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It began with the sound of silence. Not the peaceful kind, but a charged, pressing stillness, like the island was holding its breath. The trees, once whispering with soft wind, now stood frozen. Even the horses, still hidden in the forest under Tariq’s watch, stamped uneasily and pulled against their reins.

Alya felt it before she saw it. A strange pressure behind her ears, a weight in the air. She was sitting outside the camp's central tent, where Umm al-Kabira was boiling herbs and bandages, and Amira was grinding dried roots for poultices. The men were further off, gathering and stacking wood for a more solid shelter. Zayd had refused to stay in bed, insisting he needed to check on the camp’s defensive lines.

"There's something wrong," Amira said, standing suddenly. "The air changed."

Umm al-Kabira raised her eyes, scanning the sky. "Storm."

But it wasn’t just a storm.

A loud crack rang out, like the sky itself had split open. Alya shot to her feet, her hands trembling slightly.

"The tents! Get everything secured!" Khalid's voice bellowed from the hill above the camp.

Within minutes, they were all running. The wind howled, rising like a beast from the belly of the forest. Leaves swirled, sand lifted in spirals, and the sea began to growl.

Zayd appeared through the storm, soaked and limping slightly, his arm wrapped tight again.

"Into the grove," he shouted. "The trees will block the worst of it!"

They scrambled. Amira pulled Ilham by the arm, Tariq ran ahead with a rope bundle, and Alya, breath shallow, held the lantern. As they reached the cluster of thick-trunked trees they had scouted the day before, Zayd , Abdullah and Samir helped tie tarps between the trees, anchoring them with vines and wood.

"Everyone stay together," Zayd ordered. "No one leaves without saying so. We wait this out."

Rain fell like knives, slashing sideways through the wind. The sky groaned, thunder rolling like drums from a far-off army. But inside the grove, huddled and soaked, they made it through the worst of it.

Later that night, after the winds had died down and the storm retreated into a hiss, they sat close to one another beneath the makeshift shelter. The camp had taken some damage. Two of the larger tents were destroyed, and their food storage had nearly blown away if not for Khalid's quick thinking.

"We can't stay here much longer," Samir said quietly.

Zayd nodded, eyes heavy-lidded from exhaustion. "We need to repair the ship. Even if it means taking turns. If this land can't sustain us... we have no choice."

Alya stared at the dark trees. "But what if the sea doesn’t either?"

The silence that followed was answer enough.

---

The next morning came clear and quiet. They emerged from the grove tired but unbroken. Tariq helped gather branches for firewood, and Umm al-Kabira led a small group to salvage what they could from the battered tents.

Alya took a moment to herself by the cliffside, watching the sun rise red and gold over the ocean. She clutched the journal Zayd had given her, unopened since that night.

After some hesitation, she slid it open.

The handwriting was neat but pressed, like every word had been etched under strain.

> I don’t know what she thinks of me. I’m not blind to the way she looks at me, even when she thinks I’m not watching. But I cannot allow that thought to root. I am here to protect. Nothing more.

Alya quickly closed the book, her cheeks warming. She wasn’t supposed to read that part. It was personal. Maybe even... dangerous.

She turned to leave, only to find Amira standing nearby, holding two wild apples.

"For breakfast," Amira said with a knowing smile. "Anything interesting in that book?"

"Nothing," Alya said too fast.

Amira didn’t push.

That day, they worked harder than before. The men inspected the ship’s damage, with Samir and Khalid estimating they would need at least two more weeks before they could attempt repairs. Meanwhile, Alya, Ilham, and Amira took stock of supplies and began planting seeds from salvaged dried fruits, hoping something might grow.

As the sun dipped low, Zayd remained seated near the fire, sharpening tools with slow precision. His eyes lingered on the horizon too often.

Alya approached him carefully, offering a small wooden cup of broth.

"You still need to rest."

"And you need to stop carrying everyone’s burden," he said without looking up.

She smiled faintly. "It seems we both have the same problem."

He finally met her gaze, and for the first time in days, something unspoken passed between them. An understanding. A pause in the storm.

And maybe, just maybe, the beginning of something else.

---

That night, as they gathered around the fire, Amira told a story from before the escape. Something about her village and a wedding that had nearly gone wrong because the bride tried to run away.

Everyone laughed, even Khalid.

And for a moment, under the stars, they were just people again.

Not survivors. Not refugees.

Just people, alive, together, hoping for a future.

And perhaps, the storm had finally left more than just ruin behind.