Little water cans tipped over the roses. Clink. Nayla's can slid from her fingers into the dirt. She looked up at the wide blue sky above the garden wall.
"Grandma... who made all these colors?" Nayla whispered, chin tipped toward the wide blue sky.
Grandmother tapped the dirt with one finger. Her grin creased her face. "Then let's go find out, little ones."
They skipped down the winding path. Flower beds burst on both sides — reds, yellows, purples tumbling over the low stone edging.
Nayla pried a soft pink petal off the bush. Squish. It melted under her thumb like warm jam.
Layla blew on a daisy and white seeds spiraled up. Then— BZZZZ. A fat yellow bee landed right on Lin's nose. Sneeze. Petals scattered all over the path.
They followed the bee through the blooms. It buzzed, dipped, turned — then perched on a big red flower, wings still, legs tucked.
Nayla crouched. She pressed her small palm flat on the warm soil. Tap, tap, tap on her own chest. "Bump, bump, bump," she counted.
Grandmother pointed up. The sky was turning deep orange, streaked and smudged like a spilled paint pot. "Can you see it up there, too?"
The three girls stood shoulder to shoulder, tiny shadows stretching long across the tiles. They leaned in close. "Alhamdulillah," they whispered together, soft as the fading sun.
Grandmother set three small cups between them. Steam curled up into the purple sky. Nayla wrapped both hands around hers. Layla and Lin leaned on her shoulders.
The last stripe of orange faded. The rooftop went quiet. Three little puffs of steam rose together into the deepening purple, and nobody moved.
