Zayd sat cross-legged on the rug, thumbs tapping his tablet. Cartoon trucks roared through the speakers.
The screen flickered — then went dark. Zayd tapped the black glass. Tapped again. Nothing happened.
Grandma appeared in the doorway, holding a bright yellow kite shaped like a fish. 'Come, habibi,' she said, lifting it toward the sun.
Zayd shook his head and pointed at the dead tablet. The kite's long tail swished against the floor.
Zayd followed Grandma into the backyard. She handed him the spool. He ran in circles and tangled the kite in the rose bushes.
Grandma pulled the fish free. It shook itself like a dog and fluttered back into the air. Zayd let go of the string a little.
The fish kite climbed higher, dipping and diving in the wind. Zayd chased it across the grass, laughing. Then the kite gave one big leap and Zayd whooped — making the neighbor's cat jump.
That evening, Zayd set the tablet on the coffee table and picked up the kite instead. The yellow fish rested on his bedpost, catching the last orange light from the window.