"So what is it really that you're allergic to, princess?" Ababeel asked, folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes narrowed in playful suspicion, her voice dipped in teasing sweetness.
Habeel's jaw dropped so dramatically that it was a miracle it didn't hit the truck floor.
"Excuse me, dwarf?" he gasped, scandalised.
He pouted—hard—so intensely his whole face seemed to fold inward, like it was actively protesting life.
"Tea tree!" he huffed. "And those stupid leaves—the fuzzy ones that feel like peach skin!"
Janneh, wedged between them in the old truck, kicked her tiny feet and squealed with delight at the rising drama as though she were front row at a live performance.
Ababeel shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips."Well, someone's happy."
Habeel shot her a look of deep betrayal."Did you two enjoy beating me that much? Really?"
Another pout. Bigger. More dramatic. He looked like a golden retriever who had just been told "no more treats forever."
The bickering didn't stop. It followed them like a stubborn echo the entire drive until Habeel finally found a safe patch of ground—a quiet scoop of earth washed in pale morning light. They climbed into the back of the truck to sleep, blankets thrown lazily around them. Habeel insisted on squeezing himself behind the crates, curling up tightly like an oversized, grumpy cat determined to fit into a shoebox.
And when Ababeel woke, there he still was—tucked into his corner, hair an absolute catastrophe, breathing soft and even.
She slipped out, gathered fallen wood, and coaxed a small fire alive. The first scent of coffee rose into the cool morning air… and that's when he appeared.
Like Jerry floating toward cheese.
Habeel stumbled toward the mug, hair sticking in every direction, eyes half-lidded with sleep.
"Can I get two cups?" he asked hopefully, voice tiny.
"No," Ababeel replied without hesitation. "We're about to run out. You can't. Sorry."
He nodded—slow, guilty—then sat down with the grace of a child who knew he deserved the disappointment.
A rustle behind them; Janneh clambered out of the truck, rubbing her eyes with both fists.
"Good morning," Habeel whispered to her. "Where are your shoes?"
Janneh looked down at her bare feet as if surprised they existed.
"You're coming with me for hunting. Shoes," he repeated, deadly serious.
Her eyes lit up like lanterns—she darted off to fetch them.
Ababeel approached him as he waited."Will we be able to find anything?"
Habeel shrugged, resigned but steady."We can try."
He helped Janneh put on her shoes—careful, gentle, patient—then she raised her arms towards him without a word, expecting.
And without a second thought, he lifted her onto his shoulders.
"We'll be off then," he told Ababeel. "If something happens, you run that direction. Straight to us. Don't worry about the rest."
Ababeel grinned wickedly."Okay, Dad."
He stared at her, wounded."I am the same age, man!"
Janneh tapped his head lovingly."Da!"
Habeel groaned, defeated, and marched off. Janneh giggled triumphantly from her royal perch.
The day stretched long. They wandered miles through the forest—through shadows and sunlit patches, through silence and wind—but returned empty-handed, drained and disappointed.
Ababeel cooked what little she could scrape together. Janneh inhaled her portion with impressive speed… and then, leaning against Habeel's shoulder, her tiny stomach let out a monstrous, echoing growl.
Habeel sighed. The deepest, most dramatic sigh known to mankind.
"…Fine," he muttered, shoving his bowl toward her."Here. Eat."
Ababeel raised an eyebrow."Well, well. The friendly giant who used to guard his food like treasure."
He crossed his arms and puffed his cheeks."Hmph."
Later, as she packed supplies back into the truck, she noticed him crouched on the ground, tapping the mud with his fingertips.
"Are you that sad about food that you're taking your anger out on the dirt?" she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder, chuckling softly."No, I'm not doing that."
"Then what?"
"It's a way to perform wudu without water," he said quietly. His fingers pressed gently into the earth. "We need prayers for food… before we starve."
He looked up at her with the most tragic puppy eyes imaginable. A whole opera of sadness.
Ababeel snorted and went back to work.
But a few minutes later—squealing.
She peeked out.
Janneh was proudly perched on Habeel's back, bouncing with all the joy of a child riding the world's slowest horseHabeel was trying to pray—brows furrowed, lips moving steadily—while Janneh tugged his hair, poked his ear, and giggled every time he wobbled under her weight.
But he didn't push her away ot once. Not even for a second.
He simply continued—voice steady, movements calm—anchored in patience.
When he finished, he held her tiny arm—not in anger, but in gentle guidance—and sat her beside him.
"Come," he said softly. "Say dua with me."
Janneh folded her hands just the way she'd seen him doShe didn't know the prayers, but every few seconds she whispered, with full solemn sincerity:
"Aeen."Ameen."Ameeen."
Each one softer, warmer, full of a child's instinctive trust.
Habeel smiled—small, real, fragile at the edges.
And for a heartbeat, in the middle of a wild nowhere, surrounded by hunger and danger and uncertainty…
…it felt like a family praying for hope.