In front of all the children on the playground, Layla holds up Sakina's drawing high and shouts, "Ugly!" Little laughs tumble through the rows of students, and the wind ruffles the edges of the paper in her hand. Sakina stands still where she is, her fingers clenched tight around the chalk, not taking a single step.
The chalk snaps in Sakina's palm, two sharp cracks against the concrete. The two pieces roll, drop beside her heels. She kneels, picks them up with small fingers, and tucks them into her pocket.
She walks to the edge of the yard where the dry sand is cold beneath her feet. The sound of laughter fades, softens, then vanishes behind the walls. She walks. She walks. The sand crunches with a tiny crackle with every step.
The big tree shades the quiet corner of the yard, its dry leaves shivering with no breeze at all. Two meters away, the swing groans: creak... creak... The wooden bench is empty under the shadow of its branches, and the afternoon sun lies across the cracked concrete.
Sakina sits on the dirt under the tree and draws a short line with her finger. She draws. The line stretches slowly. The swing groans: creak... creak... Her eyes do not lift to the horizon.
Among the branches, she notices Layla sitting alone on the bench, her feet dangling above the ground. Her gaze is fixed on her worn-out shoes. She is not writing, not laughing. She rolls a little seed between her fingers, then drops it.
Sakina holds the broken piece in her fist, stops, and brushes the dust from her dress. Step. Step. Third step. She stops, her eyes on her feet, and the ball bounces around her: boing. Boing. Boing.
Layla lifts her hand in a small gesture, her finger flicking toward the empty space beside her on the bench. She will not let her eyes meet Sakina's. Her lips tremble without a sound, and her big toe doodles circles on the concrete.
Sakina sits down; the wood creaks beneath her. She reaches out: "I wanted to draw you with me." Layla takes the chalk, turns it between two fingers: "I'm sorry." She whispers it soft as a falling leaf. Then she pulls a second piece from her pocket, one that never broke: "I saved it... I was scared you wouldn't come back."
They sit shoulder to shoulder on the bench and draw a big sun on the concrete, then two little figures beneath it. The sunset stretches their shadows long across the ground. They hum the small melody, half a note shy, their elbows pressed close together.
