Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

When the guests had finished trickling out, the sun had long ago set. Hamza did not
know where to go.
Lamya went upstairs to help Jasem unpack and Haya followed after them, taking two
steps at a time.
He stood, hand on the banister, for a long time. It felt impossible, the staircase closed in
on his mind and sent him into a sort of vertigo. He was afraid that even if he could make it up,
he might never come down alone.
“Baba!” a voice called from upstairs.
His breath went the wrong way, fighting its way out instead of gushing peacefully down.
Hamza felt like he was experiencing reverse growing pains, excruciating.
Downstairs, the home gym had been converted into a rest stop. Maybe he had never
meant to go upstairs at all.
His suitcase was neatly unfolded next to the bed and the room smelled like mint. Taking
in a deeper breath, he smelled something dry like cat food.
He made to go sit down, but a hand moved to his back. It was Haya.
He broadened his smile when she gently took his hand. The gesture had felt odd the first
time, his father had never held his hand or any of his sisters’. He didn’t mind it.
Most of all, he wanted to understand that this was really happening to him. Yet, he knew
there was a tiny sliver in between that stopped him from feeling it all entirely. Tiny slivers of
thread that bound him to other places, he hoped she could not tell.
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