The prayer mat lay waiting on the floor. Grandmother bowed toward the window where the afternoon light came pouring in. Something hummed low and steady from her — like a bee inside a jar. Amina crouched close, her fingers hovering over the mat's soft fringe.
Your turn. Grandmother lifted her head and patted the mat beside her. Amina sat, knees brushing Grandmother's knees, and laid her palms flat on the wool. It scratched gently against her skin.
Amina whispered the words she had heard a hundred times. Something shifted under her hands — a ribbon of warm light unfurled from the mat, curling around her wrists like a sleepy cat finding a lap.
Three heads appeared in the doorway — one thumping the frame, all three staring with wide eyes. Amina laughed, a bright sound, and waved them in from where she knelt on the glowing mat.
All six of them pressed close, shoulders bumping, knees colliding. They whispered — was it the right order? Did it work if you forgot a word? Amina squeezed her eyes shut and tried again.
Grandmother's hands covered theirs, one by one, pressing them to the center of the mat. Every whisper braided together until the room hummed with a dozen voices at once.
The light brightened. It pulsed — once, twice — steady and slow, like something waking up inside the house itself. Each child watched their own shadow dance on the wall.
The glow softened to a quiet warmth. It pooled around them, thick as honey, and none of them wanted to move. Amina breathed in and the light breathed with her.
Amina rested her cheek against Grandmother's shoulder. The grandmother's hand found her hair and kept it there. None of the others spoke. They just stayed — six small shapes pressed against one big warm shape.
The light from the mat grew thinner, slower, like a candle burning down to its last flame. The room turned the color of tea — deep gold, then amber, then something darker still.
Somewhere a clock ticked. Somewhere else a kettle began to sing. The house held them all — the elderly woman and her six grandchildren — in the gentle dark, and the mat kept its slow warm breath beneath them.
Amina's breathing slowed. Then one by one, the others fell into step with her. The prayer mat waited, patient and dark, for whoever would need it next.
