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Fiction

The house was a crumbling fortress of whispers. Mariam sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, her fingers brushing the coarse edge of the rug beneath her. She stared at the wooden door, its flimsy latch her only barrier against the world outside. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as she pressed her hand to her stomach.

The kerosene lamp flickered, casting shadows that stretched and twisted across the cracked plaster walls. The dim light accentuated the fraying threads of her worn dupatta draped over her head. Outside, the village murmured in its usual symphony—the distant bleat of goats, the clatter of pots in neighbouring kitchens, and the occasional peal of children’s laughter.

But Mariam wasn’t listening for the ordinary sounds. She waited for the whispers, the footsteps, the gathering storm of judgement that would come for her, as it had come for others before her.

It had been weeks since Gabriel came to her. She had been in the courtyard, scrubbing clothes against the stone washing slab, her hands raw from the rough soap. The sun had been a white-hot coin above her head, baking the ground beneath her. She had looked up to see a man standing at the edge of the courtyard, his presence impossibly still against the shifting world.

“You have been chosen,” he said.

She had dropped the cloth, water sloshing around her ankles. “Chosen for what?”

His eyes were steady, piercing. “You carry life not of man, but of the Spirit. What is conceived in you is holy.”

The words had struck her like a blow. She backed away, shaking her head. “No. That’s not possible. I—”

“It is possible,” he interrupted gently. “But only if you agree.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Her mind reeled, torn between disbelief and awe. Her heart raced as if something within her already knew the truth.

“You have a choice, Mariam,” Gabriel said.

After a long silence, she whispered, “Let it be as you have said.”

Now, that choice felt like a noose tightening around her neck. Yusuf’s reaction had been immediate, his anger cutting through her like shards of glass.

“What are you saying?” he had demanded when she told him. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

“It’s the truth,” she had said, her voice trembling. “I swear to you—”

But he had silenced her with a wave of his hand, his eyes dark with betrayal. “I can’t listen to this.”

He had left without another word, slamming the door so hard the walls seemed to shudder. She hadn’t seen him since.

Mariam shifted on the floor, wrapping her arms around herself as if she could shield herself from what was coming. Her mind raced through memories of Yusuf: the way his face lit up when he laughed, the gentle way he’d touch her arm when he spoke to her. She had loved him for his kindness, for the quiet strength that radiated from him like heat from the sun.

And now that sun had turned cold.

The thought of what he might do terrified her. Yusuf was an honourable man, but even honourable men could not stand against the weight of the village’s judgement. She had seen it before—had watched other women dragged to the centre of the square, their cries drowned out by the crowd’s shouts.

Her heart pounded as a faint sound reached her ears: the shuffle of feet on stone.

Mariam froze, straining to listen. The sound grew louder, joined by the low murmur of voices. She pressed herself against the wall, her pulse racing.

The whispers seeped into the room like a creeping tide, rising in intensity until they became an audible hum. Dishonour. Shame. Punishment.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The words Gabriel had spoken to her felt distant now, a faint echo against the roaring tide of fear.

Suddenly, a sound cut through the growing noise outside: the sharp, uneven whine of a moped engine.

Mariam’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that sound—Yusuf’s old, battered moped, with its distinct sputtering whir.

Could it be him?

The engine stopped abruptly, and the sound of footsteps followed, heavier and faster than before.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall.

Yusuf stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his face shadowed by the dim light. His kurta was wrinkled, his hair dishevelled, as if he had been running.

Mariam scrambled to her feet, her back pressed against the wall. She braced herself for the anger she had seen in his eyes before.

Instead, he said, “We need to go.”

Mariam stared at him, her mind struggling to catch up. “What are you talking about?”

“They’re coming,” he said, stepping into the room. “If we don’t leave now, it’ll be too late.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Why are you here?”

Yusuf hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor. When he looked at her again, his eyes were filled with something she couldn’t name.

“I had a dream,” he said.

Her breath caught.

“A man came to me,” he continued. “He said, ‘Do not be afraid to take her.’”

Mariam’s knees nearly gave way. Gabriel’s words. She hadn’t told anyone—not even Yusuf.

Her lips trembled. “And you believe him?”

“I believe you,” Yusuf said, his voice breaking. “And I believe him.”

The sounds outside grew louder now, the crowd gathering, their voices rising in a terrible crescendo. Yusuf reached for her hand, his grip firm and unyielding.

“We don’t have time,” he said. “Please, Mariam.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her mind a tangle of fear and disbelief. But then she saw it in his eyes—the same fierce certainty she had seen in Gabriel’s.

She nodded.

Yusuf pulled her toward the door, his movements quick and deliberate. The night air hit her like a slap, cold and biting. The moped waited just outside, its worn seat and battered frame as familiar as home.

Yusuf climbed on, motioning for her to follow. She hesitated only a second before swinging her leg over, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

The engine sputtered to life, the sound loud and defiant against the murmurs of the crowd.

They sped into the darkness, the moped bouncing over the uneven dirt roads. The wind whipped against Mariam’s face, tugging at her dupatta, but she clung to Yusuf as if her life depended on it.

They passed the banyan tree at the edge of the village, its gnarled branches stark against the moonlit sky. Mariam averted her gaze, unable to look at the place where so many lives had ended.

As the village faded behind them, a strange calm settled over her. The fear was still there, but it was tempered by something else—something stronger.

Yusuf’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Where do we go?”

Mariam thought for a moment. “The next town. We’ll find shelter there.”

“And after that?”

She didn’t have an answer.

Hours later, they stopped at an abandoned hut on the outskirts of a neighbouring village. The moped’s engine sputtered and died as Yusuf turned it off. He helped Mariam down, his hands steady on her waist.

The hut was small and dark, its walls lined with cobwebs, but it was shelter. Yusuf lit a small fire in the corner, its warm glow chasing away the shadows.

As they sat together in the flickering light, Mariam felt a quiet resolve settle over her. The road ahead would be hard, but she wasn’t alone.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to hope.

January 09, 2025 21:32

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