By morning, the rain had passed, leaving behind a glittering coat of dew across the fields. The air was clean and crisp, and birds returned to their songs like nothing had happened.
Farah was already out by the chicken coop when Nael stumbled out of the guest house, still in yesterday's jeans and an old hoodie.
"You're up early," he said, yawning.
She didn't look up. "Some of us work at sunrise."
He blinked at the goats that gathered near the fence. "Do they all have names?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Of course."
Nael pointed randomly. "That one?"
"Shahd. She bites."
The goat bared her teeth. Nael took a step back. "Noted."
Farah tried not to laugh.
Nana appeared with a basket of bread. "Nael, today you help Farah clean the barn. Don't let her scare you."
Farah rolled her eyes. "I don't scare people."
"You do," Nael said.
"Only those who trespass."
Nana grinned and walked off.
---
The barn smelled of hay, dust, and something indescribably... earthy.
"Alright," Farah said, handing him a rake. "We clean the stalls, lay down fresh straw, and don't touch anything unless I say so."
Nael gave a mock salute. "Yes, Captain."
They worked mostly in silence, with Nael occasionally humming to himself or taking short videos with his phone.
"You always document everything?" she asked finally.
He shrugged. "It's how I see the world. Through the lens."
"You ever try looking without one?"
He paused, then slowly lowered his camera. "Not often."
She looked at him then—really looked. His hands, though used to climbing rocks and camera gear, moved carefully through the hay. His eyes, though always scanning for the next great shot, kept drifting back to her.
"You love this place," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"Because it's safe?"
"Because it's mine. Because it remembers."
He frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"
Farah leaned against a wooden post, wiping her brow. "My parents left this place to me. Every season, every fence post—they touched it all. It's where I belong."
Nael nodded slowly. "I've never belonged anywhere."
She looked at him, curiosity softening her usual sternness. "Doesn't that get lonely?"
He smiled faintly. "Sometimes. But freedom is worth it."
They stood in the barn, the air thick with sunbeams and dust motes, each realizing they were staring across a great divide—and wondering what it might take to cross it.