Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

“Everyone is so relaxed,” she said, “Like they’re the only ones in the world.”
“Is that good?”
Haya’s eyes were drawn to the street where a gust of wind knocked over someone’s sign,
it read: ‘Big Brother turns me on, but I cannot turn him off!’ She seemed to want to say
something but instead just took a photo, glancing at her father with a little grin as if seeing if he
would bring it up.
He did not, although the corner of his mouth lifted.
“I think you like it,” Haya said, “So it must be good.” They turned another corner, Haya
slowed down a little. When Hamza glanced back, she was holding the hem of her jacket. “Can I
take this off?”
“I don’t know how you survived this long, already.”
At home, Hamza expected Haya to stick out like her brother did, unable to blend
seamlessly into the scene. Yet, she quickly made herself comfortable, helping herself to the
bathroom as soon as they entered.
“Do you want to go somewhere tomorrow as well? Since you seemed to like the walk
back, I was thinking…” Hamza began, but his daughter’s face told him that she was chewing on a
response. “What?”
“So we’re not leaving early tomorrow?”
Hamza shrugged. “No.”
Haya moved over to her backpack, rummaging before gathering up neatly folded clothes.
“Why not?”
“Nothing we can do about it. I don’t control the planes.”
She sighed. Her thumb was going over the folds of the fabric in her arms, looking at him
plainly.
“So we might as well do something in the meanwhile, no?”
“Are you trying to forget why I am here?” she asked. Her voice was warm, like the way
one speaks to a child.
“If you only want to talk about your brother, we’ll only talk when it’s about your brother,”
Hamza told her. “May I at least tell you that I will be sleeping on the sofa, please make yourself
comfortable here.” He turned away, leaving to his room to turn the light on.
He waited until she was sleeping there until he shut off the TV and turned in, himself.
100