the others,” she replied. “That’s why we survived.”

When it was done, she tied the bandage snugly and stood to leave. But as she stepped toward the small shelf where she had set her things, her fingers brushed against the edge of a leather-bound book — it tumbled, open, to the floor.

She bent to pick it up, intending to close it quickly, but her eyes caught just one line :

𝓘𝓯 𝓘 𝓭𝓲𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓮, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓸𝓷.

𝓔𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓻.

Her hand trembled. She closed the book with care, placed it where it had been, and left the room in silence.

Zayd hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken.

But when the door clicked shut behind her, he exhaled as if he’d been holding that breath for days.

---

The island was theirs now. Unnamed. Untouched.

They were alive.

For now, that was enough.

---

Zayd’s journal:

𝓘 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴... 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝔀 𝓲𝓽.

𝓜𝔂 𝓳𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷. 𝓘 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓽, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮. 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓪 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮. 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓘 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽.

𝓘 𝓭𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓷. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓭. 𝓐 𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓸𝓸 𝓽𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓮𝓵𝓼𝓮.

𝓜𝓪𝔂𝓫𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓜𝓪𝔂𝓫𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰.

𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽 𝓪𝓼𝓴. 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.

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