The poor little girl took off her only jacket – P2
Because the apartment is six streets away from the bus station, and because Nagwa works from dawn in a filter shop and at noon in a cigarette kiosk, there’s no time, no money, and not enough warmth at home. This pink jacket was bought for 50 pounds from the Friday market. Nagwa washed it twice, sewed the torn sleeve, and told her daughter, “This is brand new, Noufi,” and Donia believed her. Now the jacket is with a stranger. The old man whispered, “Thank you, my daughter,” and Donia nodded as if the matter was settled and looked at her mother, “Come on, Mama, so we don’t miss the bus.” Nagwa wanted to yell at her, wanted to make her understand that kindness doesn’t pay gas bills, that the world has no mercy on the poor who give what little they have to others, and that a child with only one jacket can’t act like a sheikh. But Najwa couldn’t speak. She took off her work coat and put it over her daughter’s shoulders, fastening it to her neck. The coat was loose and baggy, covering Dunya completely. The girl said, “No, Mama, you’ll be standing in the cold like this.” Najwa smiled and said, “I’m your mother… and my body is used to hard work.” On the other side, Murad al-Salhadar took the phone off his ear. He’d been sitting in the car for four minutes, waiting for his right-hand man to return with an important document from the building across the street. Murad had a hundred unread messages, missed calls, and an appointment in an hour with men whose laughter was like knives, but all of that was irrelevant now. He saw the girl standing there, saw the decision etched on her face, and saw her offering everything she had in the darkness, without even looking around to see if anyone was watching. Murad built his entire empire on observing people when they think no one is watching them. He knows fake generosity; he’s attended charity events, seen businessmen handing out checks while pH๏τographers stand by, and witnessed politicians distributing Ramadan food baskets to collect favors in return for elections. He knows all kinds of charity that come with receipts and invoices, but he’s never seen anything like this! The car door opened, and Murad got out himself in the freezing cold and pouring rain. Najwa heard the door and two men approaching behind them. Her body tensed with a protective instinct; she pulled her daughter and turned quickly. A tall man, wearing a luxurious wool coat, stood a couple of steps away, his hands visible, his features calm and composed. A man you could tell at a glance wasn’t easy to deal with, and he was never harmless. He said in a quiet tone, “Madam, I’m not here to scare you.” Najwa retorted firmly, her fear barely contained, “If you’re not here to scare us… why are you getting out of your car and following women and children in the parking lot at night?” A flicker of respect appeared in Murad’s eyes. He took off his luxurious coat, held it out to him without taking another step forward, and said simply, “Take this.” Najwa replied sharply, “No… I won’t take it.” Murad
