Amina Looked at Her Mother as If She Wanted to Say Something
Amina stood by the doorway, her small fingers curled tightly around the edge of her dress. The afternoon light slipped through the thin curtains, casting soft patterns on the floor. Her mother was busy at the table, sorting through a pile of letters, her face calm but distant. Amina watched her quietly, her eyes filled with thoughts too heavy for words.
She took a small step forward, then stopped. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to speak, but no sound came out. Instead, she just looked—long and searching—at the woman who had always seemed so strong, so certain. Today, though, something felt different. There was a silence in the room that made Amina’s chest tighten.
Her mother sensed the gaze and looked up. “What is it, Amina?” she asked gently, though her voice carried a hint of distraction.
Amina hesitated. She wanted to ask why things had changed, why her mother no longer laughed as easily, why the house felt colder even in the warmth of the afternoon. But the questions tangled inside her, too complicated for her young heart to release.
“Nothing,” Amina whispered finally, lowering her eyes.
Her mother studied her for a moment, as if trying to read the unspoken words written across her daughter’s face. Then she sighed softly and returned to the letters. The brief connection faded, leaving behind an even deeper silence.
Amina remained where she was, feeling the weight of everything she couldn’t say. She wished her mother would understand without needing words, would see the worry and confusion she carried. But the moment passed, as moments often do, unnoticed and unresolved.
Slowly, Amina turned away and walked back to her room. Behind her, the rustle of paper continued, steady and indifferent. And though she had said nothing, her silence spoke volumes—echoing in the quiet spaces between them, where words should have been.
